Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend

Chapter 230: Audience

"ADRIAN!"

Aubrey’s voice tore across the frozen landscape.

The wind swallowed it whole.

It carried the name into the white abyss before throwing nothing back.

"ADRIAN!"

Terri tried next.

Her hands cupped around her mouth, her voice cracking before the final syllable even left her lips.

Nothing.

Cherie called after that.

Then Naomi.

Even Isabella, who rarely wasted words, lifted her voice into the storm.

One after another.

One after another.

Each name disappeared into the blizzard as though the world itself refused to acknowledge it.

No answer ever came.

Snow drifted sideways in relentless sheets, reducing the world to shifting shades of white and gray. Every few seconds another gust rolled through, forcing everyone to narrow their eyes just to keep them open. Visibility stretched only a few yards before the storm swallowed everything beyond it.

The group had retraced every step they could remember.

Back to the depot.

Back to the road.

Back to the place where Hale had watched Adrian disappear with Lila in his arms.

When that accomplished nothing, they searched for the truck’s tire tracks.

The wind had erased them.

Then they searched for footprints.

Those were gone too.

Nature had buried every trace.

It was as if the storm itself had decided Adrian had never existed.

Aubrey felt another tear slip free.

The freezing wind caught it before it reached her jaw.

By the time she wiped it away with her sleeve, it had already begun to crystallize against her skin.

Her nose burned from the cold.

Her allergies had turned every breath into a miserable fight.

She sniffed hard.

Pointless.

The cold only made it worse.

She hated snow.

Always had.

She hated winter more than anything.

She hated the way wetness always found its way inside her boots no matter how careful she was.

She hated the ache that settled into her fingers until they no longer felt like fingers at all.

She hated the numbness creeping into her face.

The way the wind never stopped.

The way winter always made the world feel empty.

Today...

She hated it because somewhere inside all this white...

Adrian was alone.

Or worse.

The thought struck her so hard her legs simply gave out.

She dropped to her knees.

The snow barely cushioned the impact.

No one rushed to pick her up.

Terri noticed.

Cherie did too.

Naomi slowed.

Even Isabella looked over.

Nobody spoke.

There wasn’t anything to say.

Aubrey stared at the snow beneath her.

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

They disappeared into the white almost immediately.

Like they’d never been there.

Her gloved fingers slowly dug into the frozen ground beneath her.

The snow compressed between them.

She squeezed harder.

As though holding onto something.

Anything.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind.

Slow.

Measured.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

She didn’t have to look.

She already knew who it was.

Hale.

He stopped beside her.

For a moment he simply stood there, staring out into the blizzard with the same hollow expression he’d worn ever since they turned the truck around.

Eventually he lowered himself into a crouch.

His knees protested beneath the weight.

He reached out.

Rested one hand gently on her shoulder.

She hiccupped.

Her entire chest jerked with it.

Another sob threatened to escape.

She swallowed it.

Failed.

"I’m..."

Another hiccup.

"...such a fucking idiot."

Her voice barely carried over the wind.

She laughed once.

A broken, miserable sound.

"We should’ve..."

She shook her head violently.

"We should’ve just taken her in the truck too."

The words came out between uneven breaths.

"I should’ve made room."

Another breath.

"I should’ve argued harder."

"Aubrey..."

Hale spoke quietly.

She didn’t even look at him.

"We wouldn’t be in this fucking mess if I hadn’t just..."

Her voice collapsed.

"If I hadn’t..."

She couldn’t finish.

Hale closed his eyes for a brief second.

"You and I both know we couldn’t have taken her."

His voice remained steady.

Not cold.

Not comforting.

Just honest.

"We had no supplies to treat her."

No response.

"We would’ve lost time."

Nothing.

"If the infected reached us while everyone was trying to climb aboard..."

Still nothing.

"We could’ve lost everybody."

Aubrey kept crying.

Silent now.

Shoulders trembling.

Her face buried toward the snow.

Hale felt something twist painfully inside his chest.

He’d watched people grieve before.

Too many people.

He’d buried friends.

Family.

Soldiers.

Survivors.

