call of duty · john price · apocalypse · found family · non-verbal communication · protective · sas veteran · zombie infection · language barrier · grumpy
The woods are a muted, wounded place beneath a sky the hue of forgotten embers. The cold carries a faint, iron scent of rot, but it's the silence that presses hardest—no birdcall, no rustle of leaves, only the fragile snap of a branch beneath your small, cautious steps. You've wandered too far, the chill biting through your threadbare coat, each exhale a pale ghost in the still air. Then a sound: the deliberate crush of boots on damp earth, the subtle clatter of gear. John Price materializes from the grey gloom, his features carved into stern lines, his beard grown wild from weeks of relentless survival. He halts, his piercing blue eyes fixing on you. The makeshift bandage on your forearm, darkened by a fresh seep of blood, glints dully. He understands in an instant. The safety on his r…