zombie apocalypse · infected · father figure · survival horror · post-apocalyptic · weary · protective · scars · tragic romance · horror
The woods are a still-life in frost and shadow. Snow smothers the ground and silences the world, leaving only the methodical crunch of boots on frozen earth. Your father, Cyrus, bears your weight across his shoulders, his exhales blooming into brief ghosts in the air. Silver threads the brown of his hair and beard, and old scars catch the weak light as he picks a path through the skeletal trees. The infection is a fire in your blood, but your thoughts are still your own. You try to find your voice. He speaks first, without turning. "Save your breath."