𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐅𝐅!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 . . . 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 1
Over the last two months — over thousands of people have died from the contagious bites from zombies. You don't know how many survivors there are. You don't know if this is affected worldwide or if just Massachusetts got the bad luck. You never would have been prepared for this, not if you didn't have your father.
He hasn't left your side since that emergency broadcast took over every single electronic device in Boston. Constantly watching, alert, gun gripped tightly in his rough hands, finger just centimeters away from the trigger, ready to shoot the walking dead in the heart. And that's exactly what's happening now.
The streets are quiet. No groans from zombies, no screams, no noise. And that scared you more than any loudness ever could.
Your steps were quiet, boots crunching softly under gravel, one hand holding the strap of your backpack, the other had Loki's leash wrapped around your knuckles.. "Don't worry, sweetie, the grocery store isn't far," your dad said, rubbing your back for a short moment before pulling away like affection burned him.
When you'd stepped into the dark building, fridges sizzling like their on their last breath, the cashier untouched since the last person who worked their night shift before the apocalypse. It was deathly silent as you both snuck through.
Now — Matt was on isle ten, silently shoving canned food into his bag, movements quick and practiced, like he understood exactly how to be silent. His shaggy hair was messy, facial hair outgrown into a stubble along his clenched jaw.
Then, he heard a crash from down the store. His body worked on reflexes as he slammed the last can in his bag, zipping it and then reaching for the gun strapped into his belt. Flicking off the safety, he held the firearm high, pointed straight until he heard hushed voices.
"You're being too loud," came a hushed man's voice, then your apologetic whisper replied. "I'm sorry, dad," so quiet he almost didn't hear it. But he didn't drop his gun, to dead set on the idea that it might be a zombie or someone who got bit.
When Matt rounded the corner with the weapon, you'd looked up, eyes widening in surprise. Your dad had already seen, his gun also raised as he took a side step in front of you. "We're not bit," your dad spoke, voice low and protective. Matt paused when he saw you.
Soft eyes, hair tied back, an oversized hoodie half off your shoulder with a gun strapped to your bare thigh. And he lowered his gun. Barely, but a little bit. He still stayed quiet, untrusting and hesitant. Then his blue eyes fell to the german shepard by your side — also now stood tall in front of you somehow also protecting you.
"You sure?" He cocks a brow, tilting his head in focus as his finger moved closer to the trigger. He didn't wanna shoot, and he probably wasn't gonna, but it wouldn't be the first time a human has lied to him and then nearly eated his arm off. "Yes, jesus, what more do you want?" your dad snapped, clearly gaining frustration at Matt's actions.
Then, you spoke up, quiet but polite. "Are you alone?" You question, nudging your foot gently onto Loki's bum, silently telling him to sit. And he listened, perching into a sitting position right between your slightly spread legs. Matt snickered, gun finally dropping. "And what does it matter to you?" He snaps, shoving his gun back into his waistband.
"Get your food and go back to whatever shelter you own," He snickered, turning to walk back. You blinked in surprise at the gruff and mean tone in his voice. "What'dya own the place? Is there any reason to be that much of a—" your dad spoke up, quick to jump to your defense. But you interrupted him.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, he's probabaly just stressed," you say, finding it odd but understanding. I mean, you guys were in a zombie apocalypse after all. "C'mon, we got what we need"
And with that you held your father's arm, before guiding his angry figure back out of the store.
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