Ephemeral

Chapter 3- Evolve

We made our way into the safety of the town, but unfortunately, the zombies had already managed to breach the protective first wall of the city, and we couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty for the havoc we had caused.

Miraculously, amidst the turmoil, the leader of the sniper unit extended a gracious offer, allowing us to position our van atop an abandoned house—a brief respite from the pandemonium consuming the streets below.

Nestled amidst the post-apocalyptic landscape, this abandoned house revealed itself as an unexpected oasis—a haven offering both temporary respite and potential permanence for those seeking refuge.

Beyond its weathered exterior lay an interior ripe for revitalization. Despite the passage of time, the structure remained surprisingly sturdy, a testament to its enduring craftsmanship.

Remarkably, the utilities persisted in their functionality. Running water, a rare commodity in these troubled times, flowed effortlessly through the taps, ensuring basic needs were met. The continuity of electricity, a priceless asset, lit up rooms and corridors, infusing the once-abandoned space with a comforting warmth.

Within, the furnishings, though worn, hinted at a bygone era of comfort and homeliness. Yet, their durability suggested a potential for refurbishment, allowing for personal touches to transform the space into a cozy retreat or a more long-term abode.

The surrounding grounds, overgrown with nature's reclamation, offered both seclusion and potential for cultivation. A modest garden area lay waiting, presenting an opportunity for sustenance and a therapeutic outlet amidst the chaos beyond its walls.

For those seeking a temporary reprieve, the house provided a safe haven—a place to rest, refuel, and regroup before venturing forth. Simultaneously, for those envisioning a more enduring stay, its sturdy structure and functioning utilities hinted at the possibility of restoration and transformation into a permanent sanctuary amidst the tumultuous world outside.

It was perfect for us.

Too perfect, almost.

"Quite the impressive house, sir. Saving it for someone special?" Martin inquires, settling his belongings onto the floor. The sniper, now known as Kean, chuckles at our curiosity.

"Call me Kean, I'm a spry 24, not a seasoned 40," he quips, placing his firearm carefully on the nearby table. "Indeed, I've been reserving it for my soulmate and the family we'll build together," he shares, stealing a glance at Mark, who shyly averts his gaze. Dad appears flushed, on the verge of bursting, while Mom seems to be suppressing a laugh, ready to burst into giggles at any moment.

"So, Kean, what are your intentions with our teenage son?" Dad inquires, a playful edge in his tone, causing me to stifle a laugh. Kean caught off guard, glances between Dad and Mark, his response stumbling out.

"Sir, I assure you, my intentions toward your son are nothing but honorable. I understand he's young, and I genuinely want nothing more than his happiness. I simply wish to get to know him better and take things from there," he explains, his words punctuated by a hint of nervousness. Dad, seemingly content with the answer, nods while Mom chuckles.

"Don't worry, dear. We appreciate you seeking our permission. It would be great if you could have supervision during your visits with our lovely Mark," Mom interjects, her smile warm.

"Absolutely, ma'am, sir," Kean responds respectfully before guiding us back to the house. We continued our little tour before we settled down.

Inside the makeshift sanctuary, a semblance of normalcy emerged as the sniper leader took charge of preparing dinner for our motley crew. My mother, ever the gracious host, offered her assistance, fostering a sense of companionship in the direst of circumstances.

Meanwhile, my curiosity piqued, and I opted to join Mark in the dimly lit garage, where he fervently rummaged through clutter, searching for his misplaced phone. His cheeks were suffused with an intense blush, prompting me to wonder about the cause of his profound embarrassment.

"Are you alright?" I asked with concern, observing Mark's struggle to find his phone. As I looked at his petite frame, I noticed tremors running through him, tears streaming down his face, catching me off guard with this sudden display of emotion.

"Mark?" I uttered softly, extending a comforting hand toward him. He met my gaze before enveloping me in a tight hug, his arms clinging to me desperately.

"Mae, I'm scared," he sobbed, his distress palpable. "What if he doesn't accept me? What if he grows tired of me? I'm a guy, and what if I can't fulfill certain expectations?" His words spilled out amidst tears, his anguish tightening his embrace around me.

Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I closed my eyes briefly, attempting to steady myself before offering comfort, my hand soothingly rubbing his back.

It wasn't unheard of for guys to be soulmates, though still not entirely common. Society's perceptions had evolved over the years, yet insecurities persisted.

Before I could respond, a deep, masculine voice cut through, interrupting our moment.

"You're my soulmate for a reason. Even if you dont reciprocate my feelings for you or have certain expectations, I'll always love you." The voice resonated, prompting both Mark and me to turn toward its source, where the blonde-haired sniper stood, blushing slightly.

Caught in the embrace, Mark clung tighter, and I stood there, attempting to compose myself. A nervous smile formed on my lips as I prepared to engage in conversation, but before I could, the sniper stepped forward, initiating the interaction.

"Hi, I'm Kean JohnLee, but you can call me Kean," he introduced himself, extending his hand towards me. "I'm the second in command of the snipers, and I happen to be your brother's soulmate." His words hung in the air as I reciprocated his smile, noting his selective conversations primarily with Mom, Dad, and Mark, leaving our direct interactions unexplored.

"Nice to meet you, Kean," I replied with a touch of reserve, nudging Mark gently. He blushed, burying his face in my hair, displaying the familiar shyness I'd always known in him despite his towering height.

As I observed them together, it became evident how perfectly matched they appeared. Mark, with his brown hair, fair complexion, and striking sky blue eyes, complemented his soulmate's features—a contrast of dirty blonde hair, chocolate brown eyes, and tanned skin. Their heights seemed to harmonize effortlessly.

"The name's Mae," I introduced myself nervously, extending my hand to shake his.

"Take good care of my brother," I murmured, my fingers fidgeting nervously. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. I just... didn't trust him. -_-

"I promise, miss! I'll never let him slip away!" Kean reassured me with a beaming smile before heading towards Mark.

With a faint smile, I quietly departed the garage, treading cautiously through the dimly lit corridors toward the upper floor of the desolate, boarded-up house. As the sun slowly ascended on the horizon, its golden hues began casting light on the relentless horde of zombies. The morning rays seemed to fuel their numbers, an unnerving sight as their figures multiplied in the growing dawn, their movements sluggish yet unsettlingly purposeful.

Settling into a small corner, I wrapped my arms around my knees, finding a vantage point to witness the unfolding day. The sun's emergence highlighted the dreary landscape, emphasizing the haunting reality of the ongoing apocalypse. The undead, veiled by the cover of night, now emerged, their numbers swelling with the advancing daylight.

As I huddled, absorbed in the bleak spectacle unfolding beyond the sheltering walls, a familiar presence settled beside me. Casting a cautious glance, I noticed Martin, his usually calm countenance now marred by an uncharacteristic tension. His eyes remained shut, seeking solace in what seemed like a serene slumber, yet his subtle shifts betrayed an underlying unease. In his hands, his glasses lay still, an oddity signaling his disquiet.

My heart skipped a beat, recognizing that troubled expression too well. Something wasn't right.

"Is something wrong, Tin?" I inquired softly, my voice barely above a whisper, an instinctive worry creeping into my tone.

A quiet, almost imperceptible sob escaped his lips before he finally spoke, his voice trembling with an unsettling revelation.

"The zombies... They're evolving."