Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend

Chapter 235: Are you there?

The truck refused to start.

Again.

The engine coughed once.

Twice.

Then died.

Nobody swore anymore.

Nobody sighed.

It had happened enough times over the last two days that frustration had slowly been replaced by expectation.

Naomi sat behind the wheel with one hand resting on the ignition.

She closed her eyes.

Turned the key again.

The starter whined weakly before finally catching.

The engine shuddered to life with an uneven growl.

Nobody celebrated.

Naomi simply rested both hands on the steering wheel for another second before checking the fuel gauge.

Again.

It hadn’t moved.

She knew it hadn’t moved.

She checked anyway.

Just under a quarter of a tank.

Still.

Her thumb rubbed absentmindedly across the cracked plastic covering the gauge before she shifted into gear.

Outside, gray clouds hung low enough to swallow the horizon.

Wind pushed loose snow across the abandoned road in thin white sheets that looked almost like smoke.

Nobody spoke.

The silence inside the truck had become its own passenger.

Hale sat in the front seat with his rifle resting upright between his knees.

His eyes never stopped moving.

Road.

Tree line.

Mirror.

Road again.

Every few seconds they drifted toward the empty seat behind him.

Then away again.

Isabella noticed.

She didn’t say anything.

She simply looked out her own window.

Cherie sat in the very back with both arms folded tightly across her chest.

Every minute or so she turned to look through the rear window.

Nothing.

Just the road they’d already traveled.

Still...

She kept checking.

Like she expected someone to appear.

Or maybe she was hoping someone wouldn’t.

Aubrey hadn’t looked out a window once.

She sat with Adrian’s jacket folded tightly in her lap.

Her fingers unconsciously smoothed wrinkles that weren’t there anymore.

She’d done it so many times the fabric had begun holding the shape of her hands.

Every now and then her thumb brushed over a tear in one of the sleeves.

She remembered exactly where it came from.

Chicago.

He’d laughed when it happened.

Said she’d looked more concerned about the jacket than him.

The memory almost made her smile.

Almost.

Instead her throat tightened.

"He’ll find us."

Nobody answered.

Her voice hadn’t been loud.

It hadn’t needed to be.

The words lingered inside the truck.

Naomi’s fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

Hale looked out the windshield.

Cherie lowered her eyes.

Even Terri, usually incapable of sitting quietly for more than five minutes, simply stared at the floor between her boots.

Aubrey looked from one face to another.

"I said..."

Her voice cracked.

"...he’ll find us."

Hale inhaled slowly through his nose.

"...Maybe."

She looked at him immediately.

"What do you mean maybe?"

Hale didn’t answer right away.

He chose his words carefully.

"He always found a way."

Aubrey nodded immediately.

"Exactly."

Another silence.

"...But," Hale continued quietly, "we still have to prepare ourselves."

She stared at him.

"For what?"

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

Aubrey looked away before anyone could meet her eyes.

The jacket found its way back against her chest.

She hugged it tighter.

Nobody tried stopping her.

The truck rolled into what used to be a neighborhood.

Half the houses had collapsed beneath years of neglect.

The others had simply been emptied.

Doors hung open.

Curtains drifted lazily through broken windows.

An old bicycle lay rusting beneath a mailbox.

Naomi killed the engine.

"Same drill."

Nobody needed instructions.

They spread out automatically.

Pairs.

Angles.

Lines of sight.

Muscle memory.

Hale took the first house.

Cherie crossed toward the one opposite him.

Terri and Isabella disappeared around the back of another.

Naomi stayed near the truck.

Habit.

Aubrey wandered almost absentmindedly toward a small blue house at the end of the street.

The front door stood halfway open.

She pushed it gently.

The hinges groaned.

Dust coated everything.

Family photographs still hung crooked on one wall.

A child’s drawing remained taped to the refrigerator.

She didn’t look at it for long.

She already knew what she’d find.

Empty cupboards.

Empty drawers.

Empty shelves.

She opened every cabinet anyway.

Nothing.

The pantry.

Nothing.

Even the canned food had been taken.

She closed the final cupboard.

"...Please."

