Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend

Chapter 233: No looking back

I stumbled forward as someone shoved me between the shoulder blades.

The push had enough force behind it that it should have sent me face-first into the frozen ground.

Instead, I planted my boots and caught myself before my knees could buckle.

Behind me, someone clicked their tongue.

"Atta boy," a familiar voice muttered.

I didn’t bother looking back.

I already knew whose voice it was.

The cuffs dug into my wrists as I straightened.

Cold air filled my lungs.

Illinois.

I was back in Illinois.

The realization settled over me slowly as my eyes drifted across the compound.

Grey skies.

Half-finished fencing.

Makeshift watchtowers.

The same weathered buildings.

The same smell of damp wood, smoke and old blood lingering beneath the winter air.

I don’t know how long that ride had been.

Fifteen hours.

Seventeen.

Maybe longer.

Time had become impossible to measure after the first few hours.

They’d chained me inside the back of a transport truck like cargo.

Every pothole had driven my shoulder into steel.

Every sharp turn had thrown me against the walls.

By the end of it, I couldn’t tell whether the ache in my ribs came from the crash, the restraints, or simply existing.

Lila had been loaded into another vehicle.

Separate.

Deliberately.

They never once allowed me to see her.

Not while we stopped.

Not while they refueled.

Not even when they switched drivers.

They knew exactly what they were doing.

Isolation.

Control.

Make sure neither of us knew whether the other was still alive.

I wouldn’t have asked about her anyway.

People like Callahan lived for reactions.

Questions gave people like him leverage.

Silence gave them nothing.

"Keep fucking walking."

Callahan’s voice came from somewhere behind my right shoulder.

Low.

Irritated.

Like escorting me had become a chore.

I ignored him.

There were more important things demanding my attention.

Something was different.

The moment we’d passed through the outer gates I’d noticed it.

More infected.

A lot more.

Not wandering.

Positioned.

Watching.

Entire groups stood along barricades and rooftops.

Others reinforced fencing or carried lumber toward unfinished structures.

The compound had been orderly before.

Now...

It felt busy.

Purposeful.

Like something had forced them to accelerate whatever they were building.

That wasn’t normal.

My mind immediately started working through possibilities.

More prisoners.

A larger migration.

Preparation for winter.

Or...

Something had scared them.

That possibility stayed with me longer than the others.

My eyes drifted across the yard again.

Then landed on her.

Reta.

She was leaning lazily against a stack of timber as though she’d been expecting me.

One shoulder rested against the wood.

One boot crossed over the other.

She wasn’t holding a weapon.

She didn’t need one.

The moment our eyes met, a slow smile spread across her face.

Not wide.

Not excited.

Satisfied.

Like she’d won something.

Then she winked.

A second later, she lifted two fingers to her lips and blew me a kiss.

My jaw tightened.

That stupid, mocking gesture dragged something ugly out of the back of my mind.

Jennifer.

The Crucible.

Texas.

People who smiled while taking everything from you.

People who enjoyed making survival personal.

I tore my eyes away before she could enjoy my reaction.

Then...

I saw Carl.

He stood near one of the work lines with a shovel resting against his shoulder.

For a second, I almost didn’t recognize him.

He looked thinner.

His clothes hung looser than I remembered.

Mud stained his knees.

Fresh cuts crossed both hands.

His beard had started growing unevenly.

The old Carl would’ve shaved the first chance he got.

This Carl looked like he’d stopped caring.

Not because he wanted to.

Because there wasn’t time.

A few yards away stood Adira.

The bruise across her forehead had turned deep purple.

Someone had wrapped a dirty strip of cloth around it.

Poorly.

Dried blood stained one side.

She noticed me almost immediately.

Her eyes widened.

Only slightly.

She knew better than to call out.

We just looked at each other.

For one brief second.

I wanted to tell her everything would be okay.

That I’d get them out.

That I’d figure something out.

My hands remained cuffed behind my back.

Even if they hadn’t been...

I wasn’t sure I believed those words myself.

Not anymore.

"Move."

Another shove landed between my shoulders.

I kept walking.

The workers watched in silence as I passed.

Some recognized me.

Others didn’t.

Nobody said a word.

Nobody wanted the attention.

The compound itself seemed quieter than before.

Not peaceful.

Restrained.

Like everyone here had learned that speaking at the wrong moment came with consequences.

Ahead of me stood a reinforced steel door built directly into the side of the largest building in the compound.

Two intelligent infected guards stood beside it.

Neither reached for the radios clipped to their belts.

That answered another question.

I’d spent the last several days wondering why Hale and the others hadn’t intercepted their communications.

Why every frequency had suddenly gone dead.

Why nobody was responding anymore.

Well...

Now I knew.

The radios weren’t broken.

They simply didn’t need them.

Whatever command structure existed here...

It operated face to face.

Controlled.

Contained.

Harder to intercept.

Honestly...

Out of every possibility I’d considered...

This one had probably been at the bottom of the list.

One of the guards pulled the heavy door open.

Warm air rolled out from the darkness beyond.

Callahan nudged me forward with the barrel of his rifle.

"In."

I looked into the hallway ahead.

Then stepped across the threshold.

—

The door shut behind me with a heavy metallic thud.

Then came the lock.

One click.

Another.

Final.

The sound echoed through the room longer than it should have.

I stood still.

Not because I was intimidated.

Because I wanted to understand where I’d been brought before I gave anyone the satisfaction of reacting.

The room wasn’t what I expected.

No operating tables.

