Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend-Chapter 32: Reality hits hard like fuck

Our boots crunched softly over dead leaves, the sound too loud in the quiet woods. Every step felt like an announcement. Like we were daring something to notice us.

Aubrey walked beside me, a few paces behind Hale and the other two from camp.

The space between us was thick. Heavy. We didn’t look at each other. Not once. My eyes stayed forward, tracking the sway of branches, the gaps between trees. Hers stayed fixed somewhere else— anywhere but me.

The forest smelled damp and old. Rot and pine and something faintly metallic beneath it all. My fingers flexed around the rifle strap, nerves buzzing just under my skin.

Silence stretched.

Too long.

I broke it first.

"So..."

The word came out rougher than I meant. I shifted the rifle higher on my shoulder, leather creaking softly. "That note, huh?" 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

She didn’t respond.

I swallowed and pushed on. "What did you mean by it?"

Her steps slowed. Then stopped.

I stopped too.

When she finally turned to face me, the look in her eyes hit harder than any shout could’ve. The softness I’d seen earlier— by the tents, in passing glances— was gone. Replaced with something sharper. Guarded.

"You really don’t know?"

Pressure built in my chest, tight and suffocating. I opened my mouth, unsure what I was even about to say—

"Adrian. Aubrey."

Hale’s voice cut clean through the moment.

"Come look at this."

We both turned toward him at the same time. The spell shattered, but the tension didn’t fade— it just redirected, coiling low in my gut.

Hale was crouched near a cluster of trees, the other two standing stiff behind him. One of them had their rifle half-raised, eyes scanning the treeline.

I moved first, boots sinking into soft earth as I approached.

Whatever Hale had found, the way his shoulders were set—rigid, alert—told me this wasn’t nothing.

We saw them before we heard them.

A tight knot of bodies hunched in the clearing ahead, backs rising and falling in jerky, animal motions. Wet sounds carried through the trees—tearing, chewing, something splitting under pressure.

My stomach sank.

They were eating one of their own.

Flesh peeled back in ugly strips. Blood sprayed in quick, chaotic bursts, splattering leaves and bark. Red eyes flashed between slick movements, feral and unfocused, jaws working like they didn’t know how to stop. Whatever humanity they’d had was long gone—replaced with hunger so deep it didn’t care where the meat came from.

...why?

My jaw clenched. My expression hardened without me realizing it.

Beside me, one of the camp members stiffened. A hand flew up to their mouth, knuckles whitening as they gagged silently, shoulders shaking as they fought the urge to vomit.

"That’s some messed up shit, man..."

someone breathed, barely louder than the wind.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t breathe.

I held my breath and stayed perfectly still, every muscle locked, every sense screaming. The rifle felt heavier in my hands. The woods felt closer.

A low, trembling whisper cut through the quiet.

"You think there’s any more of them around here?"

The question drifted toward Hale.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t even move.

His eyes were fixed past the feeding infected, scanning the treeline with slow, deliberate precision. His jaw tightened just slightly, the only sign that he’d heard the question at all.

"What do we do, Adrian?"

The whisper barely reached me. It sounded far away, like it came through water.

I sucked in a breath, lungs burning as I tried to form an answer that didn’t exist—

A sharp, muffled scream cut through the trees.

I spun.

My heart dropped straight through my chest.

A man stood behind us where there hadn’t been one a second ago. Red eyes blown wide. Veins spiderwebbing up his neck and across his temples like cracks in glass. His arm was locked around Aubrey’s shoulders, hauling her back against his chest.

A knife gleamed inches from her throat.

Her mouth was covered by his hand, fingers digging into her face. Tears spilled over, streaking down as she shook, breath hitching in short, panicked bursts she couldn’t get out.

The world narrowed.

His giggle spilled out raw and broken— too loud, too pleased.

"I haven’t had a fucking woman in years..."

The knife pressed closer.

A thin line of blood bloomed against her skin.

"I’ve hit the jackpot with this one," he muttered, breath hot against her ear. "She’s real fuckin’ cute."

My hands started shaking.

The rifle felt wrong in my grip— too heavy, too light, useless. My finger hovered near the trigger, my vision tunneling, brain screaming don’t miss don’t miss don’t miss—

Before I could even raise it—

The rifle was gone.

A gunshot cracked the air apart.

The infected man’s head snapped back as the bullet tore clean through his forehead, passing so close to Aubrey it whistled. His grip went slack instantly. Blood sprayed. His body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Birds exploded from the trees in a violent rush of wings and noise.

Aubrey dropped with him, choking as she hit the ground, coughing hard, dragging in air like she’d been drowning. A sob tore out of her, raw and broken, her hands clawing at her throat as she curled in on herself.

I stood there, frozen.

I realized distantly that I hadn’t breathed.

Hale shoved the rifle back into my hands, his grip firm, grounding. His face was dark— set in something cold and furious. I almost shuddered.

"Don’t be so slow to act, or the people around you will die."

His voice was low. My chest finally heaved as I sucked in air, hands still trembling as I tightened my grip.

My heart sank as I took in his words, giving a shaky nod.

I looked down at Aubrey.

Alive.

Barely.

Yet, I had no time to even ask if she was okay.

Every infected head snapped in our direction at once upon hearing the gunshot.

Not slowly. Not searching.

Jerking. Violent. Red eyes peeling away from the body they’d been tearing into, mouths slick and working like they were already tasting us. A low, broken sound rippled through them— half snarl, half anticipation.

My stomach dropped.

