Strongest Boyfriend In The Apocalypse: Every Girl Depends On Me!-Chapter 47: Dylan

The forest had grown quiet again after Nina’s conversation with the daughters and their father, but it was not the kind of silence that brought peace; it was the heavy, listening kind, the type that made every rustling leaf feel like a threat and every distant sound feel like a warning.

The trees stood tall and dark, their branches weaving together above her like a ceiling made of shadows, and the ground beneath her boots was damp with old rain and decaying leaves.

She moved slowly, carefully, her senses alert, her mind still replaying the argument she had just left behind, the anger in the father’s voice, the pain in the daughters’ eyes, and the weight of knowing that sometimes people refuse to help not because they are cruel, but because they are afraid of losing what little they have left.

The young man walked ahead of her at first, keeping a noticeable distance, his body tense, his shoulders tight, his hands never far from whatever weapon he could grab if he needed one.

His clothes were torn and stained with dirt and ash, his hair messy and unkempt, and his eyes carried the sharp alertness of someone who had learned the hard way that hesitation could get you killed. He didn’t trust her, and Nina could feel it in the way he kept glancing back at her, measuring her steps, studying her face as if trying to decide whether she was danger or shelter.

She broke the silence first, not with a question, not with a warning, not with fear, but with a single word that sounded almost gentle in the quiet forest.

"Hungry?"

He stopped mid-step.

The word hit him harder than any threat could have. His body froze, his back stiff, his breathing paused for a moment, and slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned to look at her. His eyes dropped to her hands. That was when he saw it.

The roasted squirrel meat, wrapped in cloth, still warm enough that faint steam rose into the cold air. The smell alone seemed to pull at him, dragging hunger from somewhere deep inside him, from a place that had learned to survive on scraps and desperation.

He hesitated, pride fighting with instinct, fear fighting with hunger, survival fighting with distrust, but in the end, hunger won. He nodded once, quickly, almost embarrassed, almost ashamed, but honest.

Nina didn’t smile. She didn’t tease him. She didn’t speak. She simply sat down on a fallen log and unwrapped the meat, tearing it into pieces and holding it out to him like an offering instead of a bargain.

He moved slowly at first, cautious, suspicious, but the moment the food touched his hands, control disappeared. He sat down hard, leaning forward, eating like someone who hadn’t had a real meal in days, his hands shaking, his jaw working fast, his breath uneven as he tore into the meat with desperate hunger. Grease stained his fingers, his lips, his chin, but he didn’t care. Survival didn’t come with manners anymore.

For a while, Nina let him eat in silence. She watched him carefully, not with fear, not with judgment, but with quiet understanding, because she had seen this hunger before, not just in others, but in herself, in people who had lost everything and were still trying to hold on to life with nothing but instinct and stubborn willpower.

When his eating slowed and his breathing steadied, she finally spoke, her voice calm, soft, and steady.

"Where did you come from?"

He didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened, his eyes hardened, and for a moment it looked like he might shut down again, retreat back into silence and distance. But then he exhaled slowly, leaned back against the log, and stared up at the branches above them as if the story was written in the leaves.

"I was in the mines," he said finally, his voice low, rough, but controlled. "With my father. We worked there together. Always did. It was just us after my mom died. Same shifts. Same tunnels. Same paths every day. Then everything went wrong."

His fingers curled slowly.

"The noise started first. Screaming. Sirens. People running. Then the fighting. Then the sickness. Then the biting. Then the turning."

His voice dropped even lower.

"My father changed right in front of me."

Nina didn’t interrupt.

"He tried to eat me," he continued, his voice cracking slightly despite the hardness he tried to keep. "Didn’t recognize me. Didn’t know my face. Didn’t hear my voice. Didn’t care. I had to run. I didn’t look back. I didn’t help him. I didn’t try to save him. I just ran."

He swallowed.

"I was the only one who made it out."

Silence settled again.

"I figured the mine wasn’t the only place it happened," he went on. "I saw the cities burning. I saw people turning. I saw bodies everywhere. I knew the whole world was falling apart. So I stayed moving. Stayed hidden. Stayed alive. That’s all I’ve been doing."

