Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend

"Seriously?"

Hale’s voice came out low, almost tired. His hands were clasped together in front of him like he was trying to keep them from doing something else—like pacing, or worse.

Aubrey nodded anyway.

"Yeah. Canada."

Hale didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her for a second, then dragged a hand down his face and into his hair, pushing it back like it might clear his head.

"...fucking Canada," he muttered.

Aubrey let out a small breath through her nose.

"That’s exactly what I said."

For a second, there was almost something normal about it. Almost.

Hale looked back at her.

"So that’s why he didn’t come back?" he asked. "That’s what we’re going with?"

Aubrey shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. Her shoulders stayed a little too stiff.

"What else makes sense?"

Hale’s jaw shifted.

"What makes sense is he made a stupid call," he said. "Running off like that? With her?"

He shook his head once, short and sharp.

"That’s gonna get him killed."

Isabella, leaning against the wall nearby, let out a quiet sigh.

"He’s not wrong," she said.

Aubrey crossed her arms tighter.

"Adrian’s not dumb."

"No," Hale said quickly. "He’s just... stubborn as hell."

"That’s not the same thing."

"It kinda is out here."

Silence stretched for a second.

Terri shifted her weight, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. She’d been quiet the whole time, eyes moving between them like she was trying to keep up with something just out of reach.

"W—wait..." she started, voice catching slightly.

Everyone looked at her.

She swallowed.

"So... for the record... you don’t know if he’s alive or not then?"

There was something in the way she said don’t. Not accusing. Not loud.

But it landed.

Aubrey looked at her.

Or tried to.

Her eyes didn’t quite hold.

They dipped for just a second before she forced them back up.

"Adrian’s tough," she said. "He’s... he’s gotten out of worse."

Terri didn’t move.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t agree.

Aubrey felt it.

Felt the weight of it sitting there between them.

"He’s got that thing," Aubrey added quickly. "That— that thing in his head."

She snapped her fingers once, frowning like the word was right there.

"The... the—"

"The lattice," Isabella said flatly.

Aubrey pointed at her.

"Yeah. That."

Isabella’s expression didn’t change.

"Didn’t help him much last time," she said.

That shut Aubrey up for a second.

The memory hit before she could stop it.

Too fast. Too clear.

She scratched at the side of her nose, like that would get rid of it.

"Well... that was different," she muttered.

"How?" Isabella asked.

Aubrey didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t have one.

Hale stepped in before it dragged any further.

"Look," he said, exhaling through his nose. "Doesn’t matter how we feel about it."

He looked at Aubrey again.

"What matters is you’re actually trying to find him."

Aubrey blinked.

That... wasn’t what she expected.

Hale shrugged one shoulder.

"Took you long enough," he added, quieter. "But still."

Terri stopped fidgeting.

Just for a second.

She looked at Aubrey.

Then at Hale.

"You’re a good friend, Aubrey."

The words sat there.

Heavy.

Aubrey felt something twist in her stomach so tight it almost made her wince.

Good friend.

Her lips parted slightly, but nothing came out right away.

Her face warmed anyway.

"...thanks," she said finally, softer than she meant to.

She didn’t look at Terri when she said it.

Didn’t think she could.

A moment passed.

The kind where nobody really knows what to say next.

Then—

"Well," Terri said, clapping her hands together once, quick and quiet.

Everyone looked at her again.

She gave a small, nervous smile.

"No point just... standing here talking about it, right?"

She shifted her weight, already glancing toward the door.

"We should be moving. If we’re serious about Detroit."

Hale let out a breath.

"Yeah," he said. "She’s right."

He pushed himself off the wall, rolling his shoulders once like he was shaking something off.

"Gear up."

That was all it took.

The small space filled with movement.

Isabella grabbed her bag from the floor, slinging it over one shoulder with a practiced motion. She checked the straps twice, tight, then reached down to pick up her knife, sliding it into place at her side.

Hale crouched near his pack, unzipping it halfway to double check inside. Ammo. Water. A small med kit. He zipped it back up and stood, adjusting the weight on his back.

Terri moved slower.

More careful.

She picked up her bag, hesitated for a second like she was judging the weight, then slipped it on. One strap at a time. She winced slightly as it settled, then hid it by straightening her posture.

Aubrey just stood there.

Watching.

They’d all changed.

Not in some big, dramatic way.

Small things.

The way Hale didn’t joke as much. The way Isabella checked everything twice. The way Terri—out of all of them—was the one pushing them forward now.

It felt... off.

Or maybe it was just her.

She looked down at her own hands.

Flexed them once.

Then bent to grab her bag.

The straps felt heavier than she remembered.

She pulled it on anyway, tightening them with a sharp tug.

Her gun came next.

She checked the chamber.

Once.

Twice.

Clicked it back into place.

By the time she looked up again, Hale was already by the door.

