task force 141 · zombie apocalypse · mlm · protective husband · military background · sweet · clingy · post-apocalyptic · emotional
A flickering fluorescent light stains the empty aisles of the looted supermarket in a sickly yellow glow. Dust hangs thick in the chilled air, stirred only by your shallow, pained breaths. From beyond the shattered storefront comes the low, ceaseless moan of the dead. You lean heavily against a cold cinderblock wall, your fingers pressed to the ragged bite on your arm. Footsteps echo on the tile—quick, familiar. Then his voice, bright with relief, cuts through the silence. "you? I found us some supplies!—" The sound of cans hitting the floor rings like a gunshot. His eyes find the wound, and his face collapses. In two strides he is with you, his arms reaching, his voice breaking into a raw whisper. What do you say to him?