Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend

Chapter 201: Wandering

Lila wandered through the streets like a ghost.

Around her, the borough was dying.

Not metaphorically. Not slowly.

Dying.

Gunshots cracked somewhere in the distance.

People screamed.

Some screamed in terror.

Others screamed in delight.

The infected had spread farther than anyone could have imagined.

Entire blocks had become slaughterhouses.

A woman was dragged into an alley by three infected men, their laughter echoing off the buildings. A soldier fired wildly into a crowd after mistaking a civilian for one of the infected. Somewhere farther down the street, flames licked up the side of a storefront while terrified people scattered into the night.

Lila paid none of it any attention.

She walked through the chaos as though it belonged to someone else.

As though she were merely passing through.

An observer.

A spectator.

The infected surrounding her seemed to recognize something in her. They never bothered her. Never approached her. Never even looked her way for long.

Perhaps they sensed it. The sickness.

The thing festering beneath her skin.

The thing that had long ago dug its roots into her mind.

Everything had gone to shit so quickly.

Just like Englewood.

The memory surfaced briefly before disappearing again.

A neighborhood consumed by blood.

People running.

People dying.

Promises breaking apart.

Funny how history always found a way to repeat itself.

A terrified civilian sprinted across the street.

An infected tackled him.

Both vanished behind an overturned vehicle.

The screams that followed were short.

Lila never turned her head.

She didn’t care.

No.

That wasn’t entirely true.

Indifference was something that implied effort.

It implied a conscious decision not to care.

What she felt was emptier than that.

Way emptier.

The infection did strange things to people.

For most people, it amplified rage.

For others, cruelty.

Sadism.

Violence.

Every hidden impulse suddenly gained permission to exist.

The darkest parts of a person stepped forward and introduced themselves.

Murder.

Torture.

Control.

Lust.

Some infected embraced those urges immediately.

Others fought them.

Most lost.

Lila’s case had always been different.

Her obsession had simply become impossible to ignore.

Even now, with the borough collapsing around her, there was only one thought occupying space inside her head.

Adrian.

The name drifted through her thoughts like a prayer.

Adrian.

Her footsteps continued.

Adrian.

A soft smile touched her lips.

"Where are you, sweetie?"

Her voice carried gently into the night.

It sounded strangely innocent.

Like she was a girlfriend searching for her boyfriend in a crowded park.

Like someone playing hide-and-seek with someone they were familiar with.

Not like an addict searching desperately for the thing she couldn’t live without.

Nobody answered, obviously.

Hell— nobody even looked at her.

The living were too busy running.

The infected were too busy indulging themselves.

Lila lowered her gaze.

"I’ve missed you so much, baby."

The words were barely audible.

A confession made to nobody.

Her fingers tightened slightly.

"You don’t know how much."

She imagined finding him.

Imagined seeing his face again.

Imagined wrapping her arms around him.

Keeping him safe.

Keeping him close.

The image soothed her.

For a moment.

Then guilt returned.

Sharp.

Persistent.

"I should’ve protected you."

The words came easier now.

The infection always made honesty easier.

"I should’ve known."

Her eyes remained fixed ahead.

"I should’ve seen what they were doing."

The people that had used him.

Manipulated him.

Dragged him from one nightmare into another.

And she’d allowed it. Every single one of it. From Chicago, all the way to Texas, all the way to here.

The realization still disgusted her.

A woman stumbled into her shoulder while fleeing down the street.

Lila barely reacted.

The woman apologized frantically before continuing.

Lila kept walking.

"I was so naive."

A laugh escaped her.

Soft.

Almost embarrassed.

"I really thought other people wanted what was best for you."

A pause.

"They never did."

The smile returned.

Small.

Gentle.

"When I find you again..."

Her eyes drifted upward.

"...you’ll never leave my sight."

The conviction in her voice was absolute.

Not angry.

Not threatening.

Certain.

"Never."

A man suddenly collided with her at full speed.

The impact knocked her flat onto the pavement.

He never even stopped.

He simply scrambled back to his feet and kept running.

Lila remained there for several seconds.

Face blank.

Hair hanging over her eyes.

Then she stood.

Brushed herself off.

And continued walking.

Like nothing had happened.

—

Cherie walked alone.

The city felt different tonight.

Not because of the violence.

Violence had become normal months ago.

What felt different was the uncertainty.

Nobody knew what was happening anymore.

Nobody seemed to have answers.

