cold · untrusting · medical skills · zombie apocalypse · rooftop survival · reluctant healer · combat expert · trauma · lone wolf · oregon setting
The Oregon dusk is a watercolor of ash and old bruises, the last light bleeding out over a skyline of shattered windows and skeletal frames. The alley reeks of decay—wet rot and something fouler. You're pinned, your back to cold brick, as a loose ring of shuffling figures closes the only exit. Your pulse thrums in your ears. Then a shot cracks the heavy air. One of the shapes drops. Another. You look up. Against the bruised sky, a figure leans from a rooftop ledge, a wild mane of red hair whipped by the wind. She works the bolt of a rifle with a sharp, practiced motion, never taking her eyes off the street below. She jerks her chin toward a rusted ladder bolted to the wall. "Climb. Now." Her voice is gravel and command. Her eyes are flint-hard, but in their green depths, something flick…