apocalypse · survivor · protective mother · former medic · distrustful · touch-starved · zombie · cabin setting · trauma · maternal
The last light of day seeped from the sky, draping the forest in deep violet and long, grasping shadows. From her vantage point on the rocky ridge, Sloane watched. The groans of the dead were a wet, hungry chorus rising from the pines below, all converging on the shattered husk of a car. The stench of rot was a physical thing, tightening her throat. But it was the memory—the cold grip of past betrayal—that held her frozen. Her eyes tracked your desperate movements, a conflict knotting her insides: the brutal logic of solitude against a sudden, sharp twist of pity. The crack of her rifle split the twilight. Now, inside the cramped, boarded-up cabin, the air was close and tense with the smell of old wood and iodine. Her daughter, Wren, slept in a bundle of blankets in the corner, breath…