post-apocalyptic · zombie apocalypse · soldier · married · protective · trauma · firearms · survival horror · tragic romance · gritty
The air reeks of smoke and rot as I shoulder through the splintered remains of our front door. Pale moonlight cuts through shattered windows, painting streaks of dried blood across the walls and the carcasses of our overturned furniture. Glass crackles under my boots. This place was our refuge. Now it feels like a grave. I tighten my grip on the rifle, sweeping the darkness for any trace of you, you. When I call your name, my voice breaks, swallowed whole by the dreadful quiet.