"We need to move— now."

A voice muttered.

We crouched instinctively, sinking into the brush as branches scraped against our shoulders. My pulse roared so loud I was convinced it would give us away.

One of them twitched.

Another lifted its head higher, nostrils flaring.

Too close.

I reached for Aubrey without thinking. My fingers closed around her hand— cold, trembling— and I pulled, guiding her back, step by careful step, letting the undergrowth swallow us again.

She didn’t argue or hesitate.

None of us did.

Going forward was suicide. Hale knew it. I knew it. We all knew it. Whatever answers we were looking for out here weren’t worth the blood it would cost.

So we turned back.

The woods stretched longer on the return. Every snapped twig sounded like a gunshot. Every shadow felt wrong. Thirty minutes of wrong turns, doubled-back paths, and nerves pulled so tight they burned.

When the camp finally came into view, my legs nearly gave out.

We stumbled through the tree line like ghosts.

My body felt hollowed out— drained. My face was set in something hard and distant, exhaustion pressing down like a weight on my skull. I didn’t even register the stares at first.

"Adrian—!"

Jane’s voice cut straight through me.

"I’ve been looking all over for you!"

I stopped walking.

Of course she had.

"I heard you and my husband had a little dispute," she said quickly, stepping closer, hands fluttering in that nervous way of hers. "Don’t mind him. He can be a brute sometimes. I talked to him!"

Her mouth kept moving.

I didn’t hear most of it.

I sank down onto the same stump I’d sat on when I first arrived— wood rough beneath my palms. My body felt too heavy to move, like if I stood up again I might just fall apart.

Aubrey could’ve died.

The image hit hard and sudden—her eyes wide, that knife at her throat, blood blooming—

My jaw clenched.

Peter was right.

If I almost froze a few miles out from camp... what the hell was waiting miles away? Texas felt like a cruel joke now. A story I’d told myself because I needed something to chase.

It was all hopeless.

Every bit of it.

Jane hovered in front of me, her voice still going, worry etched across her face. I barely looked at her. Her words blurred together into noise.

Just stop fucking talking. Please.

"Adrian."

I didn’t respond.

Maybe the smart thing was to stop trying. Stop pushing. Just survive as long as I could like the hippies. Eat. Sleep. Pretend the world wasn’t already ending.

"Adrian."

The voice was different this time.

Clear. Firm.

I snapped back into myself, breath hitching as I looked up.

Hale stood there.

Jane was mid-sentence beside him, but she trailed off when she saw where my attention had gone. Her mouth tightened slightly.

Hale’s eyes held mine— steady, assessing. Not unkind. Not gentle either.

He didn’t look back when he gestured for me to follow.

Just two fingers, sharp and final.

I pushed myself off the stump, legs stiff, and fell into step behind him. As I passed Jane, her eyes tracked me— tight, questioning. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something.

I didn’t give her the chance.

The farther we walked, the quieter the camp became. Laughter dissolved into murmurs. Murmurs into nothing. The trees closed in, trunks standing like sentries, leaves whispering overhead.

My throat felt dry.

Whatever Hale had to say wasn’t going to be good. I knew that the same way you know a storm’s coming—before the clouds finish gathering.

Anxiety pressed hard against my ribs as we edged away from the last tent, the last voice. My hands curled into fists without me meaning to.

Hale stopped.

So did I.

The silence snapped tight between us. I braced myself, heart thudding loud enough I was sure he could hear it.

He reached into his jacket.

My blood went cold.

For half a second, my brain screamed gun before my eyes even confirmed it.

He pulled out a handgun— dark, matte, swallowing the light. Obsidian-black. Clean. Intentional.

Cold sweat slid down my temple.

Hale turned to face me, expression unreadable. Like he already knew how this conversation would end.

"This," he said, holding it up, "is a Glock nineteen."

I gulped at that.

"Lighter than a rifle. Easier to handle if you’re moving, if you’re cornered. Doesn’t kick as much, won’t drag you forward when it fires."

I nodded slowly, eyes glued to the weapon.

He pointed at the slide. "This locks the chamber. Pull it back. When you feel it snap, that means a round is chambered."

I watched as he demonstrated, his thumb flicking the slide with precise motion. The sound was sharp in the quiet woods.

"Now the safety." Hale flipped a small switch near the trigger. "Up is safe, down is fire. Check it every time you pick it up. Don’t assume. Safety is your first line, not the gun."

He rotated the gun slowly in his hands.

"Trigger discipline. Finger stays straight along the frame until you’ve committed. Not before. Not halfway."

Then he angled it toward a tree, but didn’t touch the trigger. "Close quarters, you’re not thinking about recoil yet. You’re thinking about control. Control comes from stance, grip, and knowing what’s safe and what isn’t."

Every word lodged itself somewhere deep, right next to the memory of Aubrey’s blood on the knife, right next to the sound of the gunshot that saved her life.

Hale’s eyes never left mine.

"Owning a gun," he said, lowering his voice, "means you accept something whether you like it or not."

He stepped closer and pressed the weight of it into my hands.

The metal was colder than I expected.

"He who hesitates," Hale continued, "doesn’t just die. He gets other people killed."

His gaze sharpened.

"If something threatens you— or the people you choose to stand beside— you don’t debate. You act."

The forest felt very still.

"You understand me, son?"

My hands trembled around the grip. The weight of it wasn’t just physical— it sat heavy in my chest, in my gut, in places fear had already hollowed out.

I swallowed.

Then I nodded.

Slow. Certain.