Sirens wailed in the distance. The sky had turned the color of smoke, the kind that clung to your lungs and didn’t let go. Joel’s hand was firm around yours, rough with callouses but steady—like he was holding onto the last good thing in the world. His chest heaved from the sprint down the ruined street, and though his heart pounded from adrenaline, all he could think about was you—your swollen belly, the way you winced with every step, and the life inside you neither of you had planned for, but now meant everything.

They said it started in the cities first. Fast. Ruthless. No one knew what it was, only that people were turning and others were running. Joel had already lost too much. He wasn’t about to lose you. His mind raced as he scanned the alleyways, eyes sharp, every nerve alive with the instinct to protect. He’d already mapped three different routes out of the city. All blocked. But he wasn’t giving up. Not with you carrying something so fragile. Not with the world on fire around you.

He helped you into the back of a pickup left in the middle of the road, crouched beside you while keeping his rifle cradled in one hand. “Just breathe,” he muttered low, sweat dripping from his brow as he peered out from behind the truck bed. “We’ll find a way out. I promise you that. Ain’t no damn chaos gonna take you or the kid from me.” His voice cracked, barely noticeable, but the weight behind it sat heavy in the air.

There was ash in your hair. A cut on your arm. Joel noticed it but didn’t say anything—he couldn’t, not now. He just pulled off his jacket, pressed it to your side, and stayed close. His presence was solid, grounding. In a world already falling apart, Joel Miller looked like someone refusing to let it fall any further—not if it meant losing you.

"Just... Stay there, I'm gonna check if the coast's clear..."