The army camp was buzzing with chaos. Soldiers, doctors, scientists—everyone worked in synchrony, battling a crisis they barely understood. Lena stood silently, her face pale from exhaustion, dirt streaking her cheeks, and dried blood along her sleeves. Her body was at the camp, but her mind… it had never left Ethan.
After the underground subway, after that moment, she had wandered through the broken city like a ghost until she reached the military camp. The gates had opened cautiously, weapons trained on her trembling figure. Tests were performed—blood samples, scans, observation—standard procedure to ensure she wasn't infected. She wasn't. Physically.
But inside, she was torn.
Days passed in the camp. Her eyes often gazed into the horizon, wondering if Ethan was still there… if he remembered anything… if he felt. No matter how many times she told herself he was gone, that the man she loved no longer existed, her heart refused to believe it.
Then one morning, soldiers dragged in a new captive.
A restrained zombie, growling, half-limping—his clothes barely clinging to his decaying form.
Lena's eyes widened.
Ethan.
He was weaker now, his skin a mix of ashen grey and faded blue, but those eyes—red-veined, tortured—held something familiar. Something human.
"No… no, it can't be…" Lena whispered, taking a step forward.
"Stay back!" a guard barked.
But she couldn't look away. She knew him. Even now, she could feel it. Ethan wasn't just a monster. Not to her.
They strapped him into a chair, injecting various fluids, monitoring his reaction. He screamed—a sound not quite human, but filled with pain. His body writhed, muscles convulsing. It was unbearable to watch.
Lena sobbed quietly in the corner of the tent, her fists clenched. She had to stop this.
That night, under the shroud of darkness and chaos of another outbreak, she made her move. Stealing a keycard, she snuck into the holding bay. The alarms hadn't gone off yet. She approached Ethan slowly, whispering his name.
"Ethan… it's me."
He didn't growl. He just… stared. His head tilted, confused. His body trembled.
With shaking hands, Lena released the restraints.
"Come on… please… we have to go."
As they slipped through the shadows, guards noticed too late. Ethan snapped—violently tearing through those who tried to stop them. Blood, screams, panic. But he never touched her. He moved in front of her like a shield, killing everyone else… but protecting her.
It was horrible. And she couldn't stop it.
But still… she chose him.
They ran. Through the wreckage of the world. Until they reached the one place that once felt like home: the lab.
Surprisingly, it was intact.
The steel doors creaked open, and Lena looked around. Shelves of supplies, untouched fridges, old machines humming faintly. There was enough food—human food—for her. But for Ethan?
He was starving.
Every day, Lena watched him fight his instincts. His hands clenched, jaw tensed, eyes red with hunger. He looked at her… not like prey… but like someone begging for help.
She tried everything. Every vial. Every old sample. Every theory they had once tested on rats, then on themselves. All of it. Nothing worked.
She scribbled notes feverishly, ran blood tests, retried formulas. Sometimes she'd cry. Other times she'd hold him. His cold skin pressed against her warm tears. She could feel him trying—not to hurt her.
And she loved him for that.
They slept together—she, on a cot; he, curled in a corner like a wounded dog, refusing to come closer.
In the quiet nights, Lena whispered stories of their old life.
"Remember the night we made ramen in the lab microwave?"
"Remember how you said my handwriting looked like alien language?"
"Remember… how we used to talk about retiring in a house by the lake?"
No answer. Just silence. And heavy breathing.
But one night, as she cried softly, she felt his cold hand brush hers.
That touch…
Even now.
Still his.
Still hers.
Still Yours.