No restraints bolted into the floor.

No walls lined with surgical equipment like the ones beneath Canada.

It looked...

Lived in.

Bookshelves stretched across one wall, filled with weathered books that somehow hadn’t rotted away with the rest of civilization. A cast-iron stove crackled quietly in the corner, filling the room with dry warmth that contrasted violently with the bitter cold outside. A kettle rested above the flame, quietly whistling to itself.

There were plants.

Actual plants.

Growing beneath carefully positioned lamps.

Some had begun to wilt.

Others looked healthy.

Whoever tended them knew what they were doing.

A wooden desk sat near a broad window overlooking the compound.

From here, I could see people moving below.

Workers.

Prisoners.

Converted infected.

They looked like ants.

Ordered.

Predictable.

Like pieces on somebody else’s board.

"Interesting."

The voice came gently.

Not loud.

Not commanding.

Simply...

Present.

I turned.

She stood near the window with one hand resting lightly against the frame.

She wasn’t physically imposing.

If I’d passed her before everything happened...

I probably wouldn’t have looked twice.

Dark hair.

Pale skin.

Simple clothing beneath a heavy coat.

No jewelry.

No obvious display of power.

Nothing about her appearance explained why hundreds of infected obeyed her without hesitation.

Except her eyes.

They were red.

Not violently.

Not glowing.

Controlled.

Steady.

Like a fire that had learned discipline.

For several seconds...

Neither of us spoke.

She simply observed me.

Not my face.

Everything.

The bruises around my wrists.

The dried blood on my sleeves.

The way I shifted my weight.

Even my breathing.

It didn’t feel like being looked at.

It felt like being studied.

"You’ve lost weight," she said.

I frowned.

"...What?"

"You were healthier the last time someone described you."

There wasn’t sympathy in her voice.

Just observation.

Matter-of-fact.

Like commenting on the weather.

"I expected as much."

She slowly walked toward the desk.

"I imagine surviving has become... expensive."

I didn’t answer.

She reached for the kettle.

Poured steaming water into two cups.

The smell of tea spread quietly through the room.

She slid one cup toward the empty chair opposite her.

"You won’t poison me," I said.

It wasn’t a question.

A faint smile crossed her face.

"No."

"You need me."

She looked up.

"I do."

I remained standing.

She took the first sip herself.

Only then did she speak again.

"I’ve been looking forward to meeting you."

"You’ve got a funny way of introducing yourself."

"I suppose I do."

She didn’t deny it.

That unsettled me more than if she had.

Most people defended themselves.

Explained themselves.

She simply accepted the accusation and moved on.

"You’ve been causing quite a bit of trouble."

I almost laughed.

"I’m not the one kidnapping people."

"No."

She nodded.

"You’re the one surviving it."

Silence settled again.

She didn’t rush to fill it.

Neither did I.

Eventually she folded her hands together.

"You’ve met Reta."

"Unfortunately."

"You’ve met Callahan."

I said nothing.

"And Huxley."

Again...

Nothing.

She tilted her head.

"You dislike all of them."

"Should I like them?"

"No."

She answered so quickly it almost caught me off guard.

"I wouldn’t."

That...

Wasn’t the response I expected.

She watched my expression change.

Only slightly.

"I don’t require you to agree with the people around me."

"I require honesty."

I laughed once.

"You’ve built an empire out of infected cannibals."

"You don’t get honesty."

"I think you’ll find I’ve built it out of frightened people."

She looked out the window.

"They simply happened to be infected."

"My prisoners feared starvation."

"They feared winter."

"They feared abandonment."

"They feared watching their children die."

She looked back at me.

"I merely offered them something they couldn’t find anywhere else."

"You offered them infection."

"I offered certainty."

The words landed heavier than I wanted them to.

She wasn’t trying to sound persuasive.

She believed every syllable.

That made her dangerous.

"I watched your debate."

She nodded once.

"I know."

"You manipulated every answer."

"No."

"I organized every answer."

I leaned forward slightly.

"Same thing."

"I disagree."

She met my eyes without blinking.

"If truth can be manipulated simply by placing facts beside one another..."

"...perhaps the truth was unstable to begin with."

I stared at her.

She stared back.

There wasn’t hatred there.

No malice.

No visible insanity.

That was somehow worse.

She looked like someone discussing philosophy over dinner.

Not the woman responsible for everything happening outside.

"You’ve convinced yourself you’re saving people."

"I know I am."

"You infect children."

"I save children."

"They scream."

"They survive."

"They stop fearing."

"They stop starving."

"They stop being hunted."

She leaned back.

"You see infection."

"I see adaptation."

"You see loss."

"I see continuity."

She paused.

"Tell me honestly, Adrian."

"When was the last time you slept through an entire night without waking because you thought someone was outside?"

I didn’t answer.

"When was the last time you ate until you were full?"

Silence.

"When was the last time you looked at someone you loved..."

"...without wondering if tomorrow would be the day you buried them?"

Something inside my chest tightened.

Images came anyway.

Jennifer.

Chicago.

Texas.

Lila bleeding into the snow.

Aubrey crying.

Carl.

Everyone.

She noticed it.

Not the memories.

The hesitation.

She didn’t smile.

Didn’t celebrate it.

She simply nodded.

"You don’t have to answer."

"You already did."

For the first time since entering the room...

I understood why people followed her.

Not because she was loud.

Not because she inspired fear.

Because she had learned something far more dangerous.

She never argued against the pain people carried.

She simply offered them somewhere else to place it.