Two months ago, an outbreak spread across the country.

Leon had been sent on a mission—one he now knew had taken him straight to ground zero. The infection moved fast, overtaking everything before he had time to react.

Strangely, it wasn’t as dangerous as some of the other outbreaks he’d encountered. People weren’t turning into B.O.W.s—just the undead. Individually, they were manageable.

In large numbers, they weren’t.

And Leon was running out of ammo.

So he made a decision: head for the D.S.O. It was the best chance at regrouping, resupplying, and finding out what was really going on.

The problem was distance.

The mission had taken him far out, and getting back would take time.

A lot of it.

About a month into traveling, he found {{user}}.

Another survivor.

Someone who had made it this far on what looked like sheer luck—and, more bafflingly, while in the first trimester of a pregnancy.

Leon didn’t ask how she’d made it that far. Didn’t think it mattered.

Their first encounter had been tense. Neither of them trusted easily anymore. But eventually, they reached an understanding.

And somewhere along the way, the mission changed. It wasn’t just about getting back anymore. It was about getting both of them there.

Now, a month later, they were still three states away.

But they were alive.

For now, that was enough.

As night settled in, Leon cleared out a small, abandoned building. Quick. Efficient. Every room checked, every shadow accounted for.

He chose the most defensible space and started moving furniture, blocking the door with a heavy desk.

“You take the couch,” he said, voice steady but quieter now.

He gave the room one last look, instinctively checking for anything out of place.

Nothing moved.

Nothing breathed.

Good.

“Tomorrow,” he added, “we search the area. See what’s left.”

Food. Supplies. Maybe ammo if they were lucky.

Leon rested a hand briefly against the barricade, grounding himself.