Pregnant During An Apocalypse [BL]

Chapter 312: Chapter 313 - Attacked by the wild

The flames shivered low, sputtering orange embers as the noodles boiled away, filling the small clearing with the thin, familiar comfort of hot soup. Jinju watched the steam curl and taste the memory of home in it — a ridiculous, fierce comfort in the middle of a ruined world. Her stomach gave a loud, humiliating growl and, for a second, they both laughed, the sound brittle but real.

Then something shifted in the air.

The cicadas that were singing so loudly went quiet all of a sudden.

Jinju felt it before she heard it: a prickle along her scalp, the kind of hair-raising awareness you get when a room goes suddenly too quiet. Her heart, which had been a slow, exhausted drum for days, began to thud — too fast, too hard. She pulled her coat tighter and looked away from the pan to the dark line of trees.

A long, mournful howl tore through the stillness. It was close enough that Jinju could feel the vibration in her ribs. The sound wasn’t the distant, sad cry of a single animal; it was a signal, and it made the world tilt for her a little.

”Shinju?” she called, voice trembling in a way she didn’t want to admit. The forest answered with another metallic snap — branches underfoot — and then another, nearer and angrier.

Panic unfurled in her. Shinju had gone for wood; she had meant to be helpful, not to be left alone with the night. Her hands went for the knife and the pistol he’d set down by the jeep, fingers closing on cold metal that somehow steadied her breathing. ”I have a gun,” she whispered to the darkness, and it felt absurd to try and sound threatening when every instinct in her screamed to hide.

A shadow moved behind the trunk of an old pine. First she saw the darkness of its shoulder, then the low, shaggy outline of a head. The moon found a slit of white teeth. The creature — a wolf, but wrong in the way that everything in this world had become wrong — stepped out into the ember-glow. It wasn’t alone. Two others slipped into the clearing like ghosts, their paws silent on the dry leaves.

Jinju’s breath hitched. They were lean, their ribs visible beneath matted fur; their eyes reflected the fire like hot coals. They didn’t stalk in the playful curiosity of forest life. They watched her with an intent that made the air feel thin.

A second branch snapped. Another shadow revealed itself — then another. Sound multiplied, the forest crowding in. For a moment, she thought she couldn’t move. Her fingers tightened on the gun until the metal bit into her palm.

Then a different sound pierced the night: the solid crack of a flashlight beam, and Shinju’s voice, low and hard. ”Jinju! Stay behind me!”

He emerged as if conjured — backlit by the deeper darkness beyond, his coat dusted with pine needles, arms full of wood. ”Stay!” He barked a command at the nearest wolf, sudden and sharp. The animal froze, ears pricked.

Shinju had the rifle slung at his hip; He planted his feet, his whole body a buffer between the wolves and Jinju. ”Back,” he told them, voice flat and growling with a calm she didn’t entirely trust.

A wolf stepped forward, hackles lifting, a low sound bubbling in its throat. Shinju’s free hand found a flare of movement — a slow, deliberate lifting of the rifle. The muzzle rose and the night cracked around them.

The gunshot was too loud for the clearing; it punched the air and the nearest wolf folded, a small, sudden collapse of fur and limbs. The other two jerked, gave a high, terrified yelp, and then the pack on the edge of the tree line erupted into barking chaos and retreat. The forest echoed with the sound of fleeing paws.

Shinju didn’t lower his rifle for a long beat. His whole body trembled with adrenaline; when he finally exhaled, the breath came ragged and wet. He shouldered the weapon with a slow sigh and took two steps to Jinju, who was still clutching the pistol, knuckles white.

”Are you hurt?” she asked, words fast and small.

He shrugged one shoulder, the gesture trying for casual but failing. ”No. Scratched a bit on the forearm by a branch.” He glanced down; there was a shallow scrape there, smeared with sap and a whisper of blood. ”You okay?” His voice softened, and for the first time the hardness slid from him in a way that made Jinju want to weep.

She shook her head, the laugh she’d held moments ago gone thin. ”I thought I’d be brave. I thought I could—” The rest of the sentence dissolved into steam.

He dropped the wood, moved to kneel beside her, and took her hands carefully in his. His fingers were calloused and warm. ”You were brave,” he said, almost fiercely. ”You’re here, and you kept your head. That’s enough.”

Jinju pressed her forehead to his shoulder, the gun now useless in her lap. Finally she forced herself to draw breath and look at him properly.

”You came back for me,” she said, voice threadbare.

He smiled, a tired, crooked thing. ”Where else am I supposed to go?” He reached instinctively to the pan, lifting it to check the noodles. They were soggy but edible — little islands of home in the wilderness. ”You want the last pack?”

She nodded, and together, side by side, they set about salvaging the little meal with hands that trembled but worked. Shinju re-packed the rifle’s sling and checked the safety, then sat opposite her on the flat stone, boots dusted with the forest.

After dinner, they quickly cleaned the pan, poured dirt over the fire to smother the last glowing embers, and packed their meager supplies. When they finally settled inside the jeep, the metal shell felt like a coffin — cold, cramped, but safer than the open dark.

Jinju sat curled in the passenger seat, wrapped in her coat with a thin blanket drawn over her knees. Shinju leaned back in the driver’s seat, rifle resting upright between his knees, eyes half-lidded but alert. The moonlight cut through the forest canopy, turning the windshield into a shifting patchwork of silver and shadow.

”It’s colder than I thought,” Jinju whispered, rubbing her hands together. ”Feels like the wind found every crack to crawl through.”

Shinju reached back and pulled out another old jacket from the supplies, wordlessly tossing it over to her. ”Use this too. You’ll get sick otherwise.”

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. ”You sound like an old husband.”

That made him chuckle softly. ”Old, maybe. Husband... not sure I’ve earned that level of patience.”

”Mm,” she murmured, turning away to stare at the frosted trees outside. ”If the world hadn’t gone mad... maybe we would’ve all met differently.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.