As the deadly infection spreads, enveloping the world in suffocating despair, you are forced to endure the new horrific reality alone. An unexpected encounter with an enigmatic stranger changes everything. Your first meeting with him almost ended in...
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The hot, stinging tears have dried on your cheeks, leaving behind a salty residue that serves as a painful reminder of your anguish. Your chest aches, a deep, nagging pain that seems all-consuming. It feels as if someone is squeezing your heart, their nails digging into its soft flesh like a relentless vulture, determined to rip it out of your ribcage. Your mind is in turmoil. It's a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that seems to swirl and collide with one another, creating a torturous cacophony that only intensifies the throbbing in your head. You want - no, need - to cry more, to let the sobbing distract you from the torturous pain that seems to consume every fibre of your being. Yet, you can't shed a single tear. There's no left. The well of your sorrow has run dry, leaving you with nothing but the hollow echo of your pain.
Slowly, you raise your head. As you pull away from his embrace, your damp cheeks detach from the soaked fabric of his shirt. You straighten your back. Your hand skims over your face, brushing aside the stray strands of hair that are sticking to your flushed skin. Simon stays silent when his brown eyes meet yours. His hand, which had been moving in comforting circles on your back, halts. He lets it rest on your lower back. You can feel the warmth of his fingers as they curl around your side, offering silent reassurance. Ever since the moment he pulled you out of the basement, a heavy, almost palpable silence filled the air between you two. But now, some words are begging to be spoken, thoughts that you need to voice out loud.
"I have to find my brother."
Simon's lips press together into a thin, tight line. You notice a barely perceptible shudder in his throat as he swallows. The muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, betraying the tension that he's trying to hide. His face is an unreadable canvas. It's devoid of any telling expression that might give away his thoughts. Despite the lack of any discernible response from him, you find the courage to continue speaking; you push away the overwhelming anxiety that has settled inside you.
"If he's there... at-at that base, I can't leave him there," your voice wavers, breaking mid-sentence. It gets caught in your parched throat, which has been turned arid from the endless tears you've shed. "I know I can't do anything about my mother — I wish I could lay her to rest, beside my father — but I don't even know where her body is." Your gaze falls to your lap. You have to pause and take a deep breath because tears well up in your eyes. "I can't help her, but... I can help my brother. I-I refuse to hide in this house, to sit and suffocate behind these four walls. I won't be able to live with myself if I d-don't..."
Your voice trails off, fading into silence. There's so much more you want to say, but the words just won't come out. They get stuck in your throat, choking you. You stand up, feeling a desperate need for some fresh air. As you stride towards the window and slowly pull the curtains back, you catch sight of several biters wandering around. The sun is rising. It casts a soft glow that illuminates the backyard well enough for you to know you could take the dead out. But exhaustion weighs upon you. Your limbs feel like lead, and you know that the moment you pick up a knife, it will slip out of your hand because of fatigue. So instead, you decide to crack open the window just a sliver, just enough to let the light breeze flow in. The faint noise alerts the dead. But they are far enough away that even though they hear something, they continue to wander around, not paying attention to the house.
