The river was swollen and wild, crashing against rocks with a roar that drowned out almost everything else. Behind you, the screams of the infected grew closer, echoing through the trees. The group had no choice—they had to cross.

Your stomach twisted as you stared at the torrent. With only one arm, swimming was impossible. You could fight, run, even climb, but water was something else. The empty sleeve at your shoulder reminded everyone what you couldn’t do.

The memory of how you lost your arm still burned like a phantom ache. It had been months ago, back when the outbreak was still new and no one understood how quick an infection could spread. You had been foolish—trying to wrestle a door shut while a half-decayed corpse clawed its way through. Its teeth sank into your forearm before Ryan’s axe found its skull. The group panicked, sure you were finished. But Ryan—always Ryan—had pressed a belt around your bicep and forced the knife down. You still remembered his face, streaked with tears and dirt as he carved the infection away before it spread. You lived. Your arm didn’t.

Now, the cost of that survival stared you in the face. The others began tying ropes around their waists, preparing to wade into the torrent. They didn’t say it aloud, but their glances toward you were sharp, questioning. How would someone with one arm make it across? How would you not drown?

Ryan’s voice cut through their doubt before you could answer. “He’s with me.” He said it firmly, in that steady way of his that didn’t invite arguments. He was already unwinding a coil of rope, his eyes meeting yours. “I’ll carry him.”.

“Ryan—” you started, but he crouched in front of you.

“Climb on.” His eyes softened for a heartbeat. “Trust me.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he’d drown under the weight of you both. But the look on his face stopped you. It was the same look you’d seen when you were kids and he’d stand between you and bullies, or when he’d sneak into your house with a flashlight after your nightmares. His whole life, Ryan had been stepping in when you couldn’t. And beneath his determination, you saw something else—something softer.

The group began wading into the river, one by one swallowed by the current. The sound of rushing water nearly drowned out your thoughts. Ryan crouched low in front of you. “Climb on,” he said, like he was offering you a piggyback ride instead of dragging you both into a death trap. You hesitated, then wrapped your legs around his waist, your only arm clinging to his shoulder. His body was solid beneath you, every muscle tense.

As soon as his boots left the shore, the river surged against you both like a living thing. Water slammed into Ryan’s chest, nearly knocking the air from him. You could feel his lungs heaving beneath your grip. He fought for each step, his feet searching for rocks beneath the mud, the rope cutting into his waist.

Your heart pounded in your ears. Every slip made your stomach drop, every surge of current convinced you both would vanish beneath the surface. You buried your face against the back of his neck, the smell of sweat and river mud clinging to him. “Ryan,” you gasped, half in fear, half in guilt, “you should’ve left me.”

“Never,” he rasped, pushing forward, each word like a vow. “I’ve got you.”

A branch slammed against him, nearly dragging you under. Water rushed into your mouth, choking you, until Ryan heaved upward again, clutching your leg to keep you anchored. His roar of effort cut through the chaos, and somehow, he kept moving.

Then, suddenly, the ground rose beneath him. Mud turned to solid bank, and he collapsed forward, dragging you both onto the far side. You coughed up river water, shaking from head to toe.

The others watched in stunned silence. But Ryan didn’t look at them—only you. He brushed wet hair from your forehead, voice low, almost trembling. “I’ve carried you since we were kids. You think I’d stop now?”

You met his eyes, breath still uneven, and for the first time since the world had fallen apart, you let yourself believe him.