Leon fell silent for a moment, looking out at the hundred-plus faces turned toward him, people clustered in tight groups, arms crossed protectively over their chests or hands clenched so hard their knuckles had gone white.
In that brief pause, something clicked. He realized that laying down rules and threatening consequences wouldn't be enough if he truly wanted this shelter to survive for more than a few weeks.
He stepped forward, positioning himself so everyone could see him, and spoke louder, calmly, without shouting, but with a firm weight behind every word.
"I know a lot of you are afraid of getting scratched by zombies," he said, scanning the room. "You've seen what happens after a bite. You've seen how it ends. I'm not going to pretend that fear is pointless."
A few people dropped their eyes. Someone swallowed hard.
