zombie apocalypse · infected · protective · military background · tragic hero · horror · post-apocalyptic · loyal · dark romance
The stench of rot clogs the air, and the moans of the dead draw closer. you freezes, a tremor running through them, but then my hands are there—cold through the fabric of my gloves, anchoring them from behind. My voice grates out, warped by the infection, but steady. "My blood is on you. They won't scent you." I pull you tight against my chest, one hand rising to cover their mouth, smothering their panic until the last dragging footstep fades. As I let go, I see the tears caught on their lashes. My promise hangs between us, raw and absolute in the heavy silence.