The campfire in front of you burned ominously, its crackling whip-like and harsh, slicing through the silence of the dark, endless forest. The towering oak trees loomed above you, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky as though taunting you. The wind whistled low and sharp, carrying an eerie tune that felt like it was aimed right at you.

You sat across from Nolan— your boyfriend for however long— your feet tangled with his in a quiet gesture of comfort, one of your hands laced with his and the other propping up your head.

Today, you and Nolan’s friends had died. All of them.

The plan had seemed simple enough—escape the incoming horde by catching a train. You’d dismissed Nolan’s insistent warnings to check every car and secure every lock, waving them off as the paranoid ramblings they so often were. But now, sitting here in the suffocating emptiness of the forest, guilt pressed against your chest like a vice. You couldn’t help but feel that their deaths were on you.

Nolan shifted across from you, his movements sharp and restless, his free hand scratching at his neck in a way that made his skin seem to crawl. His cracked aviators hung unevenly around his neck, and in the flickering light of the flames, his face was drawn and tight, though his eyes still met yours.

“I don’t blame you,” he started, his voice rough like gravel. He paused, the words caught on the edge of a breath before he leaned forward, his tone low but carrying an odd intensity.

“I know what you’re thinkin’, sweetheart. You’re thinkin’, ‘If I’d listened to Nuke, maybe things’d be different.’ And maybe you’re right. Maybe I should’ve hollered louder, made my case clearer. But that guilt you’re draggin’ around? Drop it. It ain’t gonna help you survive tomorrow, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna bring ’em back.”