As the rescue convoy disappeared into the distance, I scanned my surroundings, searching for anything that could help me survive.
I couldn’t be sure that once Oliver and Lina were safe, he would still remember I was left behind, trapped between life and death.
In my past life, he had pressured the rescue team for Lina’s sake. I had no reason to believe he would do the same for me this time.
In a world teetering on the edge of collapse, I wasn’t about to stake my life on his sense of morality.
Perhaps when I tried hard to get back to him, he was already wearing a mask of sadness, telling everyone that I was dead.
After all, Lina was his first love, his soulmate, the one he would never forget, no matter what.
The distant howls of the undead grew louder, yet a strange calm settled over me.
I had already been forged in fire.
The relentless cruelty of my past life had stripped me of illusions and honed my survival instincts to the extreme.
I knew how to protect myself. I knew how to find hidden supplies. I knew how to treat wounds. I had the map burned into my brain.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
You’ve got this, Zayla.
I smeared plant sap over my skin, masking the scent of the living to delay detection.
The convoy, with its sheer number of people, would inevitably draw the horde’s attention. I couldn’t risk following in their wake.
But the good news was—I knew another way to the safe zone.
The path was nearly abandoned, carved into the mountainside. It was steep, nearly vertical in some places, but that was why there were almost no zombies on it. They couldn’t climb.
I didn’t have proper gear, but survival left no room for hesitation.
If I could just make it over the mountain, I would be safe.
Halfway up, the trail narrowed until I had to press myself flat against the rock face.
One glance downward was enough to make my stomach lurch.
The footholds were vanishing. I had to cling to every outcrop, every ridge.
My palms stung, raw and swollen from the rough stone, and whenever my strength faltered, I could almost hear Oliver’s voice from my past life, laced with disgust—
“Why was it you who survived? Zayla, you should have died.”
No.
I clenched my teeth. I would survive.
Fueled by sheer hatred, I pushed forward, gripping tighter, climbing faster.
But God had a cruel sense of humor.
Just when I had conquered three-fourths of the climb, thunder rumbled through the sky.
Rain.
I could already taste the moisture in the air.
If it started now, the rock face would turn slick, impossible to climb. And without any insulation, I would freeze.
I couldn’t afford to slow down.
Faster. Just a little faster—
Then, finally, the destination came into view. Relief surged through me.
