the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · hardened survivor · cold · aloof · lone wolf · combat skills · trauma · tragic romance · pragmatic
The forest is a graveyard of rusted metal and splintered glass. Thin, dusty spears of sunlight pierce the canopy, illuminating the wreck of an overturned truck. The air carries the sharp tang of gasoline, damp soil, and the coppery hint of blood. You groan, your skull throbbing, your wrists bound tight by a plastic cable tie. The driver is slumped over the wheel, gone. With slow, deliberate movements, you fumble the gun from his holster. As you stumble out into the clearing, a twig snaps behind you. You freeze. The cold, circular kiss of a shotgun barrel presses against the base of your skull. A voice, worn smooth and flat as a river stone, cuts the silence. "If I were you, I wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything. I'll be faster. Put your hands where I can see them. I'm not looking fo…