Love in the Apocalypse

Chapter 3

Blaise stepped out of the diner first, checking outside the door and looking both ways before he gestured to Asher that it was safe, and they both stepped out. Blaise held his machete and stayed fully alert, scanning the alley, while Asher followed close behind gripping one of the kitchen knives he had taken from the diner. Growls and guttural groans of the undead echoed from different sides of the alley, so they moved as quietly as they possibly could to avoid drawing any attention.

Asher kept looking around and even glancing over his shoulder, checking for any sign of danger—so much so that he did not notice he was about to bump hard into a metal trash can. Just before he made contact, Blaise grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him swiftly to his side. Asher nearly jumped out of his skin from surprise; he looked up at Blaise with wide, startled eyes as Blaise leaned close and murmured right against his ear.

"Be careful. Look around you, but never lose focus. We are surrounded by undead in these alleys. One small mistake, one loud noise, and it will draw every last one of them right to us. Worst of all, we’ll end up as their bait. Stay alert." His tone was firm, but not unkind, before he guided Asher toward the next corner of the alley. Asher managed only to nod, letting out a quiet breath of relief after Blaise saved them both from making a fatal error. Blaise kept one hand resting gently but firmly on Asher’s arm as he walked ahead, leading him through more secluded alleyways. This stretch was much quieter now—no sounds of the undead, as if everything had gone strangely still. Asher leaned a little closer and spoke in a low, hushed voice just loud enough for Blaise to hear.

"There’s barely any noise anymore around here… Where exactly are we heading?"

"We’re going to Oakhaven District Hospital. I need to get something from there," Blaise answered calmly, not looking back as he kept moving forward.

Asher slowed down for a moment, confused. "What? You want to go to the hospital right now? But look how many undead are just out here—surely there are way more infected inside a hospital of all places." He looked at Blaise, half expecting him to say he was joking, but Blaise only nodded steadily.

"Yes, I am. It’s important. I have to get something from that place." He did not elaborate further, so Asher just sighed and nodded, keeping his eyes scanning their surroundings.

They continued deeper into the narrow passages. The air grew heavier, thick with the stench of dried blood and rotting flesh. Half-eaten corpses lay strewn across their path, with torn clothing and scraps of what used to be human remains scattered everywhere. The sight made Asher’s stomach turn, and he had to fight hard not to gag, keeping his mouth shut and breathing as little as possible. Blaise noticed his discomfort immediately; he paused, pulled something from his bag—a gas mask—then stepped toward Asher and gently fitted it over his face, his expression unreadable. Asher stood still, surprised Blaise even carried such a thing. He waited until it was secured properly before speaking softly.

"Thanks, man… But how about you? You only brought one… Will you be alright without it?" He hesitated a little, worried that Blaise had given up his own protection just for him.

"It’s fine. I can manage without it. You clearly need it more than I do," Blaise said simply, stepping back once the straps were adjusted properly. Asher nodded gratefully, and a quiet realization settled in his mind: Blaise might seem cold and distant on the outside, but deep down he was actually gentle and cared more than he let show. He couldn’t help a small, faint smile tugging at his lips at that quiet, hidden side of him.

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Before long, the two arrived at Oakhaven District Hospital, located just near the main city center. It was a large public medical facility that used to always be packed with patients and busy staff. Asher had visited once almost a year ago—back then it was bright, clean, and full of people going about their lives, not overrun by rotting corpses. Even from the main gate, they could see swarms of undead wandering inside the grounds, and a cold shiver ran down Asher’s spine. Blaise noticed his reaction right away; he gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, then wrapped his fingers gently around Asher’s wrist and spoke in a low, steady tone.

"Stay close behind me and do not make a single sound. Don’t worry—I won’t leave you alone." Asher nodded, taking a deep steady breath behind his mask, before they both slipped quietly through the broken gate. Blaise led him not toward the main entrance, but around to the back, to a heavy metal staff entry door. He turned the handle slowly and carefully so it would not creak, then peered through the small gap. Seeing no sign of any infected, he signaled that it was safe to go in. But just as Blaise stepped forward, an undead suddenly lunged out from directly behind Asher—so fast neither of them had time to react.

It aimed straight for Asher, but Blaise shoved him hard out of the way. The creature crashed into Blaise instead, pushing him backward and sending both of them tumbling inside. The heavy metal door slammed shut instantly with a loud thud, locking completely. Asher scrambled quickly back to his feet and rushed to pull it open, but it would not budge no matter how hard he tried. Panic surged through him—terrified that Blaise was hurt, or worse.

"Blaise?! BLAISE! Open the door… Blaise, answer me! Are you okay?!" He shouted without thinking, barely caring that his voice was loud enough to draw every undead nearby. He banged his fists against the cold metal repeatedly, his breath coming in ragged gasps behind his mask, before he kicked hard at the handle. Then he saw it—fresh, dark blood seeping slowly out from under the gap at the bottom of the door. Asher stepped back trembling, his eyes wide with pure shock and horror. He shook his head frantically, refusing to believe it.

"No… no, no, no… Blaise wouldn’t… Blaise can’t die just… just like that…" His voice shook violently, and just then he heard it—more groans and dragging footsteps approaching fast from every direction, drawn straight there by all the noise he had made. He spun around to see groups of undead closing in all around him. He backed away until he hit the solid metal door, only to hear another heavy crash from inside, like something being slammed hard against the wall, followed by even more blood trickling out below. Fear and panic flooded his mind—trapped between the undead surrounding him and the person who had saved him locked inside fighting for his life. Gripping his knife tight, he began to s***h and stab wildly at anything that got too close, his heart hammering against his ribs, fueled by pure adrenaline. He fought his way through until he spotted a small opening between the undead, slipped past them, and ran toward the back of the hospital, the horde groaning and stumbling right after him, the stench of rot and blood coming from every undead filling the air all around.