The whisper escaped before she realized she’d spoken.

"I just need one thing."

Her voice disappeared into the empty house.

No answer.

She stepped into the living room.

The couch cushions had been ripped apart.

Fireplace cleaned out.

Nothing.

Then—

She stopped.

Ash.

Her eyes narrowed.

Someone had cleaned the fireplace recently.

Not months ago.

Recently.

She crouched.

Touched the ash.

Warm.

Not hot.

Warm.

Her heartbeat immediately quickened.

Outside.

"Hale."

No answer.

She stepped back onto the porch.

"Hale."

Louder.

He appeared almost instantly from across the street, rifle already raised.

"What?"

She simply pointed.

He crossed the road without another question.

The moment he touched the ashes...

His expression changed.

Not infected.

People.

Recent.

Very recent.

He stood slowly.

Without speaking, he scanned the street.

Windows.

Roofs.

Tree line.

Nothing.

Still...

Every instinct he had began screaming.

Someone was here.

Or worse—

Someone was close enough that the fire hadn’t finished cooling.

He slowly lifted one closed fist into the air.

The signal traveled instantly.

Naomi raised her rifle.

Terri froze mid-step.

Isabella disappeared behind an abandoned pickup.

Cherie emerged from another house with her pistol already drawn.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody needed to.

Every weapon found a direction.

Every breath became quieter.

The entire neighborhood suddenly felt occupied.

Not by infected.

By eyes.

Watching.

Waiting.

And somewhere...

Someone else’s campfire continued giving off the last of its warmth.

—

Hale crouched beside the fireplace for one second longer.

Not because he needed another look.

Because he needed to be certain.

He pinched a bit of ash between two gloved fingers.

Dry.

Recently disturbed.

A thin strip of charred pine still held a dull orange ember beneath the black.

Fresh.

Too fresh.

He let it fall.

Then stood.

His rifle came up without hurry.

Without panic.

That was what unsettled Naomi the most.

Hale only moved that carefully when he thought somebody dangerous was close.

The neighborhood seemed to stop breathing.

Wind whispered through skeletal trees.

Loose shutters knocked softly against old siding.

Nothing else.

No infected snarling.

No crows.

No footsteps.

Just silence.

The kind that made every little sound feel intentional.

Hale slowly swept his gaze across the houses.

"Whoever made this fire..." he said quietly.

"They’re disciplined."

Terri frowned.

"You can tell that from ash?"

"The fireplace was cleaned before they lit another one."

He pointed.

"Wood stacked by size."

Another point.

"Small pieces first. Bigger ones after."

His eyes drifted toward the front window.

"They didn’t break in either."

Everyone followed his gaze.

The lock.

Still intact.

Naomi’s stomach tightened.

"They had a key?"

"No."

Hale shook his head once.

"They knew how to get in without breaking anything."

Nobody liked that answer.

Because people who moved that quietly usually survived by making sure nobody else did.

Cherie slowly crossed the street until she stood beside Hale.

She never took her eyes off the neighboring houses.

"Raiders?"

"Maybe."

"Military?"

"Maybe."

"Bill?"

That made Hale pause.

Only for a second.

"...Maybe."

Aubrey looked up.

Hope flickered across her face before she crushed it herself.

She hated herself for still doing that.

For hearing Bill’s name and immediately wondering if Adrian had somehow crossed paths with them first.

Naomi spoke without looking away from the rooftops.

"If it’s Bill..."

She left the sentence unfinished.

Nobody needed her to finish it.

Everyone remembered.

Every encounter with Bill had ended with someone bleeding.

Usually more than one.

Hale slowly motioned with two fingers.

"Search."

"Quiet."

Nobody argued.

They spread again.

This time nobody wandered.

Every step was deliberate.

Every doorway was treated like it had a rifle behind it.

Aubrey entered the neighboring house.

The smell hit her first.

Coffee.

Old.

Weak.

But unmistakable.

Her pulse jumped.

She moved toward the kitchen.

A mug.

Still sitting beside the sink.

She touched it.

Cold.

But not dusty.

Someone had washed it recently.

She opened another cupboard.

