Poignant flashback (1)

I remember it as if it were yesterday, the sheer terror and the crushing wave of despair. There I was, sprinting through the desolate streets, the infected in relentless pursuit. My lungs burned with the exertion, and my legs felt like they were made of lead. The more I ran, the closer they seemed to get, their guttural snarls echoing off the abandoned buildings, a grotesque symphony of death.

In my panic, I turned into a narrow alley, hoping to lose them or perhaps to find a place to hide. It was a desperate, instinctual decision, one that felt like the end when I realised it was a dead end. The alley was claustrophobic, the walls pressing in on me, and I could hear the infected drawing nearer, their hunger palpable in the air.

I staggered to a halt, my back against the wall, and slid down, too exhausted to stand, my breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. I remember thinking this was it, that I was about to be overwhelmed and devoured. The despair was a tangible thing, suffocating me just as much as my fear.

But then, something unexpected happened. A door, previously unnoticed in my blind panic, swung open, and a woman peered out. She locked eyes with me, and there was a moment of hesitation, a silent communication where I saw not just pity but determination. With a swift motion, she beckoned me inside and quickly shut the door behind us, plunging us into semi-darkness.

She didn't speak, and neither did I. There was no need for words. She led me to a small, dimly lit room, her movements quiet and efficient as she fetched a glass of water and some rudimentary first aid supplies. In those moments, her kindness was a beacon, a stark contrast to the chaos and brutality of the world outside.

In the quiet that followed, we sat across from each other, the only sounds the distant moans of the infected and our own steady breathing. Time seemed suspended, the urgency of the outside world momentarily held at bay by the dim, flickering light of her candle.

Eventually, curiosity overcame the silence between us. "Why did you help me?" I asked, my voice low, almost hesitant. In a world where trust was a rarity and every interaction was a potential threat, her act of kindness felt like an anomaly.

She looked at me, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "I don't really know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been alone for such a long time. I haven't seen another survivor around here for months. Maybe... maybe I just needed to feel like I wasn't the last person left on earth."

Her honesty struck a chord within me. Isolation had a way of eroding one's resolve, of amplifying the haunting silence left by a world in ruins. "You're not alone," I said, the words resonating with a newfound sense of solidarity. "There are more of us, fighting to survive, to find some semblance of a life amidst this chaos."

We talked more, sharing stories of our survival, the places we'd been, the things we'd seen. Despite the bleakness of our reality, there was comfort in the exchange, a reminder that humanity persisted even in its darkest hours.

As the conversation waned, a practical concern emerged. She had little in the way of supplies, her existence a day-to-day struggle against deprivation. It wasn't a life; it was mere subsistence. I made a decision then, one that felt as natural as breathing.

"I have a shelter," I told her, "not too far from here. It's safe, hidden, and there are supplies, food, water... more than I need alone." The offer hung between us, laden with implications. To leave this place was to venture into the unknown, to trust in the presence of another, to abandon the semblance of security these walls provided.

Her response was a slow nod, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. "Yes," she said, her voice stronger now. "Yes, I'll come with you."

Her name was Yihyun. I couldn't pinpoint why I had invited her to join me. It was a departure from my usual guarded solitude, a break from the self-imposed rules that had governed my existence since the world had turned upside down. I had always been cautious, prioritising my own survival above all else, steering clear of attachments or anything that could compromise my safety. And yet, here I was, leading a virtual stranger to the one place that represented a semblance of security in this chaotic new world.

As we moved stealthily, avoiding the main streets, I stole glances at Yihyun. She moved with a quiet grace, her presence both calming and invigorating. There was something about her, an unspoken connection that went beyond her saving my life. Maybe it was her resilience, a reflection of the strength I sought within myself, or perhaps it was the shared understanding of loss and the desperate cling to hope.

When we finally reached my shelter, hidden away in the cellar of an abandoned building, I hesitated for a moment before unlocking the door. This was my sanctuary, a place I had never shared with anyone. It was stocked with supplies, carefully scavenged and hoarded, a testament to my survival instincts. But as I ushered Yihyun inside, I realised that this act of sharing, of opening up my refuge to her, felt like the most human thing I had done in a long time.

The shelter was simple, a small room with a bed, a few chairs, and shelves lined with food and water. Yihyun's eyes took in the space, a soft expression of gratitude crossing her features. We spoke little as I showed her around, explaining the basics of how I managed water collection and rationed supplies.

That night, as we settled into an uneasy silence, the reality of our situation settled in. We were two strangers, brought together by circumstance, sharing a fragile bubble of safety in a world overrun by chaos. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the sound of Yihyun's breathing, feeling an unexpected sense of companionship. In a life stripped down to mere survival, the presence of another person was a stark reminder of what it meant to be truly alive.

I didn't know what the future held or whether I had made the right decision. But as I finally drifted off to sleep, I realised that, perhaps for the first time since the world had changed, I didn't feel quite so alone.

In the days that followed, Yihyun and I grew closer, our initial wariness giving way to a profound bond forged in the crucible of shared adversity. We were companions in survival, yes, but as we shared our stories and our hopes, a deeper connection blossomed between us—one that felt like a defiant blaze of color in a world turned grey and lifeless.

Yihyun told me of her time with the group she had escaped from, her voice steady but her eyes haunted. She spoke of the cruelty she had endured, the way her supposed comrades had turned on her, viewing her as little more than an object to be used and discarded. Her strength in escaping, in choosing to face the horrors of the outside world rather than suffer further abuse, filled me with admiration and a fierce protectiveness. 

It was then I understood the depth of my feeling for her. Yihyun's experiences resonated with the stories of mine, stirring a deep-seated anger and an unwavering resolve to protect those who had been victimised. In her, I saw not just a survivor but a kindred spirit, someone who had faced the abyss and chosen to fight back.

Our relationship deepened, evolving naturally as we shared the day-to-day challenges of survival. We became each other's confidant, protector, and source of comfort. The stark reality of our existence only served to intensify our connection, each moment precious, each shared victory and setback forging an unbreakable bond.

One evening, as we sat side by side, sharing a meagre meal, I reached for her hand. Our eyes met, and in that gaze, I saw the reflection of my own feelings—hope, fear, but above all, love. Words were unnecessary; our joined hands spoke volumes of the journey we had undertaken together, from strangers to companions to something far deeper.

We had found love in the most unlikely of places, a tender, defiant flame burning brightly against the backdrop of a world consumed by darkness. In Yihyun, I found not just a partner in survival but a reason to fight for a better tomorrow, a shared dream of peace and safety that seemed all the more attainable with her by my side.

Together, we faced each day, our bond a beacon of hope in the relentless shadow of the apocalypse. Our love was a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit, a reminder that even in the darkest times, there is light, there is beauty, and above all, there is love.