Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend

Rain had come and gone sometime during the night.

The road still held it in shallow puddles, and every step I took sent thin ripples through muddy water. The sky above was gray in that dull way that made it hard to tell if morning had fully arrived or if the world was just tired.

My leg felt better.

Not healed.

Just numb enough to be useful.

That worried me more than pain would have.

I crouched near the shell of an abandoned sedan, wiping dirt from the edge of a road map spread across the hood. Detroit was behind us now. Windsor wasn’t far if the route was still clear and if the bridge crossings weren’t packed with bodies or people worse than bodies.

A lot of ifs.

Lila sat on the roof of the car, knees pulled up, chewing on something she’d scavenged from a gas station vending machine two towns back. Gum, maybe. Her boots tapped lightly against the glass.

She had been watching me for the last ten minutes.

I could feel it without looking.

"You keep staring holes in that map," she said. "Maybe Canada’ll appear faster."

"It’s not a magic trick."

"It could be."

I glanced up.

She smiled when our eyes met. Soft. Small. Almost shy.

That was the dangerous version of her lately.

Not the screaming one.

Not the knife one.

The gentle one.

Because the gentle one made me forget things.

"We need to cross smart," I said. "Main routes will be controlled or swarmed. Side routes are longer."

"You say that like I don’t love long walks with you."

I looked back down.

"We also need food."

"We have food."

"We have enough food to be irritated for two days."

She hopped off the car roof and landed beside me with a wet crunch of gravel. Then she leaned over the map, shoulder pressing lightly into mine.

"You’re warm," she murmured.

"...you’re awfully touchy."

"You’re still my boyfriend, you know."

Her cheek brushed my upper arm for half a second.

My brain stuttered.

Boyfriend.

Then she straightened.

I looked at her for a moment.

Then I cut my eyes from her. I decided not to press whatever that was.

I hated how much little things like that still got through my guard.

I circled a side road with my finger.

"This cuts north through an industrial strip. Less traffic. Maybe less infected."

"Maybe more murderers."

"Those too."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay. Then we kill the murderers first."

I looked at her.

She blinked once, innocent.

"What?"

A sound carried from somewhere beyond the trees.

Metal.

Then voices.

Low. Multiple.

My body tightened before my mind did.

Lila saw it instantly.

Her posture changed. Not dramatic. Just a subtle shift in balance, eyes sharpening, chin lifting slightly.

I folded the map and moved to the side of the sedan.

"Three," I whispered.

"Four," she whispered back.

Then they stepped through the trees.

Uniforms.

Not scavenger jackets. Not random militia. Real uniforms. Gray-green tactical outerwear with patches I didn’t recognize. Masks hanging from belts. Rifles carried properly. Formation spacing.

Soldiers.

I froze.

"You hear that..?" One said.

Another lifted a hand after a moment. "Movement by the vehicle. Show yourselves."

My eyes widened.

The uniforms looked official, structured, clean in a world that hadn’t been clean in years.

...Was Canada real?

Was there really still order somewhere north of here?

I crouched lower.

Lila was already behind the sedan, knife in hand.

I looked at her.

Her eyes were red.

Bright.

Alert.

Ready.

Shit.

I leaned close. "Get rid of it."

She frowned. "I don’t know how."

"Try."

"How??? I can’t just dig my freaking eyes out."

I ran both hands through my hair and exhaled hard through my nose.

Another voice called out.

"You have ten seconds to comply. Step into view with empty hands."

My heart slammed once.

If these people were real military, this might be the first actual chance at safety.

If they saw Lila—

I didn’t even finish the thought.

"Five seconds."

I stood up and stepped out from the sedan with my hands raised.

"Easy," I called. "Easy, man. Just me."

Four rifles turned fully toward me.

I kept my face tired. Harmless. The look of a man too beat down to be dangerous.

One soldier advanced two paces. Mid-thirties maybe. Eyes sharp but not cruel.

"Any others with you?"

I hesitated just enough to seem scared.

"No."

Lila would hate that.

"Name?"

"Adrian."

"Surname?"

"Carter."

"You bitten?"

"No."

"Injured?"

"Leg’s bad. That’s it."

He studied me.

Another soldier moved around the flank, trying to see behind the sedan. My pulse spiked.

"We’re conducting a screening," the lead soldier said.

"Screening?" I asked.

"Under Emergency Quarantine Order Seven, Dominion Continuity Act, all unauthorized entrants are subject to mandatory infection inspection, neurological response checks, and decontamination search. Refusal grants us legal right to detain or neutralize."

I went quiet.

My chest felt tight.

Neurological checks?

Decontamination?

They’d know something was wrong with Lila in seconds.

Maybe with me too.

Then I smiled.

Small. Nervous. Cooperative.

"I—I can do that. Just let me come to you guys."

"No. Stay right there," he said. "We’ll come to you. We don’t want you trying anything."

My eyes widened slightly.

Then settled.

No emotion. No panic.