None of that prepared him for this.

He wanted to tell her everything would be alright.

That Adrian would somehow walk back complaining about the cold.

That Lila would roll her eyes and call him dramatic.

He wanted to promise her those things.

He couldn’t.

Because he didn’t believe them himself.

His hand remained on her shoulder.

Awkwardly...

Almost uncertainly...

He pulled her closer.

For a second he thought she’d pull away.

Instead...

She leaned into him.

Like she’d been waiting for permission to fall apart.

He wrapped one arm around her.

Neither of them said anything.

The wind spoke enough for everyone.

Minutes slipped by.

No one interrupted them.

Terri quietly looked away.

Cherie stood with her rifle hanging loosely at her side, eyes scanning the endless white despite knowing there was almost nothing left to see.

Naomi continued searching the horizon out of habit more than hope.

Isabella stood watch over all of them.

Nobody wanted to be the first person to admit what they were all thinking.

Eventually...

Aubrey spoke.

"So..."

She swallowed.

"...do you think he’s dead?"

The question hit Hale harder than he expected.

His breathing stalled.

His eyes drifted toward the empty wilderness stretching endlessly before them.

If someone else had asked him...

If this had been years ago...

Back when he wore a uniform and decisions came easier...

His answer would’ve been immediate.

Now...

Images forced themselves into his mind.

Adrian disappearing into the snow with Lila barely conscious in his arms.

The amount of blood she’d lost.

The dropping temperature.

The infected behind them.

No shelter.

No food.

No backup.

No chance.

His own decision.

His own order.

He had sent that boy into hell.

Silence stretched between them.

He couldn’t lie to her.

Not now.

Not about this.

"It’s..."

His voice caught briefly.

"...a possibility."

No false hope.

No comforting story.

Just the truth.

Aubrey lowered her head again.

She nodded once.

Almost absentmindedly.

Then she whispered,

"We can’t leave Maine."

Hale looked at her.

"Not until I know."

Her voice steadied.

"I don’t care how long it takes."

She finally met his eyes.

"I need to know."

Not hope.

Not denial.

Proof.

Whether that meant finding Adrian alive...

Or finding what was left of him.

Hale understood immediately.

His mind began calculating before he could stop it.

Supplies.

Fuel.

Food.

Shelter.

The weather.

If Adrian had wandered...

They could spend days searching.

Weeks.

And every extra day out here brought them closer to starving.

Closer to freezing.

Closer to dying themselves.

Every practical instinct inside him screamed that it wasn’t possible.

Every human instinct refused to leave.

He looked back toward the endless white.

Then at Aubrey.

Then at the others waiting for an answer they hadn’t asked aloud.

Finally...

He nodded.

"Okay."

Just one word.

Nothing more.

Because there wasn’t anything more to say.

The wind continued to howl.

And somewhere beyond it...

Whether alive or dead...

Adrian remained unanswered.

—

I watched the heavy steel door swing shut.

A second later, the lock slammed into place with a metallic clunk that echoed through the room.

I didn’t flinch.

I just stared at it.

Cold.

Empty.

The room smelled like rust, human waste, and old blood that had been left to rot into the concrete. The air was damp enough to cling to the back of my throat every time I breathed, carrying with it that familiar infected smell I’d learned to recognize long before I ever understood what it was.

Decay.

Everywhere.

I slowly looked around.

The walls were stained in places where someone had clearly tried to scrub away blood but hadn’t quite managed it. Deep scratches carved through the concrete in uneven lines, some fresh, some old enough to have gathered dirt inside them.

This place wasn’t just occupied by infected.

It belonged to them.

That much was obvious.

Most infected enjoyed making people afraid.

The baseline ones did it because instinct told them to.

The intelligent ones did it because they understood what fear did to people.

It slowed them down.

Made them desperate.

Made them easier to control.

I hadn’t given them that satisfaction.

Not yet.

Not through Jennifer.

Not through the cannibals.

Not through the fanatics.

Not through murderers.

Not through the sick bastards who treated the apocalypse like permission to become monsters.

Every one of them had wanted something from me.

Fear.

