Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend-Chapter 39: The morning after

Morning settled over camp faster than it had any right to.

Gray light bled through the smoke like a slow bruise spreading across the sky. The fire pits had burned down to dull embers, but the smell lingered anyway— ash, charred wood, and something darker that clung to the back of my throat no matter how many times I swallowed.

I sat on a stump near the edge of what used to be the treeline, cinching a sleeping bag tight over a pouch. My fingers worked on instinct, muscle memory doing what my mind was too tired to think through. The cord bit into my palm as I pulled it taut.

I was exhausted.

So were the people who’d chosen to leave with me.

No one talked much. Packs were loaded in silence. Boots scraped against dirt and ash. Every sound felt too loud in the aftermath of the night before.

I hadn’t spoken to Lila.

Hadn’t spoken to anyone since my little speech.

In the end, only a handful stayed. A few faces I recognized. Fewer I trusted. Some slipped away with their families while it was still dark, too afraid— or too smart— to wait for morning.

I tightened the strings again.

They were probably dead by now.

"Adrian. We need to talk."

The voice cut through the quiet like a blade. I sighed.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t have to. Aubrey had a way of speaking like every word was a challenge, like she was daring the world to disagree with her.

I stood, dusting ash from my pants, the stump scraping behind me as I turned.

"What is it now?"

Her eyes flicked briefly to the bag at my feet, then back to my face. Sharp. Calculating. Tired in a way that went deeper than lack of sleep.

"I was serious," she said. "About leaving her. Lila."

I exhaled slowly through my nose.

"She already proved she’s unstable as hell," Aubrey went on. "She’s going to slow us down—"

"Aubrey," I cut in, voice flat, final. "I said leave it. It’s done. She won’t do it again."

She laughed once, sharp and humorless.

"And how are you so sure, huh?" She stepped closer. Too close. "How are you so sure she won’t put a bullet in your brain one of these nights while you’re sleeping?" Her voice dropped. "You know? To finish the job???"

She was right in front of me now. Heat and anger and something tangled between us. Our breaths mingled. For a second, it looked like our lips might touch.

I didn’t move.

Neither did she.

My expression darkened. So did hers.

"It’ll be fine once we get to Texas," I said, barely above a whisper.

Her jaw tightened.

"You don’t even know what’s in Texas."

The words landed heavier than a punch.

Something inside my chest twisted—uncertainty, doubt, fear I didn’t have time to unpack. She stepped back, just enough to put space between us, her eyes never leaving mine.

"You might think you fooled everyone last night," she said, voice low, cutting. "With that whole take-charge leader act."

My hands curled slowly at my sides.

"But I know you," she continued. "You’re still the same naive little prick you always were."

The words went straight through me.

"She’s broken, Adrian," Aubrey said. "I accepted that the moment she ditched us at the warehouse. The moment she decided what she wanted mattered more than people." Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "It’s time you do too."

She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and turned away.

Didn’t wait for a response.

Didn’t look back.

I felt something small inside me crack.

I stood there long after she left, hearing her mutter something under her breath. The camp stirred quietly around me, the future pressing in from every direction. My chest felt hollow.

I let out a shaky breath, then bent to pick up my bag.

The weight settled against my shoulders—real, undeniable.

My boots crunched through ash and gravel as I walked, the sound too loud in the morning quiet. I kept my eyes forward, fixed on nothing in particular. It felt easier than meeting the questions and anger behind anyone’s gaze.

I didn’t notice Peter fall into step beside me at first.

Not until his shadow crossed mine.

I glanced over. His face was still mottled red and purple, the swelling uneven, dried blood cracked along his cheek and jaw where Hale’s fists had landed. He looked older like that. Smaller, too. Not furious. Just worn.

For a split second, my body braced on instinct.

Here it comes.

"Hey," he said.

Just that.

No venom. No accusation.

I gave a short nod and kept walking.

For a few steps, neither of us spoke. Our boots moved in uneven rhythm, crunching through what used to be grass. Smoke drifted low around our legs, clinging like it didn’t want to let go.

Then he cleared his throat.

"It ain’t..." He stopped, started again. "It ain’t entirely your fault the infected came."

I slowed despite myself.

He kept going, words tumbling out like he was afraid I’d cut him off.

"We was too loud," he said. "Even before y’all showed up. The laughing. The shouting. Parties at night like the world wasn’t already ending." He rubbed the back of his head, winced, then forced his hand back down. "It was only a matter of time. I realize that now."

I finally looked at him.

Really looked.

His eyes were red— not just from the bruises. From something else. Guilt, maybe. Or fear he hadn’t let himself feel until now.

"I’m sorry," he said, quieter. "That’s what I’m trying to say." His jaw tightened. "I let my emotions run me."

The anger I’d been carrying loosened its grip, just a little. Not gone. But no longer clawing.

I scratched at my nose, the habit grounding me. The Peter standing beside me now wasn’t the one who’d swung at me in the firelight. He looked like someone who’d finally woken up after a bad dream and didn’t know what to do with the memory.

"It’s alright," I said.

My voice came out hoarser than I meant, scraped raw by smoke and shouting and everything I hadn’t said yet.

He nodded once, like forgiveness— partial or not— was something he’d accept without pushing.

We walked on together in silence, the camp slowly waking around us, both of us carrying the weight of the night in different ways.

It took hours to reach the main road.

Not because it was far— but because the land between didn’t want us moving through it.

Branches snagged packs. Roots caught boots. Every sound felt amplified in the open, like the world was listening for us to make a mistake. By the time asphalt finally cracked through the dirt ahead, my legs burned and my shoulders felt permanently hunched beneath the weight of the bag.

The road looked exactly how we’d left it.

Overturned cars. Smashed windshields. Rust and grime baked into metal like scars that never healed. The sun shone bright enough to feel like it was fire around me. The people around us lifted their hands up to cover their faces.

Lila walked beside me, her fingers threaded through mine, light on her feet like this was some kind of relief instead of another gamble. She practically skipped, boots bouncing against the asphalt, her grip warm and unyielding.

Too warm.

Too certain.

Terri followed a few paces back, arms folded tight around herself, shoulders drawn inward. Her steps were short, careful, like the road itself might bite if she wasn’t gentle with it.

Ahead of us, Aubrey walked near Hale.

Not beside him— parallel. Close enough to talk if she wanted to. Far enough not to.

I caught her glancing back once. Maybe twice.

Each time, she looked away before our eyes could meet.

Peter, Jane, and Isabella brought up the rear. Peter’s jaw was tight, eyes constantly sweeping the roadside, already bracing for whatever came next. He looked like someone trying very hard not to say anything.

Jane and Isabella were harder to read.

Jane walked with her sleeves pushed halfway up, her posture relaxed in a way that felt practiced. Too controlled. My gaze drifted to the ink curling along her forearm— dark lines, sharp angles. Not decorative.

Deliberate.

I’d wondered about that tattoo since the first time I saw it.

Isabella stayed close to her, quiet, observant, her eyes darting between us all like she was memorizing faces.

Hale slowed first.

His boots scraped once against the pavement before stopping altogether.

"This is where the congestion ends," he said.

I looked up.

The wreckage thinned ahead— cars more spaced out, some still upright. Doors closed. Windows intact. Not stripped clean yet.

Something in my chest lifted, just slightly.

We could use cars again.

"First things first," Hale continued. "We find a vehicle. Two, if we’re lucky."

Lila squeezed my hand, excitement flashing across her face.

I didn’t squeeze back, a hand covering my eyes from the sun’s gleam.

I scanned the line of vehicles ahead, already weighing options, already calculating risk.

Movement always came at a cost.

And we were about to start moving again.