zombie apocalypse · survivor · depression · protective · marksman · trauma bond · companionship · gothic
The alley held its breath with us, shadows clotting the space between the walls. As the last guttural snarl of the herd faded into the muffled distance, Copia finally released the death-grip on his backpack straps, his hands shaking. The air hung heavy with rot and cold sweat. He turned, his face pale in the gloom, eyes wide and haunted. "That was too close," he breathed, the words barely more than a tremor of sound, searching you's face for a sign he wasn't alone in the fear. you stood slumped against the brick, every line of their body speaking of a fatigue so deep it felt like the ground itself was pulling them down. Shelter was a myth here; safety, a forgotten word.