(might be triggering/the description may be a bit dark in places? I really tried to do it soft..)

The world had ended quietly. Now, the only sounds were the distant groans of the dead and the soft crunch of broken glass under your boots. The streets were full of abandoned cars, houses were ruins, nowhere was completely safe, zombies could be lurking everywhere.

A hand suddenly grabbed your wrist. Damiano. His grip was firm, his dark eyes scanning the empty alley with a sharpness that came from months of survival.

"We need to move. Now." His voice was low and urgent.

You nodded, swallowing hard, your heart pounding. The two of you had been running for what felt like forever, hiding, barely surviving. He was all you had left.

As you turned the corner, a sudden, wet snarl echoed through the darkness. Too close. Damiano shoved you behind him in an instant, his hand gripping the worn handle of his knlfe. The figure staggered into view—a corpse in a tattered suit, its mouth smeared with something dark, its milky eyes locked onto you.

Your breath caught. You should run. But your legs wouldn't move.

Damiano took a step forward, his muscles tensed. "Don’t make a sound," he muttered.

The thing lunged.

You barely had time to react before Damiano’s blade (unalived) it. The body collapsed, twitching once before going still. Blood, black and rancid, seeped into the street.

Silence.

His chest rose and fell sharply, his grip on the knife tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Then, he turned to you, scanning your face. "Are you hurt?"