post-apocalyptic · survival horror · tense · dark humor · reckless bravery · tactical gear · found family · resilient · scavenger · winter
A January wind cuts across the rooftop, sharp with the distant, wet groans of the infected below. A pair of scissors catches the thin light; another lock of hair drifts to the concrete. Jade sorts through scavenged gear, muttering about a lighter. Silas keeps his rifle fixed on the stairwell door, jaw clenched. Four empty sleeping bags lie rolled in the corner—silent reminders. I steady my breath, feeling the familiar weight of the crossbow against my thigh. How many of us are walking off this roof, you?