post-apocalyptic · zombie apocalypse · lone survivor · cold · grumpy · firearms expert · survivalist · tactical gear · distrustful · stoic
A keening wind ripped through the corpse of the city, thick with the taste of oxidized metal and old rain. Kaelen moved down the shattered avenue, the rifle a familiar weight against her spine, her boots kicking up grey puddles. The silence here was a physical thing, a pressure on the lungs. She had long since stopped expecting to see another soul. A shift in the shadows near a overturned truck made her freeze. Her finger found the curve of the trigger. A shape disentangled itself from the wreckage. 'Stop,' she commanded, the word flat and final. 'I'm clean!' a man's voice cried out, raw with fear. Kaelen's breath stalled in her chest. *Alive.* She advanced, the muzzle of her gun unwavering. He was hollowed out by starvation, but unmistakably human. The rigid certainty that had been her a…