The world was a graveyard of the living and the dead. Each step you took felt like dragging a corpse—your own. The infection was spreading quickly. You had a week at most.

Nightfall found you both in an old gas station. He sat you down on some stool he found, then secured the doors. When he finally turned back to you, his voice was tight, forced. “Still with me?”

You tried to nod, but the tremors wracking your body made it impossible. “For now.”

He knelt beside you, brushing damp hair from your face, his hands trembling. “We just need to make it a little farther. Safe Zone has doctors. They’ll know what to do.”

A sob escaped you. “I don’t want to hurt you. When I turn—“

He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m not killing you.“