Collecting Wives In The Apocalypse

A Decision To Survive Differently

Kael’s breath caught as the puzzle pieces slammed into place. He touched his own shoulder where the zombie’s teeth had sunk in earlier.

The skin was smooth now. No mark. No scar. Nothing. He pressed his thumb against the spot, half-expecting pain, but there was only warmth. His body felt… different. Stronger.

His mind raced. He had been bitten. Clara had been bitten. Yet here they were—alive, not monsters. And the common factor was—

His face heated despite the apocalypse raging outside.

'Oh hell no. No way. That can’t be it.'

But Clara was staring at him, wide-eyed, trembling. Her voice shook as she asked, "Kael… you… you cured me, didn’t you?"

Kael rubbed the back of his neck, trying to avoid her gaze. "I don’t… I mean—" He cut himself off, realizing he couldn’t deny it. "Yeah. Something happened. With me. With us. And now you’re not turning."

Kael glanced at her, then back at his arm. He exhaled, sharp and uneven. "So… I didn’t just survive it. I healed."

Clara shook her head, disbelief clouding her eyes. "That’s not—people don’t heal from this. Kael, nobody heals from this."

Her words hung heavy, swallowed by the wrecked café’s silence. The world outside howled with chaos—distant screams, the moan of the infected, sirens sputtering until they cut out. Inside, though, it was just the two of them, locked in the strange, impossible truth of what had just happened.

Clara’s gaze darted to her own arm—the bite wound that should’ve killed her, now faint, almost ordinary. "When I was with you, when we…" Her cheeks burned red despite the situation. "It stopped spreading. It actually reversed."

"Eh?!" Kael could only mutter in a response.

Clara’s lips trembled as the truth sank in. She clutched his shirtfront suddenly, looking up at him with raw desperation. "Then… that means you can save others too, right? Other women?"

Kael froze. The words hit him harder than the bite ever had.

"Other… women?" he echoed slowly.

Clara blinked at him. "Well—yeah. If being with you cured me, then—" She stopped, cheeks burning red despite the blood on her skin. "Then… maybe you can cure others the same way."

Kael groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, fantastic. I just became walking penicillin with a… very specific delivery method."

Despite herself, Clara laughed weakly, the sound half-hysterical. "Could you imagine? You’re humanity’s last… uh, vaccine."

Kael scowled at her, though the corner of his lips twitched. "Don’t say it like that."

She tilted her head, teasing despite everything. "So… does that mean you’d have to… with guys too? If they were bitten?"

Kael recoiled as if slapped. "What?! No! Absolutely not!" His voice cracked louder than the gunshots echoing somewhere outside.

Clara’s laughter spilled out, real this time, though it trembled with relief. "I’m kidding! I’m kidding! You should’ve seen your face."

Kael jabbed a finger at her, eyes blazing. "No. Let’s make this crystal clear right now: I don’t swing that way. Never have, never will. Guys can fend for themselves. I’m not..." He gestured wildly, almost knocking over a broken mug from the counter. "I’m not out here giving free samples to every dude who gets nibbled on. No way."

Clara laughed harder, clutching her stomach, tears forming in her eyes. "Oh my god. You’re serious."

"Damn right, I’m serious," Kael snapped. "I’m saving damsels in distress, not… not Steve from Accounting."

The absurdity of it hit them both.

Clara laughed until she was crying, and Kael found himself smirking despite the heat crawling up his neck. The humor felt wrong, almost obscene, in a world falling apart—but it also felt good. Needed.

Then Clara’s laughter faded, and she leaned into him, arms wrapping tight around his torso. "Then I guess you’re stuck with me. Because I’m not leaving you now, Kael. Not when you’re the reason I’m still alive."

He stiffened, then slowly relaxed into her grip. Her warmth pressed against him, her heartbeat rapid but steady. For a second, the chaos outside didn’t matter.

'If what happened is real,' Kael thought, 'then I’m more than immune. I’m… a cure. For women, at least. That makes me valuable. Too valuable.'

And dangerous.

–––––––––––

The café they managed to slip into was barely holding together. Shattered glass crunched under their feet, the air thick with the smell of burnt beans and spilled milk gone sour. Tables lay overturned, a barricade against whatever might stumble in. Kael checked the windows again, scanning the ruined street.

"People are gonna figure this out," he muttered.

Clara frowned. "Figure what out?"

