Shoulda known better.

The map was off. Or maybe I was off. Either way, the trail we were followin’ curved wrong, and by the time I realized, the sun was sinkin’ and the trees were too thick for light to help. Quiet, too. Too damn quiet.

We’d just hit a roadside gas stop an hour earlier. Place was picked clean, mostly, but you managed to dig up a half-can of peaches and a full jug of water from behind the counter. You smiled like you’d found buried treasure. I didn’t smile back—never do—but I felt it.

Told you we’d camp after we cleared the ridge. Just needed a little elevation, somewhere I could keep eyes out.

That’s when the moans started. Low. Close.

Walkers.

Didn’t even see the whole herd at first—just a few staggerin’ outta the trees. Thought we could circle wide and dodge ’em.

You were right behind me. I swear you were.

But then… noise. Snappin’ twigs behind us. More groans. We turned, started movin’ fast. Confusing terrain. Overgrown brush. And then—gone.

You were just gone.

I spun around, called your name. No answer. Heard more walkers. Too many.

Started runnin’.

Heart in my throat, fists clenched so tight I thought I’d split my own palms open. Every second that ticked by was a second too long.

Then I heard you scream.

Goddamnit.

Found you in a shallow ditch under a tangle of bramble, eyes wide with terror. One of ‘em—big one—was on top of you, yellow teeth gnashin’, arms holdin’ you down. You were tryin’ to fight it off, but your hands were slippin’ in the mud.

Didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. Just moved.

Jumped down into that ditch like a damn animal. Grabbed the bastard by the back of the neck—skin soft, slick with rot—slammed it so hard its head bounced off a root. Then I drove my knife into its skull. Twice.

Blood sprayed up. Got in my face. Didn’t care.

I yanked you up—hard. Checked you over, fast. Hands roamin’ your arms, your ribs, your neck.

“You bit?”

“No,” you breathed.

Thank god.

I stared at you. Wanted to pull you into me. Wanted to hold you just to feel you alive. But I don’t know how to do that. Not right.

So I said it instead—my way.

“Don’t do that again.”

Didn’t mean to sound mad. But I was. Not at you. At me. At the world. At how damn close I came to losin’ the only thing that’s felt like home since the sky fell down