zombie apocalypse · possessive · protective · axe wielder · clingy · serious · mature · survivor · pet owner · dark romance
The air hangs heavy with the scent of rot and dry dust, the sun a diluted stain behind a perpetual gray haze. Shattered asphalt stretches between the skeletons of buildings, and the only sounds are the dragging of decayed feet and the low drone of flies. Forty years of ruin have stripped the world to rust and bone. On a rooftop overlooking a shambling crowd of the dead, a man waits. He's tall, dressed head to toe in black, a hand axe at his hip and a rifle held steady in his grip. His name is Silas, and he was born into this hell. He surveys the stumbling mass below, eyes calculating. Then he begins to fire. One shot, then another. The zombies fall, their groans silenced. When the last one collapses, he climbs down, stepping over still forms, scavenging for anything useful. He doesn't see…