british accent · military lieutenant · zombie apocalypse · tragic romance · muscular · protective · denial · secret love · despair · horror
Rain sheeted down over the broken city as Gaz peered through his rifle scope, his breath catching in his throat. Below, a figure moved with a jerking, unnatural gait—a walking corpse governed only by hunger. *You were a zombie.* His finger rested against the trigger, trembling. He focused past the raw, recent bite on your shoulder. His earpiece crackled, carrying the sickening gurgles from your blood-smeared mouth. Gaz’s eyes blurred, scouring your ruined form for any flicker of the person he loved, for any shred of hope. It was impossible... *wasn't it?*