He looked at her then.

"I’m trying to get to Atlanta," he said. "If there’s anywhere that might still have something safe, it’s there. If there’s any chance of shelter, supplies, walls, protection, it’s there."

Nina felt the weight of his words deep in her chest. His story wasn’t unique in this world anymore, but that didn’t make it lighter. Loss was still loss. Pain was still pain. Survival didn’t make grief disappear, it just buried it deeper.

"I don’t have anyone either," she said quietly. "So we’re the same in that way."

He didn’t respond, but something in his expression softened, just a little.

When he finished eating, his body relaxed for the first time since she had met him. His shoulders dropped, his breathing evened, and a faint, tired smile appeared on his face, the kind that only comes after real food and real rest.

Nina watched him for a moment, then spoke again, her voice steady, direct, but gentle.

"Come with me," she said. "We’re both going to Atlanta. We don’t have to go alone."

He hesitated again, doubt rising in his eyes, fear of attachment, fear of betrayal, fear of loss, fear of trust. But this time, the hesitation didn’t last long. He looked at her, then at the road ahead, then back at her again, and finally nodded.

She smiled softly.

"Nina."

"Dylan," he replied.

She handed him a bottle of water.

"You’ll need it."

He took it instantly and drank like someone who didn’t know when he’d get the next one.

"With my life," he said between gulps, emptying it in seconds.

They started walking together, side by side now, no longer strangers moving in the same direction, but companions sharing the same road, even if the destination still held secrets Nina wasn’t ready to share.

She didn’t tell him about her friends. She didn’t tell him about the danger. She didn’t tell him about the plans forming in her mind. Some truths needed time. Some paths needed trust first.

And the forest swallowed their figures as they moved forward, two survivors walking into a broken world, carrying nothing but hope, hunger, and the fragile beginnings of trust.

******

The base was alive with movement, tension, preparation, and quiet fear disguised as discipline. The air smelled of fuel, metal, sweat, and smoke, and the sound of boots on concrete echoed through the compound as teams moved into formation. The raid was happening. The planning phase was over. The waiting was done.

Ethan stood among his team, fully geared, fully armed, fully alert, but mentally heavy with everything he wasn’t allowed to say and everything he couldn’t afford to ignore. Eva stood close to him, calm but focused. Helen checked her equipment one last time. Jasper and John tried to look confident, but the tension showed in their eyes. Three Special Force officers stood with them, experienced, hardened, disciplined, their expressions unreadable.

And then there were the housemates. The ones the Commander had quietly added to the team without explanation. Ethan noticed it immediately, but his growing Intelligence attribute helped him piece it together without asking. Trust. Observation. Influence. Leadership testing. The Commander wasn’t just sending a raid team. He was testing a leader.

The Commander approached, his presence commanding silence without effort. His posture was straight, his expression firm, his eyes sharp with experience.

"Today is not about glory," he said. "It’s not about heroism. It’s not about ego. It’s about survival, intelligence, unity, and discipline. You move together. You think together. You fight together. You protect each other. You come back alive."

He turned to the Special Force officers.

"Guide them. Protect them. Teach them."

Then to the rest.

"Trust your leader. Follow instructions. Don’t panic. Don’t act alone. This mission is simple. Find survival groups. Identify safe zones. Locate potential shelters. Bring people back. That’s it."

He dismissed them.

As they moved toward the van, the Commander stopped Ethan alone.

"Find your family."

The words were simple, but heavy.

Ethan nodded, understanding everything behind them.

Before boarding, he saw Anna. She stood still, her expression strained, her eyes tired, her lips trembling slightly.

"I’ll miss you," she said.

"Same," he replied quietly.

"Find our moms," she said. "Find your sister. Bring them somewhere safe."

He hesitated.

"Promise me you’ll come back."

He looked at her.

"I promise."

The doors closed.

The engine started.

And the van rolled forward into the broken city, carrying hope, fear, duty, and destiny toward Atlanta.