Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend

Chapter 209: Everytime I got hungry

The night was as quiet as ever.

The old cabin groaned around them as the wind pushed against its walls. Every step Saul took drew a creak from the floorboards beneath his boots, the sound seeming far louder than it should have in the suffocating silence.

Harry walked a few feet ahead of him.

Low.

Focused.

A pistol hanging loosely in one hand.

The beam from his flashlight swept across mold-eaten walls and collapsed furniture, revealing glimpses of a life that no longer existed.

A child’s drawing pinned to a wall.

A family photograph lying face-down on the floor.

A dining table covered in dust.

Death had moved in years ago and made itself comfortable.

Rats scattered through the darkness.

Their claws scratched against wood.

Their bodies darted between piles of trash and rotting corpses.

Some of the corpses had been dead long enough to become part of the room itself.

Others looked newer.

Fresh enough that Saul could still recognize them as people.

The smell was unbearable.

Rot.

Mold.

Old blood.

The scent clung to the back of his throat.

Bill had wanted every structure near their camp cleared.

Every cabin.

Every shed.

Every place an infected could potentially crawl out of.

According to Bill, a sanctuary only stayed a sanctuary if people were willing to do ugly things to keep it that way.

So here they were.

Saul followed behind his brother.

And couldn’t stop thinking about Cherie.

His jaw tightened.

God.

He would’ve at least said goodbye.

At least that.

He wasn’t asking for much.

One conversation.

One hug.

One chance to explain.

Instead he’d vanished.

And from her perspective?

It probably looked like he’d abandoned her.

The thought made his chest hurt.

A loud crash suddenly erupted beside Harry.

A hand exploded through a splintered doorway.

Bloody fingers clawed wildly through the opening.

The infected on the other side slammed itself against the wood.

"UGHHHH! FUCK! WHO THE FUCK IS THERE!? HUH!? I NEED ANOTHER FUCKING SKULL TO FUCK!"

Saul recoiled.

Harry didn’t.

Not even slightly.

The infected arm shot toward him.

Harry grabbed it instantly.

A sickening crack echoed through the room.

The infected shrieked.

Its elbow bent the wrong way.

Then Harry raised his pistol and fired directly through the door.

BANG.

The scream stopped immediately.

Silence returned.

The arm went limp.

Saul stared.

Harry simply released it.

Like he’d stepped on a bug.

Nothing more.

No hesitation.

No reaction.

No guilt.

He reached into his backpack.

Pulled out a crowbar.

Wedged it beneath the damaged lock.

Wood splintered.

Metal snapped.

Then he pushed the door open.

Saul followed.

The infected lay crumpled against the opposite wall.

Its skull looked like someone had dropped a brick through it.

Harry stepped over the body without even glancing down.

Then immediately started searching.

Drawers.

Cabinets.

Desks.

Anything useful disappeared into his pockets.

A flashlight.

Batteries.

A pocketknife.

A box of nails.

Saul barely paid attention.

His eyes drifted around the room.

There were signs of a family everywhere.

Books.

Blankets.

Children’s toys.

Normal things.

The sort of things people stopped noticing until they were gone.

Then his gaze landed on the bed.

His stomach twisted.

A skeleton lay beneath the blankets.

Not an infected.

Not anymore.

Just bones.

The remains looked almost peaceful.

Like someone had climbed into bed one night and simply waited for the world to end.

Saul swallowed hard.

Harry didn’t even look at it.

That bothered him more than the skeleton itself.

He frowned.

"Bill teach you that move?"

Harry froze.

Just for a second.

Then he slowly turned.

The flashlight beam cut across his face.

Saul suddenly realized how much older his little brother looked.

Not physically.

Just...

Everything else.

The eyes.

The posture.

The way he carried himself.

Harry walked toward him.

Saul instinctively tensed.

Instead, Harry shoved a small metal toolbox against his chest.

"Carry that."

Saul caught it awkwardly.

Then Harry started walking away.

"Doesn’t matter," Harry said.

Something tightened inside Saul.

"Harry."

No response.

Saul grabbed his arm.

Hard enough to stop him.

"I don’t want you picking up shit from Bill."

Harry looked down at the hand.

Then back at Saul.

"That was completely unnecessary."

Harry’s expression didn’t change.

He glanced toward the infected corpse.

Toward the shattered skull.

Then back to Saul.

Slowly.

Carefully.

He pulled his arm free.

"Ain’t no reason to be acting like my big brother now."

The words landed harder than Saul expected.

Harry took a step back.

