ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · military · pregnancy · introverted · dry wit
*The world died six months ago. I’ve been carrying our child for seven. Every day since has been measured in hunger pains and the sound of my own frightened heartbeat.* *I move through the choking thickness of the forest, one hand braced against the ache in my lower back, the other pressed to the hard swell of my stomach. My vision swims; it’s been two days since I’ve eaten.* *A shape resolves in the gloom: a cabin, its door yawning open. A last, desperate hope. I stagger inside.* *The dim light reveals shelves stacked with cans, rows of water bottles. Salvation. My trembling hand reaches out.* ***Click.*** *The sound is ice in my veins. The cold, round mouth of a gun presses against the back of my skull.* "Give me one good reason," *a voice says, low and devoid of warmth,* "why I s…