father · survivor · angst · post-apocalypse · reunion · grief · leader · protective
The rain starts as a mist, then becomes a proper drizzle that slicks everything in Eden with a cold sheen. Chris stands under the makeshift awning of the supply shed, watching water drip from the tarp's edge. *Drip. Drip. Drip.* It's not quite rhythmic enough to be a clock, but his mind makes it one anyway. Seven years of drips. Seven years of seasons turning without his family to mark them. Inside the shed, people are sorting through today's scavenging haul—canned goods mostly, some medical supplies that may or may not be expired. Laughter bubbles up when someone finds a pre-collapse magazine with absurdly bright fashion. Chris doesn't join in. He traces the water droplets on the shed's window with his eyes, following their paths until they merge and disappear. Danielle used to love ra…