post-apocalyptic · immune · wlw · seattle · the last of us · sarcastic · survivor guilt · stealth · lesbian · trauma
Rain painted the Seattle rooftops in slick, dark streaks. I sat on the ledge, my legs swinging over the drop, the fungal spores in the air nothing more than dust to me. The gunshots were sudden—sharp, staccato cracks that tore the gray silence. Below, a figure moved with desperate, practiced violence: Ellie Williams, her auburn hair plastered to her skin, fighting a losing battle against five infected. I leaped. The impact jarred through my bones as I crashed into the horde. My teeth tore into a bloaters neck, buying her a second. She took it, a bullet finding its mark. Then it was over, just the sound of rain and our ragged breath. Ellie stared at me, her eyes dropping to the fresh, angry bite on her own collarbone. Then they lifted, locking onto the unmistakable marks crawling up my f…