Groups of soldiers hurried past her carrying rifles.

Their expressions were tight.

Focused.

One nearly bumped into her.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t even notice.

Whatever orders they were receiving clearly mattered more.

Cherie watched them disappear around a corner.

Then continued walking.

Cold air filled her lungs.

The temperature had dropped considerably since sunset.

Every breath left a faint cloud hanging in front of her face.

Usually she enjoyed the cold.

Tonight it just made her feel alone.

Her hands slid deeper into her pockets.

The streets stretched endlessly ahead.

And despite all the noise surrounding her...

Her thoughts kept circling back to the same place.

Should she have stayed?

Should she have gone with Saul and Jackson?

Should she have followed Adrian and Naomi?

Every choice she’d made recently seemed wrong.

Every path she’d chosen seemed to end badly.

The memory surfaced before she could stop it.

Adrian’s face.

His voice.

The disappointment.

The anger.

"I wish Vivian killed you that night."

The words struck just as hard now as they had then.

Her breathing faltered.

Cherie immediately looked away from nothing in particular.

As though physically turning could somehow escape the memory.

It didn’t work.

Of course it didn’t.

Her eyes began burning.

She quickly wiped them.

Annoyed.

Frustrated.

Embarrassed.

God.

What was wrong with her lately?

She wasn’t supposed to be crying.

She never cried.

Not before the world ended.

Not afterward.

People died.

People suffered.

People moved on.

That was how survival worked.

At least that was what she’d always told herself.

Yet lately...

Everything hurt.

Everything.

A laugh.

A memory.

A conversation.

A mistake.

All of it seemed capable of reducing her to pieces.

Maybe the dam was finally breaking.

Maybe she’d spent so much time pretending to be stronger than she actually was that she no longer knew where the act ended.

The rhinestone letterman jacket.

The blue streak in her hair.

The studded bat hanging from her side.

The attitude.

The sarcasm.

The confidence.

Maybe it had always been armor.

Maybe underneath it all she was just scared.

The thought made her stomach twist.

Suddenly bile surged into her throat.

Cherie doubled over.

Violently.

The contents of her stomach splattered onto the pavement.

Several nearby pedestrians recoiled immediately.

"What the hell?!"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Watch where you’re doing that!"

Embarrassment flooded her face.

She wiped her mouth.

Muttered an apology.

Nobody cared.

They continued walking.

Cherie remained there for a moment.

Breathing heavily.

Confused.

What was wrong with her?

Seriously.

What was wrong?

—

A few minutes later she found herself standing outside the local infirmary.

The familiar building looked busier than usual.

People moved in and out constantly.

Some injured.

Some carrying supplies.

Some simply looking terrified.

Cherie stared at the entrance.

Then sighed.

Jackson.

That was why she was here.

Again.

Maybe it was pointless.

Maybe it was stupid.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way things had ended.

The argument.

The distance.

The damage.

If there was even the slightest chance of fixing things...

She wanted to try.

The doors opened.

She stepped inside.

The smell of disinfectant immediately greeted her.

Rows of patients occupied makeshift treatment areas.

Doctors hurried between beds.

Machines beeped rhythmically.

Cherie checked each treatment stall as she walked.

Not there.

Not there either.

A teenager with a broken arm.

An elderly man receiving stitches.

A woman asleep beneath several blankets.

No Jackson.

Her frustration grew with every step.

Then she heard a voice.

A familiar one.

She froze.

The sound came from farther down the hallway.

Quiet.

Barely audible.

But recognizable.

Immediately.

Cherie’s heart skipped.

Without thinking she started walking.

Past occupied rooms.

Past exhausted nurses.

Past anxious family members.

Until she finally reached the source.

Then stopped.

Hale sat beside a hospital bed.

His shoulders looked heavier than usual.

He looked like he aged a couple years since the last time she’d seen him. His beard was thicker— grey hairs finding their way along the seems.

More tired.

Beside him sat Isabella.

The sight alone made Cherie’s eyes widen.

But it wasn’t them that held her attention.

It was Naomi.

Bandages wrapped around her head.

Machines quietly monitoring her condition.

For a moment nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

The only sound was the soft electronic beeping beside Naomi’s bed.

Hale looked up first.

Then Isabella.

Recognition flashed across her face immediately.

Her eyes widened.

"...is that Cherie?"

The room went silent.

And suddenly Cherie wasn’t sure what to do next.