Project Dakota: Rising of the dead
Outside, I could hear the faint, familiar sounds of the shelter at night—the low murmur of voices on watch, the scuff of a boot on concrete, the sigh of the wind against the barricades.
It was the sound of survival. It was messy, it was painful, and it was often ugly. But as I lay there, listening to Carlos’s steady breathing just beyond my door, I knew it was also woven through with threads of loyalty, of quiet understanding, of a love that was tougher and more resilient than any virus or any horde.
I closed my eyes. The blackness behind my lids was no longer a terrifying void, but a soft, welcoming blanket. I was weary. I was scarred. But I was not broken. And for now, in the silent, watch
Bab Populer