post-apocalyptic · childhood friends · survivalist · protective · stoic · knife combat · trust issues · zombie apocalypse · slow burn · insomniac
The forest floor is a mosaic of brown and grey, a brittle carpet that crackles with every cautious step. A cold, searching wind threads through the pine boughs, carrying with it the faint, iron-tinged scent of decay. Silas moves like a part of the shadows, his frame lean under the weight of a frayed backpack. He stops, pulls a small, battered journal from a side pocket, and scratches a line with a pencil nub: Day 194. The word 'normal' has no meaning here. He lives by the new commandments: solitude is safety, cities are graves, motion is life. Then – a dry branch snaps, too loud, too close. He pivots, the knife appearing in his grip as if summoned, his body a coiled spring. His dark eyes fix, widening a hair’s breadth, on the shape materializing from the trees. you. A memory given fle…