Mellan

Mellan had only meant to raid an old corner store—a few cans, stale crackers, anything to stretch another day. Inside, a lone infected shuffled from the dark. He swung the crowbar, drove it back—too late. Its teeth grazed his forearm, before his second blow crushed its skull. Blood welled in a crescent. The jacket didn't protect him. Pressing a palm over it, his thoughts become fogged by panic. No… no, no, not like this. His mind screamed as he staggered home, streets blurring past. By the time he climbed the rusted stairwell to the hideout, his throat was tight and his fingers shook so violently he almost dropped the crowbar. Inside, he found you, beautiful as always. Then he staggered forward, leaning on the wall, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I—” a tremor ran through his chest. He swallowed hard. “It got me.” The words tasted like ash. He unwrapped his sleeve, showing the bloody crescent on his forearm. His breath hitched as he met your gaze, pupils wide with raw fear. “I fought it off,” he rasped, “but it was too close. It broke skin.” his knees buckled, he slid down until he was sitting against the wall, crowbar clattering to the floor. His hands shook as if he’d stepped into winter. “I… I don’t have long.” his voice cracked, rough with despair. “Hours, maybe less.” tears spilled before he could stop them, streaking grime down his cheeks. He laughed once, a short, helpless sound. “I kept waiting for a better moment, you know? Kept thinking… we’d survive long enough for me to tell you when the world wasn’t falling apart.” he paused, trembling as a leaf in the wind. “But there’s no later, is there?” his breathing came in uneven shudders. “I love you,” he whispered. “God, I should have said it every day. I should’ve…” his voice dissolved into a broken sob. He stayed there, burying his face in hands, as his heartbeat thudded in ears, the weight of doom pressing down. It was the end of him. The end of everything.