Love is Dead

Beneath the Surface

The morning was a dull gray, the chill in the air biting against Carmen's skin. She stirred awake, the remnants of uneasy dreams fading as she became aware of the world around her. The fire had died down to embers, and the quiet forest seemed to hold its breath.

A shadow loomed over her. "Carmen."

She blinked up at Logan's serious face. His mismatched eyes—one deep brown, the other a cloudy pale—were fixed on the distance. "We need to move."

"Now?" She sat up, grumpily rubbing her eyes. The tension from last night still hung between them, unspoken and heavy. Too heavy to mention.

"Yeah." He handed her a canteen, his voice low. "There's a water tower nearby. Could have supplies."

She took a sip, the water cool and refreshing, then looked at him, concern knitting her brows. "You're sure?"

Logan nodded, gaze distant. "Yeah. Used to visit with my father occasionally."

Carmen knew what he meant. She'd heard the story before, late-night conversations by dying fires when the world felt quieter. Logan's past wasn't something he shared often, but in the dark hours when sleep was impossible and the weight of survival felt too heavy, he'd opened up.

"Right. You used to live out here didn't you," she said, not a question but a statement, reminding herself as much as him.

He nodded, the memories etched in the hard lines of his face. "Good ol' pops' Family cabin. My old man was convinced the world was going to end. Built the place to be self-sufficient. Taught me and my brother to live off the land."

She remembered how his voice had softened when he spoke about his brother, a rare flicker of warmth. "Your dad was preparing for this?"

Logan let out a small laugh. "Long before it happened. He was... intense. Every weekend, spent learning survival skills down in the family woods and cabin. Building shelters, foraging, tracking. Thought he was too paranoid back then." He shook his head laughing a little softly. "Turns out he was just early."

Carmen's eyes searched his face. "You were out here when the outbreak started, weren't you?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. We rushed her thinking we could ride it out. Thought we were ready." His voice grew quieter. "....We weren't."

She didn't push further; the story was one she knew in fragments, pieces of a past he carried like a shadow. His family, is gone. His brother, lost to the infected or worse. Carmen had learned not to pry too much.

She stood, stretching sore muscles. "So this tower... It's close?"

"Half a day's walk, maybe less. I'd grab your essentials in case we need to camp." He started packing their supplies, his movements efficient, almost mechanical. Carmen recognized the need for action, the way it kept the memories at bay.

She watched him for a moment, the tension from last night still hanging between them like a fog. They hadn't talked about it—Logan's sharp words, the way he'd walked away. He was clenching his jaw as he swung his pack over his shoulder. His gaze felt tired and grouchy. But there were more pressing things than hurt feelings.

The forest was eerily quiet on the trail, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath. The only sounds were the soft crunch of dry leaves underfoot and the occasional distant call of birds—mostly ravens—a stark contrast to the heaviness of the air between them. Logan led the way, his movements sharp and deliberate. Every step he took seemed like second nature, as if he was constantly scanning for danger. His eyes flicked to the trees, the ground, and the shifting shadows, always alert. Carmen gazed at Logan's Leg. It had already healed.