Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend-Chapter 95: Mine, not yours

The road stretched long and empty ahead of them.

Soft rock played through the speakers as Aubrey drove, both hands steady on the wheel. The sky was dull gray, the kind that made everything feel heavier than it should.

Isabella sat beside her, turned toward the window. Her fist pressed against her jaw, elbow on the door. She stared out at nothing in particular. Just trees. Ruined signs. The blur of highway.

Aubrey glanced at her, brows pulling together, then reached over and turned the volume up.

The guitar swelled through the car.

Isabella finally shifted, looking at the radio, then at Aubrey. A small, almost surprised look crossed her face.

Aubrey caught it from the corner of her eye. "What?"

"I never pegged you for a Guns N’ Roses type of girl."

"There’s a lot you don’t know about me," Aubrey said, a little sharper than she meant to.

Isabella looked back at the road.

Silence settled again, thick but not quiet. The music filled the gaps.

Aubrey tried to focus on driving, but her eyes kept drifting to Isabella. Since the day they met, Isabella had always been distant. Hard to read. Most of what Aubrey knew about her came secondhand.

Peter’s daughter. Quiet. Moody.

That was about it.

"You know," Aubrey said after a while, "there isn’t much I know about you either."

Isabella didn’t look at her. "And why do you think that is?"

Aubrey shrugged slightly. "I don’t know. You don’t really talk much."

A dry laugh left Isabella’s mouth. "Oh really? I didn’t think you were too interested in talking to someone who’s mute. Or emo."

Aubrey’s grip tightened on the wheel.

She knew.

Of course she knew.

"Look," Aubrey said, keeping her voice even, "if you’re going to help me, we might as well get acquainted."

"You don’t need to do me any favors with your fake friendship."

"I’m not. I’m doing you a favor by letting you come."

Isabella scoffed under her breath and shook her head.

Heat rose in Aubrey’s chest, but she forced it down. The road ahead stayed straight. Endless.

"Look," Aubrey said after a moment, quieter now. "I’m sorry for calling you a mute emo. That was seven months ago. I think it’s time to let it go."

Isabella finally turned her head.

"And I’m sorry for thinking you’re a basic bitch who cuts her hair, gets a few minimalist tattoos and a septum piercing, and thinks she’s the shit."

The words hung in the air.

Aubrey’s jaw tightened. For a second it felt like she might slam the brakes just to break the tension. But she didn’t.

She breathed in. Then out.

The song on the radio shifted into the chorus. The guitar wailed.

Neither of them spoke.

The highway carried them forward anyway.

—

The more we drove, the more it felt like Lila was slipping through my fingers.

We’d jacked a car a few blocks from the base. I didn’t even remember choosing it. I just broke the window, hot-wired it, and drove. Anything to get us out.

I checked the rearview mirror again.

Empty road.

No headlights. No orange glow. No one chasing us.

Why would they? I was just another prisoner who got lucky. They could grab someone else to break.

Lila shifted beside me. Or tried to.

Her head tipped forward, even with the seatbelt strapped tight across her chest. I reached over and pushed her upright with one hand while steering with the other.

"Stay up for me, Lila," I said. My voice sounded thinner than I wanted. "Just stay up."

Her eyes barely opened. Then they fluttered again.

A heavy weight settled in my chest. Not fear exactly. Something worse. The feeling that I was already too late.

"We’re gonna find help soon," I said. "I swear."

Texas crossed my mind. The camp. The people I called my comrades.

I pushed the thought away.

Going back never sat right with me. And now, with her like this, it felt impossible. They wouldn’t hesitate. Not if they decided she wasn’t worth the food or the risk.

She wasn’t human to them anymore.

I pressed harder on the gas.

A few miles later, I spotted a white building off the road. Small. Plain. A faded red cross barely visible on a sign near the door. A larger building stood behind it, dark and quiet.

A medical hub.

Something loosened in my chest. Not relief. Just a thin strand of hope.

I parked crooked near the entrance and rushed around to her side. When I opened the door, her body leaned toward me like she’d been waiting to fall.

"I’ve got you," I muttered.

I lifted her into my arms. She felt lighter than she should have.

The front door creaked when I pushed it open with my shoulder. The air inside smelled old. Dust and something metallic.

There was a stretcher in the corner. Dried blood stained the sheet.

I didn’t let myself think about it. I laid her down gently and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Her eyes were closed.

My hand hovered over her mouth.

A faint breath touched my skin.

Still breathing.

"Good," I whispered. "Good."

I turned and started tearing through the place. Cabinets. Drawers. Shelves. I grabbed anything that looked useful—gauze, alcohol, syringes, sealed packs I didn’t even recognize.

I wasn’t a doctor, or had any experience with this shit...but I guess people already picked that up from the stapler.

I was going to save her regardless. I had to.

I stacked the supplies on a metal tray beside the stretcher. My hands were shaking, but I forced them steady.

I was about to set down one last pack when a voice exploded behind me.

"Put those down!"

I froze.

A shotgun clicked.

I turned slowly.

A stranger stood near the doorway to the back building, both hands on the weapon, barrel aimed straight at my chest.

My blood ran cold. I should’ve known people were here.