Pregnant During An Apocalypse [BL]

Chapter 311: Chapter 312 - Uncertainty

The forest was silent except for the slow rumble of the old jeep crawling through the uneven road. The headlights cut through the darkness, glinting off tree trunks that looked almost like figures in the mist. The tires crunched over fallen leaves and small stones, echoing faintly in the empty night.

Lin Jinju leaned against the window, her breath forming small clouds against the glass. The night air seeped through the cracks in the door, cold and damp, bringing with it the scent of moss and decay. ”We’re low on gas,” Shinju muttered after a while, his eyes scanning the barely visible path ahead. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, the faint light catching the deep lines on his knuckles. ”We might have to stop for the night here. When it’s bright, I’ll go look for some abandoned cars and siphon what we can.”

Jinju nodded faintly, her lips pressed into a thin line. ”Do you think our kids are doing okay?” she asked softly, the tremor in her voice betraying the calm she tried to keep.

For a moment, Shinju didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, and only when the jeep rolled to a slow stop at the side of the road did he finally look at her. ”I know my kid...” he said quietly, almost to himself. ”He’s reckless, always has been. But he’s strong. I fear for him every minute I breathe—but if he’s with your boy, maybe...” He trailed off, sighing heavily. ”Maybe they’ve got a chance.”

The car stilled, its engine humming faintly before Shinju turned it off. Silence rushed in, only broken by the faint whisper of the wind brushing through the branches.

”Let’s rest here for the night,” he said, reaching forward to shut off the heater. ”It might get cold.”

”It’s better than staying out there,” Jinju murmured. She reached to the back seat, her fingers brushing over the supplies they’d hastily packed. The baskets were half-empty now. Most of the bread she’d baked days ago was gone—eaten cold during rushed stops. All that was left were a few packs of instant noodles and some dry biscuits that had long gone stale.

She frowned. ”We can make ramen at least...” she said, her tone almost playful despite the fatigue in her eyes.

Shinju gave a small grunt, glancing out the window. ”We’ll need a fire then. I’ll find some wood.”

Her head snapped up immediately. ”Do you have to?” she said quickly, her hands clutching the edge of her seat. ”It’s not safe out there at night.”

Shinju raised a brow, almost amused by her concern. ”We can’t cook without a fire,” he reminded her gently.

”But what if there’s something—”

”It’s okay,” he interrupted with a faint smile, checking his gun’s chamber and slipping a knife into his belt. ”It’s not that bad. I can handle it.”

Before she could argue again, he pushed the door open. The sound of the hinges groaning against the cold made her wince. She watched as he disappeared into the trees, his flashlight cutting brief paths of light across the trunks.

For a moment, Jinju sat there alone, her hands clasped in her lap. The silence of the forest pressed against her ears—it wasn’t peaceful, but heavy, alive in a way that made her skin prickle. She swallowed, then finally sighed and got out of the jeep herself. ”He’s going to catch a cold if I don’t help,” she mumbled under her breath.

The air was biting, each breath a thin wisp of white. She found a small clearing not far from the road where the ground was dry enough. Kneeling, she brushed aside the damp leaves and laid down a few flat stones to form a base. From the back of the jeep, she pulled out the small metal pan they’d brought and filled it with bottled water. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to boil a pack or two of noodles.

As she worked, her thoughts drifted again—to Yunfeng. She wondered if he was eating properly, if he was sleeping, or if he even had time to rest at all. The last time she saw him, his smile had been calm, reassuring, even when the world was already beginning to crumble. You’ll be proud of me, Mom, he had said before he left. I’ll protect everyone.

Her chest ached at the memory.

”Found some dry ones,” Shinju’s voice broke through her thoughts. She looked up to see him returning with an armful of sticks and fallen branches. His coat was wet from the mist, and the faint smell of gunpowder clung to him. ”Lucky night,” he said with a small grin. ”Didn’t run into anything too nasty.”

Jinju forced a smile, taking some of the sticks from him and arranging them carefully. ”You always say that. One day that luck of yours will run out.”

”Then I’ll make new luck,” he said lightly, crouching beside her as he struck a match. The flame flickered uncertainly, then caught onto the dry bark. Warmth spread almost instantly, the faint crackle of the fire breaking the oppressive stillness.

Jinju poured the water into the pan and placed it carefully over the flame. The scent of smoke mixed with the faint aroma of instant noodles soon filled the air, oddly comforting in its simplicity. For a while, neither of them spoke. The forest whispered around them, and the fire painted their faces in gold and shadow.

After a long silence, Shinju spoke again, his tone softer than before. ”You know... when all this started, I thought the hardest part would be killing the monsters. Turns out it’s not. It’s waiting. Not knowing.”

Jinju’s eyes glimmered faintly in the firelight. ”Not knowing if they’re alive...”

He nodded. ”Not knowing if what you’re doing even matters anymore.”

The ramen began to boil, the bubbles rising lazily to the surface. Jinju stirred it slowly with a spoon, watching the steam curl upward. ”It matters,” she said after a while. ”Because they’re still out there. Because they’re fighting. And because we’re still alive.”

Shinju looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he chuckled softly and leaned back against a tree. ”You talk like my wife used to,” he murmured.

Jinju smiled faintly, not answering.