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│ Surviving The End
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│Cast aside by a world that mistook her for infected, Aisha now sees the crumbling of humanity's reign over their miserable world. It's time for something new, som...
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Koda led us through the wreckage like he was hosting a goddamn walking tour, and I followed, barefoot, blood still dried on my legs, the oversized jacket swallowing my frame. It was warm—his warmth lingered in it, clinging to the fabric like a memory—but it barely covered my thighs, and every gust of wind reminded me that my ass was on full display. I was so caught up with thoughts I didn't know where we were going.
I tugged the hem down with a sharp huff. "Koda."
He turned, that smirk already blooming across his face. "Yes, mama?"
"Do you think we could maybe get some clothes that don't make me feel like a stripper who forgot the rest of her outfit?"
His eyes trailed down, slowly, dark and amused. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Koda."
"Alright, alright." He chuckled, biting his bottom lip as he looked away—though not fast enough to hide the unmistakable tension in his stance. His jaw flexed. His hand brushed his thigh like he was grounding himself. "There's a place up ahead. Should be something left to loot unless the rats learned to wear heels."
"Lead the way, Captain Creepy."
"Oh, come on," he said with a lazy swagger. "You love the view."
I didn't dignify that with a response. I just tightened the jacket around me and walked faster. He followed, still smirking, still insufferable.
The store he brought me to was a half-buried boutique, a cracked display window gaping like a mouth. Mannequins stood crooked and headless, and most of the clothes were dusty or torn, but I managed to find something wearable—a tight pair of dark jeans and a cropped black top that made me feel like myself again.
Koda leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as I pulled on the jeans not giving me the curtsy of being alone or private.
"Enjoying the show?" I asked dryly, shooting him a glare.
"Immensely," he said without shame.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't hide the slight heat rising to my cheeks. When I turned back to the mirror—half-shattered but still enough to catch my reflection—I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. I was built, all my curves came with me in the apocalypse. I was in shape magically, my eyes were strange grey not honey brown. My red flaming hair was slightly curly but nothing like me gorgeous curls I remember treating every day.
I needed a bath. I thought in my head like a echo.
Once I was dressed, we resumed walking through the city, the sun dipping low behind the ruined skyline. The silence between us grew heavier with every step, and I couldn't take it anymore.
"Koda," I started, voice tight, "what the hell happened?"
He didn't answer.
"Why are the things afraid of you?"
Silence.
"Why do they slink away like whipped dogs when you look at them?"
Still nothing.
I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "What am I?"
He blinked, slow. Almost bored.
"What are you?"
He smirked. "That's a lot of questions for someone wearing my jacket."
I growled, a low, guttural sound that surprised even me. Something primal and wild curled in my chest, sharp and dangerous.
Koda stopped mid-step, blinking like he'd just heard something impossible. He turned toward me, slow, his posture shifting from relaxed to... alert.
"That was new," he said, voice lower, softer.
I stepped closer, fists clenched. "I want answers. Now."
He stared at me—really stared—and for the first time since I woke up in this nightmare, he didn't smirk. His dark eyes traced mine, searching, unsure.
"You don't remember... anything?"
"No. Just... flashes. You. The party. My name the necessary things but not the who where when." My voice faltered. "Then the alarms went off, and I ran. You were a stranger... you are a stranger..."
His lips parted slightly, but he didn't speak.
"I remember your eyes," I whispered. "Even if they're darker now. I remember your feel. You didn't feel like a stranger."
The silence crackled between us. And my resolve broke, a lump formed in my throat and I felt like crying.
He took a breath. "You're not supposed to remember that."
"Too bad," I snapped rubbing my nose. "Now tell me what the hell is going on."
Koda looked away, jaw tight. He looked... torn.
"You're not human anymore," he finally said. "Not completely. And neither am I."
That didn't help. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," he said slowly, "that whatever infected the rest of the world didn't infect us the same way. It woke something. Changed us."
"And the others?" I whispered. "The ones who scream when they see you?"
He smiled, but this one wasn't cocky—it was sharp. Cruel. "They remember me."
Chills ran up my spine.
"What am I to them?"
He stepped closer. "Food." His eyes darkened. "Or competition."
I swallowed, throat dry. "And to you?"
He was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek.
"You," he said, voice a rumble, "are the only thing in this hellhole that ever made me hesitate."
My heart thudded, confused and electric.
He looked down, long eyelashes fluttering around endless void orbs. My heart fluttered and I melted right there in the zombie apocalypse.
"You should've stayed gone, doll face," he murmured.