Begging.

Submission.

I’d given them none of it.

Because somewhere along the line...

I’d stopped believing any of them stood above me.

Strip away the uniforms.

Strip away the speeches.

Strip away whatever excuse they hid behind.

We were all just people capable of terrible things.

I heard footsteps.

Callahan.

He walked toward me without rushing, his boots scraping softly against the stained concrete floor.

Behind him, standing near the edge of the room, was the man with the grey eyes.

He hadn’t moved since they’d shoved me inside.

Hands behind his back.

Perfect posture.

Watching.

Those eyes bothered me.

Every infected I’d met carried something behind their gaze.

Hunger.

Hatred.

Curiosity.

Some flicker of whatever the infection had amplified inside them.

His had none of it.

They were calm.

Almost clinical.

Like he wasn’t watching a prisoner.

He was studying one.

I didn’t like that.

Not one fucking bit.

My attention shifted back to Callahan.

"So..."

I broke the silence first.

"This your little clubhouse?"

I slowly turned my head, taking in the filthy room around us with deliberate exaggeration.

My lip curled.

"Really a step down from Texas, don’t you think?"

The reaction was immediate.

"You better shut the fuck up about Texas."

His voice cracked like a whip.

"If you know what’s good for you."

I studied him for a second.

The muscles around his jaw tightened.

His nostrils flared.

Just hearing the name got under his skin.

Interesting.

I let the silence breathe.

Then asked the question that had been sitting in my head since they’d captured me.

"So why am I not dead yet?"

Callahan snorted.

"Who says you ain’t gonna be soon?"

"Oh, please."

I leaned back against the wall.

"You think I don’t know how people like you work?"

He frowned.

I kept going.

"If this was about revenge..."

I nodded toward him.

"...I’d already be dead."

He didn’t answer.

"You’ve wanted to kill me for a long time."

I could still remember Texas.

Every threat.

Every look.

Every promise he’d made.

"You finally get me tied up, unarmed, completely surrounded..."

I shrugged.

"...and instead of putting a bullet in my head, you lock me in a room."

I shook my head slowly.

"That isn’t revenge."

His breathing became heavier.

"That’s restraint."

Still nothing.

"You don’t strike me as somebody with a whole lot of restraint."

A muscle jumped beneath his eye.

"You especially."

I looked him up and down.

"The infection made that pretty obvious."

He took one step closer.

I didn’t move.

"Revenge’s boring."

The words came out flatly.

"Surface-level."

I held his stare.

"The most satisfying thing an infected like you would’ve gotten..."

I tapped my own chest once.

"...would’ve been killing me the second you saw me."

Silence.

His hands slowly curled into fists.

The room seemed to shrink.

For several long seconds, nobody spoke.

Then I noticed movement.

The man with the grey eyes.

Only his expression changed.

Just slightly.

One eyebrow lowered.

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as they shifted from Callahan to me.

He hadn’t missed a word.

Neither had Callahan.

He let out a slow breath through his nose before finally speaking.

"You wanna know the truth?"

His voice had lost some of its edge.

"I don’t know."

He laughed once.

It sounded more annoyed than amused.

"I don’t know what the fuck’s so special about you."

He looked me dead in the eye.

"But apparently..."

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug.

"...to the boss lady..."

"...you are."

My brow furrowed.

Boss lady?

Callahan rolled his eyes.

"Don’t ask me."

"I ain’t the one makin’ decisions."

His irritation was obvious now.

"If it were up to me..."

He smiled.

"...we’d have settled this a long fuckin’ time ago."

He pointed toward the door.

"But it ain’t."

Another shrug.

"So..."

His grin returned.

"You’re gonna see her."

I held his gaze.

"And who’s ’her’?"

Callahan’s smile widened.

"You’ll find out soon enough."

The man with the grey eyes finally pushed himself away from the wall.

For the first time since I’d been brought into the room...

He moved.

Without a word, he walked toward the door.

The lock clicked.

He looked back at me once.

Still unreadable.

Then he spoke.

"Bring him."

It wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

Callahan nodded immediately.

"Yes, sir."