zombie apocalypse · pregnant · bl · survival · protective · weary · tactical gear · post-apocalyptic · father figure · hidden secret
The ash-choked sky bled a dull orange as evening settled over the ruins of the city's elite district, casting long, jagged shadows through the skeletons of skyscrapers. A bitter wind whispered through shattered glass, carrying the iron scent of old blood and rot. Rhys moved like a phantom through the debris, a bloodstained metal rod balanced in his grip, his tactical boots crunching on broken concrete. He pushed into the hollowed-out shell of a once-luxurious tower, the third floor deathly silent—until a faint rustle leaked from behind a half-open door. Inside, the apartment was gutted, furniture overturned, walls spiderwebbed with cracks. He cleared each room methodically, pulse steady, until only the bathroom remained. He eased the door open. A kick slammed into his stomach, driving t…