CHAPTER 306: APOCALYPSE ROMANCE 16

A month had passed since the world ended—again.

And somehow, Sasha and Alvaro had gotten the hang of it.

Apocalypse life had a learning curve, but they’d climbed it fast—like veterans in a game with infinite respawns, only this time there were none.

Their armored van cut through the wasteland highway, sunlight glinting off its metal plates. Cracked asphalt stretched endlessly ahead, littered with abandoned cars and skeletal billboards. The air carried the faint scent of ash and old gasoline.

They were heading south, toward the rumor of civilization—a military camp said to have survived the chaos.

Maybe it was a rumor, maybe not. Either way, it was better than staying still.

"South," Alvaro muttered, checking the digital compass. "If humanity’s rebuilding anywhere, it’s where there’s guns, rations, and idiots in uniforms."

"Perfect," Sasha said, grinning as she shifted gears. "You’ll fit right in."

He gave her a mock glare. "Ha-ha. Remind me why I’m still with you?"

"Because I have air-conditioning, hot meals, and a gun collection that could start a large scale war."

"Right. I stay for the amenities," he said dryly.

Outside, the world had changed. The first wave of monsters had returned to whatever pit they’d crawled from, but the undead had taken their place—shambling bodies that wandered highways like they were trying to remember what walking felt like.

It was manageable, in theory. As long as you had bullets.

Good thing Sasha had a lot of bullets.

Whenever a zombie stumbled onto the road, Alvaro casually rolled down the window and picked it off with one clean shot. He never missed. The crack of the gun was almost comforting now, like a punctuation mark on their quiet conversations.

"Headshot," he said with a grin after one kill.

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Do you need a scoreboard?"

"Wouldn’t hurt. I’m at twenty-four this week."

"Make that twenty-three. The last one was missing half its head."

"That’s rude," he said, feigning offense. "Disqualifying zombies with disabilities."

She laughed despite herself. "You’re impossible."

"Correct."

They kept driving.

They passed scattered survivors—people waving desperately from rooftops or running after the van, shouting for help. Sasha didn’t slow down.

Not for anyone that might be infected.

"Should we—" Alvaro began.

"No," Sasha said firmly, eyes on the road.

He didn’t argue. He’d seen enough. The begging never stopped, and neither did the infections. Half the people they passed were already gone, even if they didn’t know it yet.

"Cold-hearted," he murmured.

"Alive," she corrected. "That’s the difference."

He didn’t reply, but she saw the faint nod. They both knew it was the only way to survive now—keep moving, keep breathing, don’t look back.

By nightfall, they pulled off the highway into a patch of overgrown forest. The van’s tires crushed weeds and debris until they found a hidden clearing beside a riverbed.

Sasha parked and killed the lights. The world went dark except for the faint blue glow of the dashboard and the silver gleam of moonlight through the windshield.

Inside the van, it was surprisingly cozy. Portable AC humming softly. Electric lights flickering on command. The faint scent of instant noodles and machine oil.

For apocalypse standards, it was luxury.

Sasha stretched her arms and leaned back. "See? Who says the end of the world can’t be comfortable?"

Alvaro chuckled. "You’re the only person I know who treats the apocalypse like a road trip."

"I plan for everything," she said. "Unlimited power generators, food for a decade, weapons for two. We could live like royalty."

He grinned. "All we’re missing is a butler."

"You want one? I can summon a cleaning bot from my storage space."

He blinked. "You have a cleaning bot."

"Of course. What kind of apocalypse prepper do you think I am?"

"The terrifyingly efficient kind."

"Thank you," she said sweetly, then kicked back her seat and closed her eyes. "Now shut up before I revoke your breakfast privileges."

Alvaro chuckled, but she heard the faint click of a gun being checked—his version of a bedtime routine. He stood watch by the window, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the treeline.

Outside, the undead drifted aimlessly under the moonlight. A few shuffled near the edge of the forest, but none approached the van. Maybe it was the scent of oil and steel. Maybe it was luck.

Or maybe the world had simply given up trying to kill them for the night.

The quiet was unnerving.

Sasha never trusted quiet.

"How long till we hit the camp?" Alvaro asked softly, not turning from the window.

"Two days, maybe three," she said. "Depends on the roads."

He nodded. "And after that?"

"Well... let’s just blend in and see what it offers us," Sasha said, glancing at the distant lights of the settlement. "Who knows, maybe you’ll even like it there."

Alvaro raised an eyebrow. "You want me to stay there?"

She shrugged. "I’m searching for someone. If I don’t find that person there, I’ll move on."

He gave a crooked smile. "Then I’m moving with you. You’re basically a walking storage unit. There’s no way I’m leaving my food supply."

Sasha chuckled. "You realize it might get dangerous, right? You sure you want to tag along?"

Alvaro stretched his arms over his head, settling deeper into the makeshift bed beside her. "Dangerous? Sasha, I’ve grown comfortable with danger. Besides..." He glanced at her, voice dropping playfully, "I’ve also grown comfortable with you. My life’s easier when you’re around. My instincts say stick with you—and they’re rarely wrong."

Sasha tried not to smile, but failed. "Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm." He tilted his head, eyes warm even in the dim light.

She leaned in just enough for her hair to brush his cheek. "Careful. That kind of talk sounds suspiciously like flirting."

"Maybe it is," he said softly.

Their laughter faded into a silence heavy with unsaid things. Outside, wind rattled the van’s metal shell, a lonely sound against the sleeping world.

Inside, it was warm, the air thick with that strange comfort that comes only after too much shared danger.

Alvaro’s grin turned boyish. "You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t do attachments, you spend an awful lot of time saving my life."

"And for someone who says he’s independent," she countered, "you’re awfully attached to my pantry."

He laughed, and she couldn’t help joining in. It felt good—light, real, like a spark of life inside all the ruin.

When the laughter finally died, they found themselves still looking at each other. The mood shifted—less teasing, more something else.

Sasha cleared her throat first. "We should rest. Early start tomorrow."

"Yeah," he said, but his gaze lingered a second longer before he lay back, folding his arms behind his head. "Whatever happens, I’ve got your back."

"I know," she said quietly. "You don’t want your food storage to die right?"

The silence returned, softer this time.