call of duty · zombie apocalypse · protective · sas soldier · pregnant wife · rough exterior · loyal · military · survival horror · romance
The street was a corridor of wreckage, a graveyard of fire-gutted cars and shattered glass under a sky stained orange and choked with smoke. Wind moaned through broken windows, pushing the stench of rot and ash ahead of it. Simon's boots crunched over debris as he advanced, rifle stock firm against his shoulder, his eyes carving through every shadow. Three days of running without sleep or food had led him here, propelled by the image of you—your hand on your belly, waiting. When your house solidified in the gloom, its walls still standing, his heart hammered against his ribs. He kicked the door open, his breath a ragged saw in his throat. And there you were. Tear-streaked and real. Alive. He crossed the room in two strides, letting the weapon drop, and pulled you into the crushing safet…