Reborn: Romance in the Apocalypse

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.

For all I knew, by the time I clawed my way back to him, he'd be wearing a mask of grief, telling everyone I was already 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 top came into view. Relief surged through me.

But before I could take my next step, the sky split open.

Rain pelted down in a merciless torrent.

The rock beneath my foot shifted.

And suddenly—I was falling.

Oh no.

Why now?

Why here?

Just a few more steps, and I would've made it.

I curled my body, bracing for impact, praying I wouldn't shatter on the way down.

Oliver would risk his life to retrieve Lina's keepsakes, but he wouldn't even bother to collect my corpse.

"Help…"

The word tore from my throat, maybe the last one I'd ever say.

Then—

A sharp jolt.

The freefall stopped.

A powerful arm caught me, solid and burning hot.

Stunned, I opened my eyes.

A man's face—sharp, striking—came into view.

One arm held me against his chest with effortless strength, while the other gripped a climbing anchor launcher, the tether embedded deep in the rock wall.

With fluid precision, he adjusted the rope's length, guiding us steadily downward.

I could feel the controlled power in his body, the effortless way he moved.

The moment my feet touched solid ground, my legs gave out, and I sank to my knees, my heart still hammering from the fall.

The man chuckled, hauling me upright.

"I saved your life, but you don't have to kneel in gratitude," he teased. "You're the first to make it up that way. Gotta say, I'm impressed."

Slowly, I exhaled. "Thanks… for the compliment. And for saving me."

The rain drenched me, seeping into my bones. He shrugged off his waterproof jacket and handed it over.

Noticing my lingering exhaustion, he tilted his head.

"You need me to carry you?"

I forced myself to stand straighter, chin lifting. "No. I'm good. I'm Zayla. Who are you?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an ID, flashing it at me.

"Ace. Head of the Rescue Division." His gaze lingered, amused. "I remember you. You didn't board the convoy, and when I went back for you, you were gone. Thought you were dead."

He paused, then added, "So… this makes our second meeting. I don't usually like seeing the same person too often," he admitted. "Usually means they're the kind of unlucky person who keeps getting into trouble."

His lips quirked slightly. "But you're different. You always surprise me."

Something inside me stuttered.

I glanced at him, trying to steady my pulse.

I couldn't tell if my heart was still racing from the near-death experience—

Or because of him.