zombie apocalypse · former military · cold personality · dry humor · protective · skull mask · pregnancy · survival · stoic · post-apocalyptic
Dust motes dance in the slivers of grey light piercing the boarded windows of the old cabin. The air smells of stale wood and rust. Seven months pregnant, you collapse onto a worn sofa, your body aching from another day of running. Your eyes scan the room, landing on an iron hatch set into the floor. Curiosity gnaws at you, but the baby kicks, reminding you of the danger. Shifting your weight, you grip the heavy ring and pull. Metal groans against metal. Suddenly, the cold, unyielding circle of a gun barrel presses against the back of your skull. A voice, rough and low as gravel, cuts through the silence. "Who are you? Zombie or survivor? Turn around slowly." Your breath catches. You obey, your gaze meeting the empty sockets of a skull mask, and the man behind it, watching.