"That I’m immune. That I can cure. And when they do…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening. Images flashed through his mind—desperate survivors, grabbing him, chaining him, using him. He’d go from free to slave in a heartbeat.

Clara’s hand brushed his. "Then don’t let them. Stay ahead. Stay hidden."

He looked down at her, her pale face illuminated by the faint glow of firelight seeping through the broken windows. She wasn’t just alive—she was clinging to him like he was her last tether to the world.

"Then you stick with me," Kael said quietly. "You want to live, you stay by my side."

Her lips parted, and she nodded without hesitation. "Always."

Something stirred in Kael then—not just responsibility, but a flicker of satisfaction. For once in his life, he wasn’t the one being chained to a desk or to meaningless orders. He was the one with power.

–––––––––––

The café door rattled violently.

Both Kael and Clara jumped apart, instinct snapping back into place. Shadows moved against the thin strip of moonlight leaking through the boarded-up windows. Then a voice barked from outside.

"Open up! We know you’re in there!"

Kael motioned for silence, crouching low, peering between the cracks in the boarded window. A group of five figures stood outside—survivors, not infected. They were armed with metal pipes, knives, one even had a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

Clara whispered, fear edging her words. "Survivors?"

"Not the friendly kind," Kael muttered.

Another slam rattled the café door. "We need supplies. Food, water. Don’t make this harder than it has to be!"

Kael’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Clara, who shrank against the counter, clutching the fire axe she’d carried since the office. They weren’t here to share. They were here to take.

"Kael," Clara whispered urgently. "What do we do?"

He rose slowly, the broken chair leg still clenched in his hand. His voice was low, sharp. "We fight."

The door behind cracked open under another slam. Shadows poured in—four men and one woman, eyes wild, clothes torn but weapons gleaming in the dim light.

Their leader, a stocky man with a shaved head and scars across his jaw, sneered when he saw Clara. "Well, well. Look what we found. A banging girl. And a scrawny bastard trying to play hero."

Kael’s grip tightened.

The scarred man’s gaze lingered on Clara far too long. His lips curled into a cruel grin when they landed on her cleavage. "Supplies first. Then we’ll see what else she’s good for."

Clara’s breath hitched. She pressed closer to Kael instinctively.

Kael stepped forward, planting himself between her and the intruders. His grin returned, sharp and dangerous. "You picked the wrong café."

The leader laughed. "Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do, string bean? Wave that stick at me?"

Kael didn’t answer. He moved.

The fight was fast, brutal.

Kael ducked under a swing of a metal pipe, his body moving with reflexes he didn’t know he had. He slammed his chair leg into the attacker’s ribs, heard the crunch, then pivoted and smashed it across another’s jaw.

The shotgun came up, aimed at him—Kael lunged forward, seizing the barrel before it fired. He ripped it from the man’s hands with raw strength, shocking himself with how easily it came free. He spun the weapon like a club, knocking the man flat.

Adrenaline roared through him, but it wasn’t normal. Every strike landed heavier than it should. His body felt lighter, faster, stronger. His muscles burned with energy that hadn’t been there before.

One man tried to grab Clara. Kael’s vision tunneled red. He didn’t think—he slammed the shotgun’s stock into the man’s face, bone shattering under the impact. Blood sprayed across the café tiles.

The scarred leader stumbled back, stunned. "What the hell are you?!"

Kael’s grin widened, wild and unhinged. "Just a survivor like you."

The leader bolted for the door. Kael let him go, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face.

Silence fell, broken only by Clara’s ragged breathing. She stared at him in awe and horror.

"Kael… you…" Her voice trembled. "You weren’t like this before. You moved like—like—"

Kael dropped the shotgun, his hands shaking now that the rush was fading. He stared at them, flexing his fingers. His veins seemed darker, his skin hotter. His heart pounded too fast, too strong.

"I don’t know," he said quietly.

But inside, the truth gnawed at him.

Clara muttered. "Kael… you… you’re not just immune. You’re…"

Kael stared at his bloodied hands, the strange calm in his chest, the way his muscles thrummed with restless power.

"Evolving," he whispered.

And as the words left his mouth, a new sound cut through the night—the guttural moan of dozens of infected, drawn by the noise.

Kael’s head snapped toward the shattered window. Shadows swarmed, eyes glowing faint in the dark.

The café barricade wouldn’t hold this time.

Clara grabbed his arm. "Kael—what do we do?"

His grin returned, sharper than before.

"We survive differently."

*****

Author’s Note:

Thank you so much for reading and being part of this journey!

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