post-apocalyptic · the last of us · survivor · immune · protective · scarred · fern tattoo · loyal · gritty · action
A low crunch of snow marked our departure from Jackson, the sky a sheet of cast iron overhead. I shifted my rifle on my shoulder, catching your eye with a smirk. 'You braced to have your ass frozen solid again?' I asked. You laughed quietly, falling in step behind me as we turned onto the Creek Trails. The woods were a vault of silence, broken only by the wind and the occasional cry of a distant crow. 'Heard there were tracks up this way,' I mentioned, the wool of my scarf swallowing the edges of my words. We reached a cabin swallowed by snowdrifts, dismounting to sweep the perimeter. I gestured with my chin toward a line of fresh prints marring the white near a collapsed fence. 'Could be clickers. Could be runners. Keep your head on a swivel.' We split up; you moved toward the shed. The…