"Everyone good?" he asked.

Isabella nodded.

Terri gave a small, quick "Yeah."

Aubrey hesitated.

Then nodded too.

Hale studied them for a second.

Like he was counting.

Like he was making sure no one was missing.

"...alright," he said finally.

He pushed the door open just enough to peek outside.

Light spilled in through the crack.

Dust floated in the air.

He scanned left.

Right.

Waited.

Then opened it wider.

"Clear."

One by one, they moved out.

Isabella first.

Then Terri.

Aubrey stepped forward—

And paused.

Just for a second.

Her eyes flicked back inside the room.

Empty.

Quiet.

Like none of them had ever been there.

Then she stepped out.

The door shut behind them with a dull click.

And just like that—

They were moving again.

Toward Detroit.

Toward Canada.

Toward something none of them actually understood.

No one said it out loud.

But it hung there anyway.

If Adrian was still alive—

They were either going to find him.

Or they were going to find what was left.

—

The buzz never stopped.

It sat in the air like a swarm—voices, boots, metal gates clanking, engines humming somewhere deeper in the sector. It wasn’t loud in one place. It was loud everywhere.

Cherie walked through it with her shoulders slightly hunched, like she was trying to make herself smaller without realizing it.

Western Intake Sector Three.

That’s what the sign said when they came through.

It didn’t feel like a name. It felt like a system.

People moved in lines that weren’t really lines. Just... guided flow. Soldiers stood at corners, not saying much, but watching everything. Rifles rested easy in their hands like they’d been carrying them their whole lives.

Cherie’s boots scraped lightly against the concrete as she walked.

Her legs felt heavy.

Not injured. Just done.

Saul stayed close on her left. Not touching, but close enough that if she slowed, he’d notice. Jackson trailed a step behind, eyes moving constantly, taking everything in with a kind of quiet suspicion.

"...this place is huge," Jackson muttered under his breath.

Saul didn’t respond.

He was watching the towers.

Cherie was watching the people.

Faces everywhere.

New faces. Tired faces. Some hopeful. Some empty.

A woman sat against a wall with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, rocking slightly, whispering something to herself. A kid nearby chased a crushed bottle like it was a toy, laughing in a way that didn’t match anything around him.

Others just... stood.

Waiting.

For what, Cherie didn’t know.

"This ain’t a camp," Jackson said quietly. "It’s a damn city."

"Not a city," Saul said.

Jackson glanced at him.

Saul’s eyes were still on the guards.

"A cage."

That word stuck.

Cherie swallowed.

As they moved deeper in, a voice crackled overhead through old speakers mounted high on metal poles.

"Curfew begins in two hours. All unregistered individuals report to housing intake immediately. Non-compliance will result in detention."

The message repeated in French right after.

Then silence again.

Cherie let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Curfew.

Rest.

The word rest almost felt foreign.

She hadn’t had real rest in... she didn’t even know how long.

Her feet kept moving.

One after the other.

But her eyes didn’t stop.

They scanned everything.

The fences layered behind fences. The checkpoints. The way soldiers didn’t joke. Didn’t relax. Even the ones standing still looked like they were waiting for something to go wrong.

Then—

She slowed.

Just a little.

Her eyes caught something on the wall to her right.

Graffiti.

Messy. Overlapping. Old paint under new paint. Names scratched out. Symbols half-covered.

But one of them—

Her steps stopped completely.

Saul noticed immediately.

He turned his head. "Cherie?"

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

There it was.

Faded. But still there.

That symbol.

Her chest tightened.

Images hit her all at once.

Too fast.

The weight of the bat in her hands. Sticky. Heavy.

The rhinestones on her jacket, smeared dark. Not shining anymore.

Vivian’s voice—sharp, laughing, always pushing.

The kind of laughter that meant someone was about to get hurt.

Her fingers twitched at her side.

Her breathing shifted.

"Cherie."

Saul’s voice was closer now.

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The wall snapped back into just a wall.

The noise came back.

The people.

The movement.

"Laurent."

The voice came from her left.

Sharp. Direct.

She turned her head.

A soldier stood a few feet away, one hand raised slightly, motioning her forward.

Helmet. Vest. No expression.

"Keep moving."

Cherie nodded quickly.

"Yeah—yeah, sorry."

Her voice came out a little thinner than she wanted.

She stepped forward again.

Saul leaned in slightly as they walked.

"...you good?" he asked under his breath.

She nodded.

Too fast.

"Yeah."

He didn’t look convinced.

His eyes flicked to the wall she’d been staring at.

Then back to her.

"...you sure?"

"I said I’m good," she said, quieter this time.

Not sharp.

But enough.

Saul held her gaze for a second longer.

Then nodded once.

"Alright."

But he stayed closer now.

Closer than before.

And deep down in Cherie’s mind, her impression of this place had gotten a lot more crooked.