Empty.

Another.

Empty.

Then...

A chair scraped somewhere upstairs.

She froze.

Every muscle in her body locked.

Slowly...

Very slowly...

She reached for her knife.

The sound didn’t come again.

Only wind.

She waited anyway.

Nearly thirty seconds.

Nothing.

"...Hello?"

Silence.

She immediately regretted speaking.

Idiot.

She swallowed hard.

Then backed toward the hallway.

Outside...

Terri crouched behind a pickup truck.

She hated searching houses.

Too many corners.

Too many places for things to jump out.

She much preferred enemies she could actually see.

She glanced beneath the truck.

Nothing.

Then she noticed something caught beneath one of the tires.

A cigarette butt.

Recently extinguished.

She picked it up.

Still smelled fresh.

"...Hale."

Her voice barely carried.

He appeared from around the truck almost immediately.

She handed it over.

He stared at it.

Then looked toward the road leading north.

"They left in a hurry."

Naomi frowned.

"How can you tell?"

"They finished the fire."

He lifted the cigarette.

"But they didn’t finish this."

Cherie’s eyes narrowed.

"They heard something."

"Or someone."

Nobody liked either possibility.

Aubrey stepped back outside.

"I heard something upstairs."

Immediately every weapon turned toward the house.

Hale didn’t hesitate.

"I’m going."

"I’m coming," Naomi answered.

"No."

He shook his head.

"If someone’s waiting, I only want one target."

She didn’t like that.

At all.

But she nodded.

Hale entered alone.

Every floorboard seemed louder than it should’ve been.

His breathing remained slow.

Measured.

One room.

Empty.

Second room.

Empty.

Third—

He stopped.

The bedroom window stood open.

Curtains drifted inward.

Snow had begun collecting on the floor.

Someone had left this way.

Recently.

He approached carefully.

Outside...

Boot prints.

Not one person.

Several.

Heading toward the woods.

He crouched beside them.

One print.

Large.

Military boot.

Another.

Smaller.

Lighter.

A third.

He frowned.

"Five."

Naomi called from downstairs.

"What?"

"Five people."

He looked farther ahead.

The tracks disappeared into the trees.

Not because of the wind.

Because whoever made them had intentionally stepped across rocks once they reached the forest.

His jaw tightened.

Professionals.

Or people taught by professionals.

He stood.

Something on the dresser caught his eye.

A folded piece of paper.

No writing.

Just...

A charcoal sketch.

A deer.

Half-finished.

The pencil still rested beside it.

Like whoever had drawn it fully intended to come back.

But never did.

Hale stared at it longer than he expected.

Not because of the drawing.

Because it reminded him that whoever had been here...

Had been living.

Not merely surviving.

Someone had laughed in this house.

Cooked.

Drank coffee.

Drew pictures.

Then left with enough urgency to abandon all of it.

He folded the paper once and slipped it into his pocket.

Outside, the wind picked up.

Cherie instinctively looked toward the tree line again.

"...Movement."

Everyone froze.

"Where?"

"Nine o’clock."

Weapons rose.

Branches shifted.

Snow fell.

Nothing emerged.

Terri whispered, "I don’t see—"

A single whistle echoed through the woods.

Short.

Sharp.

Deliberate.

Not a bird.

Human.

Every hair on Hale’s neck stood.

A response came almost immediately.

Farther east.

Another whistle.

Different pitch.

Then another.

West.

The neighborhood had suddenly become surrounded by sounds that carried just enough intelligence to make everyone’s blood run cold.

Naomi whispered, "They’re talking."

Nobody answered.

Because they all knew.

Someone was close enough to watch them.

Close enough to communicate.

Close enough...

Not to be seen.

Hale slowly backed toward the truck without taking his eyes off the trees.

"Nobody fires."

Terri blinked.

"What?"

"If they wanted us dead..."

He kept scanning.

"...we already would be."

The whistles stopped.

Silence settled again.

He hated it even more now.

Because silence after communication meant only one thing.

A decision had been made.

Somewhere beyond the trees...

Someone was watching Hale’s group.

And deciding what to do with them.