But I was in deep shit.

If they got any closer, they’d see her.

And once they saw red eyes—

I swallowed.

I started calculating distances.

Lead soldier six feet.

Left flank eight.

Rear guard maybe twelve.

Mud depth shallow.

My leg fifty-fifty.

Chance of success ugly.

Chance of watching Lila get shot worse.

I closed my eyes once.

Then opened them.

Ready.

The lead soldier came forward slowly, rifle lowered but aimed enough. He reached out to pat me down.

His glove brushed my jacket.

Then everything exploded.

Lila lunged from behind the sedan like she’d been fired out of it.

Her knife punched into the side of the nearest soldier’s neck.

Hot blood sprayed across the car door.

He made a wet choking sound and dropped.

"Contact!" somebody screamed.

Gunfire cracked instantly.

I grabbed the lead soldier by his vest and yanked him into the line of fire. Two rounds hit him center mass. His body jerked in my hands.

I shoved him aside and tackled another before he could swing his rifle up.

We hit the mud hard.

He elbowed my jaw.

Stars burst in my vision.

I drove my thumb into his eye socket until he screamed and rolled.

More shots.

Lila laughed.

Actually laughed.

I looked up in time to see her slash one soldier’s hamstring, then leap onto his back as he collapsed. She wrapped an arm around his throat and whispered something in his ear before dragging the blade across it.

She looked thrilled.

Dopamine. Pure and sick.

Another soldier tried to retreat behind a tree.

Naomi wasn’t there.

No backup.

No clean angle.

Just me.

I grabbed the dropped rifle and fired twice.

One miss.

One hit to the chest.

He stumbled backward into brush.

The last soldier had enough sense to run for cover and radio something frantic.

Lila looked ready to chase him.

"Lila!" I barked.

She stopped mid-step and turned to me, cheeks flecked with blood.

"What?"

"Leave him!"

"But he’s getting away."

"We need to move."

She pouted.

Actually pouted.

Then walked back over bodies like she was stepping through puddles.

I stared at the dead soldier nearest me.

Real uniforms.

Real law.

Real structure.

And we’d just butchered it in under thirty seconds.

My stomach turned.

"What did we just do?" I muttered.

"We survived," Lila said brightly.

"That could’ve been help."

She tilted her head. "If help wanted to strip search me and shoot me when my eyes got cute?"

I looked away.

Somewhere in the trees, I heard engines.

More of them.

Reinforcements.

Lila heard it too.

Her smile widened.

"Ooooh. Round two?"

"No."

I snatched the map off the hood, grabbed her wrist, and pulled.

She let me.

Mostly because she liked being dragged by me.

We ran north through the wet trees while sirens began to rise behind us.

Canada was real.

And we’d just introduced ourselves the worst way possible.

—

Housing Unit C smelled like detergent, wet boots, and canned soup.

It was the cleanest place Cherie had slept in months.

That still didn’t make it feel safe.

Saul had claimed the chair by the window like an old man, boots kicked up on a crate, while Jackson sat cross-legged on the floor trying to fix a radio he definitely didn’t know how to fix.

"You’re making it worse," Saul said.

"I’m improving it."

"You took the back off and sighed at it."

"That’s step one."

Cherie laughed before she could stop herself.

Both men looked at her.

Jackson pointed dramatically.

"See? I’m morale."

"You’re noise," Saul said.

Cherie sat on the edge of the cot, smiling despite herself.

The room was small but warm. Blankets folded. Rations stacked. Real walls. A lock on the door.

It should’ve been enough to let her breathe.

Saul glanced over.

"You hungry?"

"Always."

He tossed her a ration bar.

She caught it one-handed.

"Show off," he muttered.

"You threw like a grandma."

"That was gentle."

"That was weak."

He smiled then.

Small and sideways.

It changed his whole face when he let himself do that.

Cherie noticed.

Probably too much.

Jackson groaned loudly.

"Can you two either kiss or argue properly? This in-between stuff is disgusting."

Cherie threw the ration bar at him.

He yelped.

Saul laughed outright this time.

Warm. Unexpected.

For one second, it almost felt like before.

Then Cherie’s eyes drifted to the window.

Movement outside.

People crossing the courtyard between units.

Workers. Families. Guards.

Then—

She stilled.

A face turned in profile.

Only for a second.

A woman moving through the crowd.

Dark coat.

Sharp posture.

And a pale strand of hair falling across her cheek.

Cherie’s smile vanished.

Her eyes narrowed.

No.

Then widened.

"No way..."

She stood so fast the cot legs scraped.

Saul looked up instantly.

"What?"

She was already grabbing his pistol off the crate.

"Cherie—"

She checked the chamber by instinct and headed for the door.

"Hey!"

Saul lunged up after her.

Jackson nearly dropped the radio.

"The hell is happening?"

Cherie yanked the door open and stepped into the corridor, eyes locked on the courtyard outside.

Saul chased after her.

"Cherie!"