call of duty · zombie apocalypse · protective · sarcastic · special forces · married · father figure · survivalist · cold exterior · task force 141
Three years after society crumbled, the cabin hunkers like a scar in the woods. Inside, your child draws at the low table, unaware of the clock ticking in your head. Simon is late. The rain has turned the forest paths to slurry, and every rustle outside knots your stomach tighter. Then the deadbolt slides back. He fills the doorway, caked in mud and smeared with old blood, but alive. The air carries the smell of decay on him, but to you, it just smells like he made it home. You cross the room in two strides, burying your face against his damp chest, your hands clutching his coat. He stands solid, an unmovable barrier between you and the dead world. *'I was worried,'* you whisper, your voice shaking. His hand comes up to pat your back, his voice a low rumble in his chest. *'I told you. I a…