Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend-Chapter 31: Sleeptalkers

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With tired eyes, I stared down at the crumpled note in my hand.

The paper was warm, like it hadn’t been sitting there long. Someone had clearly folded it with care instead of haste. I could still see the creases even as my fingers tightened around it, knuckles whitening.

I glanced over at Lila.

She was still asleep, chest rising and falling in slow, even motions. Dirty-blonde hair spilled messily across her face, lashes resting against her cheeks like nothing in the world could touch her. One arm was thrown over my side of the sleeping bag, fingers slack, trusting.

Anxiety crawled up the back of my neck, sharp and electric, as my eyes dropped back to the note.

The penmanship was vaguely familiar.

"You talk in your sleep, douchebag."

I frowned.

"If you really plan on leaving, dont bring her."

—A

Huh.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, nails dragging through my hair as if friction alone could knock the thought loose. The fuck...? Who was—?

The answer slid into place before I could finish the thought.

Oh.

My gaze drifted back to Lila, a knot forming in my chest. She shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent, her brow knitting for half a second before smoothing again. The note crackled softly as I crushed it in my fist, then tore it clean down the middle. Again. And again. Thin strips fluttered down onto the dirt like dead leaves.

I didn’t want a repeat of Terri again.

I exhaled through my nose and carefully shifted my weight, trying not to wake her as I pulled my boots on. I was halfway up when—

Her hand closed around my shirt.

Not tight.

Not frantic.

Just enough to stop me.

"...don’t leave me, please..."

The words slipped out of her in a broken whisper, fragile and raw in a way she never sounded when she was awake.

My chest ached.

I looked down at her, at the way her fingers curled into the fabric like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world. For a moment, I let my hand rest over hers, feeling the warmth of her skin, the steady beat of life beneath it.

"I’m right here," I murmured, even though she couldn’t hear me.

Slowly, I eased her grip loose and laid her hand back against the sleeping bag. She sighed softly, turning onto her side, peace settling back over her face like nothing had happened.

I stood there for a second longer, listening.

Still, I felt it.

I peeled the tent flap open just enough to slip through, the morning air hitting my face cold and sharp. As I stepped out, I glanced once more over my shoulder at Lila, before exhaling a shaky sigh.

The camp was already awake when I stepped out.

Movement everywhere. Too much for my senses. Bodies weaving between tents, voices overlapping, laughter bursting out sharp and sudden before dying just as fast. Smoke curled lazily through the air, carrying the sour-sweet stink of chemicals and burned weed. Near one of the rocks by the fire pit, a couple crouched low, heads bent together, snorting crushed pills off the stone like it was nothing more than dust.

I forced myself not to stare.

Not my problem.

After a few moments of walking, I saw Aubrey. My pulse quickened.

She was standing with Hale near the edge of the clearing, arms folded tight across her chest while he talked. My chest tightened before I could stop it. She turned her head—and our eyes met.

Just for a second.

The world slowed for just a moment.

I saw the way her jaw clenched, the flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.

She saw me looking.

I saw her looking.

Then—

I walked straight into someone.

Soft, but firm.

I stumbled back with a startled breath, my heel catching uneven ground as a hand came up instinctively to my head. My brain lagged half a second behind my body, exhaustion making everything feel tilted and wrong.

"Fuck— sorry.." I rasped.

Then I looked up.

It was Jane’s daughter, Isabella.

She stood there, seemingly unbothered, her expression carved into something smooth and unreadable. Her eyes burnt into mine like she could see right through me.

I froze, pulse quickening.

With that, she stepped forward.

I stepped back without thinking, nearly tripping over myself.

My heart kicked hard against my ribs as she closed the distance between us, slow and deliberate. Too close. My muscles tensed, every instinct screaming at me to brace, to duck, to react.

I shut my eyes.

Waited.

Nothing hit.

Instead, I felt her thumb brush the corner of my eye, wiping away a speck of dirt— or ash, or whatever had landed there. Her touch was cold, but steady.

It lingered just a second longer than necessary.

There was something unsettling about it. About how gentle it was. How unearned. And somehow—against my better judgment—it was... comforting.

I opened my eyes.

She was smiling now.

Small. Knowing.

My throat felt dry. I swallowed, forcing my lips into a weak, nervous smile in return, my pulse still hammering as she finally stepped back and melted into the movement of the camp like she’d never stopped me at all.

I stood there a moment longer, touching my face like something might still be there.

Strange.

I kept walking, rubbing a speck of grit from my other eye, still half-aware of the camp pressing in around me. Someone clipped my shoulder hard enough to knock the breath from my chest.

"Watch it, kid," he muttered as he passed.

I twisted around. "Watch yourself," I spat back.

He didn’t answer.

Fucking hippies.

Before my irritation could settle, a familiar shape cut through the moving bodies ahead of me. Broad shoulders. Slouched posture. That damn jacket.

Peter.

My pulse kicked up. I pushed through the crowd and fell into step beside him. He didn’t slow. Didn’t look at me. Just kept walking like he already knew I was there.

"You think about what I said last night?" I asked.

Silence.

Gravel crunched under our boots. Somewhere behind us, laughter spiked and died. Peter scratched at his goatee, eyes fixed forward.

"I did."

My stomach dropped.

"Well?" I pressed, the word coming out sharper than I meant.

He exhaled through his nose. "My answer’s no."

I actually slowed for half a second, disbelief stalling my feet before I forced myself to keep moving.

"No?" I echoed. "..why—?"

"Too risky."

That was it. Just two words. Flat. Final.

Heat crawled up my spine. My pace faltered, then picked back up, faster this time, anger bleeding into my stride.

"So what," I said, voice tight, "you’re just gonna stay tucked away in these woods until the infected stumble across you? That’s the plan? Sit and wait?"

I moved ahead of him, cutting slightly into his path. "Because that’s stupid. And you know it."

Peter stopped.

I took two more steps before realizing he wasn’t beside me anymore. I turned.

He was looking at me now. Really looking. Not angry. Not defensive.

Tired.

"You don’t get it, kid," he said. His voice was low, rough around the edges. "No matter how you dress it up, no matter what story you tell yourself— we’re all goners."

He gestured vaguely, toward the trees, the camp, the world beyond it.

"That trip you’re talkin’ about? All it does is get people killed quicker."

My jaw clenched. My fist tightened at my side.

Then he added, quieter, almost casual—

"Give up while you still can. There’s no hope for whoever you’re tryin’ to fix."

The words hit harder than I expected.

He rubbed his chin once, like the conversation was already over, then scoffed under his breath.

And with that, he turned and walked off, muttering something about me not knowing what I was getting into.

I stood there, fingers still curled, chest tight, the echo of his words settling in places I didn’t want to look at yet.

"Adrian."

A voice cut clean through my thoughts.

I turned.

Hale stood a few paces away, beard shadowed with ash and dust, a rifle slung easy over his shoulder like it was just another limb. He looked built for this place— for watch shifts, bad sleep and long silences. Almost as intimidating as my Dad.

"We’re checking the perimeter in a few minutes," he said. "See if there’s anything we should be worried about."

The way he said worried made my spine straighten.

"You should get ready."

For a second, I just stared at him. The camp noise dulled around us. For some reason, I was already inclined to say yes despite the pressure building in my chest.

Anticipation crept in, sharp and unwelcome, curling under my ribs like a spark finding dry grass. My hands flexed at my sides, already itching for movement.

I nodded.

Hale studied my face for a moment, like he was measuring something he didn’t plan to comment on. Then he turned and walked off, boots crunching against gravel.

I exhaled slowly and followed.