"Ain’t you thought I was dead?"

Then he walked away.

Just like that.

Leaving Saul standing in the middle of the room.

Silent.

Then— a cold realization splashed over his face like ice water.

Jackson mustve told him.

That was the only explanation.

Jackson told him what happened.

What Saul thought.

...The things that he said said.

The realization settled like lead in his stomach.

He stayed for a moment longer, contemplating on what he was even supposed to say.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he resolved himself to follow after him.

—

The camp felt impossibly alive compared to the cabin.

Voices.

Laughter.

Arguments.

Children running between tents.

The smell of cooked food.

People trying to rebuild something that resembled a life.

Saul spotted Harry immediately.

Moving through the crowd.

Head down.

Fast.

Purposeful.

Like he wanted to outrun the conversation before it happened.

"Harry!"

Nothing.

"Harry."

Still nothing.

Saul pushed through the crowd.

People looked at him.

Some recognized him.

Others didn’t.

None of that mattered.

"Harry, just listen to me, okay?"

Harry kept walking.

Saul stopped.

Disbelief flashed across his face.

Then frustration.

"What the fuck else was I supposed to think, huh?!"

That got attention.

Heads turned.

Conversations stopped.

Even Bill looked up from where he sat sharpening a knife.

Jackson glanced over from a nearby tent.

Bandages wrapped around half his body.

Harry looked like he was going to stop for a moment.

But as his fists tightened, he found himself pushing through that feeling.

Leaving Saul to follow once more.

The camp seemed to quiet, not quite by much, but enough. Harry was starting towards his own tent, pulling the flap open and closing it.

Then Saul caught up, mirroring him.

That’s when Harry stoppped.

The tension was something awful. The air was humid inside the tent, and felt like a bad camping trip.

It took a while for Harry to turn around.

But—

Slowly—

He did.

The expression on his face made Saul wish he hadn’t.

There wasn’t anger there.

Anger would’ve been easier.

There was disappointment.

Cold.

Permanent.

The kind that didn’t heal.

"What was you supposed to think?" Harry repeated.

His voice was quiet.

Dangerously quiet.

Saul opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Harry laughed.

A short sound.

Humorless.

"You wanna know the funny part?"

Saul never spoke.

Nobody outside seemed to moved in that moment.

"I spent months thinking you died."

The words hit like a hammer.

Harry stepped forward.

"And every time shit got bad..."

Another step.

"Every time I got hungry."

Another.

"Every time I thought I was gonna die."

His eyes locked onto Saul’s.

"I told myself my brother would’ve come if he could."

Saul felt his throat tighten.

"Harry—"

"No."

The single word stopped him.

Harry shook his head.

"I made excuses for you."

Another step.

"I defended you."

His jaw clenched.

"Even when nobody else did."

Saul couldn’t breathe.

"Because I thought there wasn’t no way."

Harry laughed again.

Bitter.

Broken.

"Turns out there was."

The camp had gone completely silent.

Even Bill looked uncomfortable.

Harry stared directly into Saul.

And for the first time since reuniting...

Saul realized something horrifying.

Harry didn’t miss him.

Not anymore.

That grief had already happened.

Months ago. Perhaps longer.

And what remained afterward was something worse.

Acceptance.

"You know what hurts most?"

Saul wished he didn’t.

Harry’s expression hardened.

"Finding out you weren’t dead."

The words struck harder than anything before them.

Saul physically flinched.

Harry saw it.

And kept going.

"Because if you were dead..."

His voice cracked slightly.

"...then none of it would’ve been your fault."

Silence.

Then:

"But you weren’t."

Saul stood frozen.

Harry shook his head slowly.

Eyes glassy.

Not crying.

Close.

But not crying.

"You were alive."

The words came out almost as a whisper.

"You were fucking alive, this whole damn time."

Another step.

"And somehow that hurts worse."

Saul couldn’t think.

Couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t defend himself.

Harry looked at him one last time.

Then said the one thing Saul knew he’d hear for the rest of his life.

"I spent months praying my brother was alive...only to find out he’s buddies with the girl who’s friend killed my fucking dad."

"I didn’t know that—"

"And when you found out, what did you do Saul..?"

A pause.

A terrible pause.

"I think I would’ve been happier if you stayed dead."

The words hit Saul like cold water.

He...wasn’t quite sure if he heard that properly. Maybe it had been his mind trying to cope with it all.

Harry only stared at him with his arms folded.

A beat passed.

Then another.

"Just get the fuck out of my tent, man."