Page 22 of Burning Love

After a while, Alex spoke, voice quiet but steady. “Did you look in the locket? You know… after?”

Sophia lifted her head just enough to meet Alex’s gaze. “I opened it, yes. There were two tiny pictures inside—her and a man, and her and a little boy. At least, I assumed it was her. And I just kept thinking… Who was she? Who was this woman who loved those people? Were they out there somewhere? Were they waiting for her to come home?”

“You’ve never talked about this before, have you?”

Sophia shook her head, tears pouring down her cheek. “What would have been the point? Didn’t seem like it mattered.”

Alex frowned slightly, like she disagreed. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she tilted her head up and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Sophia’s jaw. “It mattered. It all matters,” she murmured against her skin. “And you know something? You matter, Sophia. You matter to me.”

Sophia closed her eyes, leaning into Alex’s warmth, letting herself get lost in the feeling of being anchored to someone.

“You’re still here. We found each other in all this,” Alex said, her voice firm. “And I think this thing we’ve just got going is worth something. It matters. We’re still fighting, you and me.”

Sophia let out a little giggle. “Yeah,” she said. “We’re still here. Getting naked out in the open and?—”

“Absolutely! What better way to fight the zombie apocalypse them with your pants off and grass up your ass, right?”

Alex’s arms tightened around her, and Sophia let herself sink into its comfort as she let out a loud laugh.

Neither of them spoke again for a long time. There was no need. They lay in silence; the weight of their stories hanging between them.

“We should get back,” Alex murmured after what felt like an age, her voice laced with reluctance. “People will start wondering where we are.”

Sophia nodded, a pang of regret settling in her chest. “Yeah. But thank you. For tonight. For this. It was incredible.”

Alex smiled, a rare softness in her expression. “No, thank you. I needed this more than I realized.”

9

ALEX

The first sign of trouble was the dogs.

Alex had been patrolling the perimeter, as she did every morning, when the compound’s two mutts—scrappy survivors just like the rest of them—began barking and whining at the eastern fence.

Why’d Miller let the kids keep those things? They’re probably desperate to get out of here. Someone should let them off the compound. Poor things.

Their hackles stood on end, teeth bared, their growls vibrating through the air. The pitch of their howls sent a shiver down Alex’s spine. The dogs were in a panic.

Then came the pounding.

A deep, resonating thud against the metal fence, followed by another. Then another. The rhythmic hammering of something massive and relentless. A sound so heavy, so unnatural, that Alex’s gut twisted with recognition.

They’re in.

The scent of rot hit her next—a sickly-sweet stench that made her stomach churn.

Then the moans drifted through the air—low, hungry, relentless. A chorus of suffering, of insatiable need. A sound that never stopped haunting her dreams. Alex’s heart clenched as dread slithered down her spine. She pivoted on her heel and sprinted toward the guard post, her boots hammering against the packed earth.

“Contact!” she barked, her voice sharp. “We’ve got a breach forming! Look! Eastern side!”

Henry was already sprinting toward her, rifle in hand, eyes wide with urgency.

“How many?” he demanded, skidding to a halt beside her.

Alex squinted into the light. The sky was a bruised orange, casting long, grotesque shadows over the land. The figures beyond the fence twitched and writhed, pressing forward in a tide of decay. Sunken eyes, hollow and clouded, stared hungrily from rotting faces. Torn lips peeled back over yellowed teeth, some blackened, others chipped down to jagged stumps. Their hands, some missing fingers, others reduced to gnarled bones, scraped against the metal in mindless desperation. Flies swarmed open wounds, crawling through congealed blood and gaping flesh. Some of the creatures had been dead for weeks, their bodies swollen with gases, skin stretched taut like overfilled balloons. Others were fresher, their deaths recent enough that their faces still resembled the people they once were.

“Too many,” Alex admitted, her throat dry. “We need everyone. Now! Move! Help!”

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