bdsm-fiction Chapter 5 Falling Behind
Chapter 5 Falling Behind
The teammates started shouting.
The first to spot it was a young armed man in the rear guard. He turned a corner and saw a rolling black shadow a dozen meters ahead, in which he could vaguely make out the outline of a human struggling.
He shouted and fired his gun.
The bullet pierced through the shadows, struck the ground, and sent up shards of stone.
The core of the Shadow Demon is hidden deep within its form, making it impossible to hit from such a distance.
More people flocked over.
Some people fired guns, some lit torches, and some used supernatural abilities to attack.
Under concentrated fire, the lurking shadow creature finally released its prey and transformed into a wisp of black smoke, disappearing into the depths of the ruins.
But it was too late.
The old man lay on the ground, his whole body withered like a piece of dead wood.
His skin had no wounds, but the shadow demon had completely drained the moisture and life force from his body.
His eyes were wide open and his mouth was agape.
he died.
The group fell into a deathly silence.
Then some people remained indifferent, some started crying, and some squatted on the ground holding their heads, afraid that they would be next.
A young woman rushed over and hugged the old man's body, crying out something—probably his daughter or daughter-in-law.
No one tried to pull her up; everyone stood there, as if nailed to the ground.
Jiang Che saw it too.
His first reaction wasn't fear, but rather the thought that falling behind meant death.
It's not just possible to die, it's not a high probability of dying, it's certain to die.
They vanished without a trace, swallowed up completely, before you could even utter a sound.
His hands were shaking.
It wasn't because of the cold, but because his body was filled with lingering fear—what if the lurking shadow had chosen him instead of the old man?
He remained at the very back of the line, his pace barely faster than the old man's, and he was about the same distance from the rear guard as the old man.
Almost.
It was so close.
Su Qingyuan suddenly placed her hand on the back of his hand.
Jiang Che jolted and turned to look at her.
She stood beside him, so close that he could smell the faint scent of blood and ointment on her.
Her hand didn't grip his tightly; it simply covered the back of his hand gently, like a warm leaf fallen on ice.
Her eyes were fixed on the old man's body in front of her, not on him.
His lips parted slightly, then closed again.
It probably means "Don't be afraid".
But he didn't say it aloud.
Because the words "don't be afraid" are completely useless in the apocalypse.
She didn't speak, but simply placed her hand on the back of his hand.
Jiang Che held his breath.
The hand was very small, much smaller than he had expected.
His fingers were long and slender with distinct knuckles, and his skin was as rough as sandpaper—the marks left by the backlash from his superpowers after long-term use.
But it was this hand, calloused and scarred, that, when it rested on the back of his hand, gave him a strange sense of security he had never experienced in the apocalypse.
It's not the sense of security that comes from "she can protect me".
It's the sense of security that comes from "she knows I'm scared, and she doesn't mind that I'm scared."
Jiang Che didn't dare to move.
He didn't know where to put his hands, nor how long she would keep them there.
He stood frozen in place, afraid of disturbing the butterfly that was covering the back of his hand and could fly away at any moment.
About five seconds passed.
Maybe longer, maybe shorter.
Jiang Che's heart was beating so fast that he couldn't accurately perceive the passage of time.
Su Qingyuan withdrew her hand.
The movement was so fast, it was as if someone had been burned by something.
The tips of her ears were tinged with a suspicious red in the torchlight, but she turned her head to one side and covered them with her hair.
"Don't fall behind," she said.
"Su Qingyuan's favorability towards the host increases by 1 x 2. Current favorability value: 35, intimacy level: 7."
Jiang Che opened his mouth, wanting to say "thank you," but the words stuck in his throat.
He didn't say anything, just nodded, and looked away from Su Qingyuan's profile, turning his gaze forward.
Before the team could recover from the impact, a rough voice boomed from the front of the team.
"What are you all standing there for!"
Zhao Lie strode over from the front of the group, his figure casting a huge shadow in the firelight.
His face was ashen, not from fear, but from anger—anger at the fact that the group had stopped and wasted time.
"The man is already dead. Will crying bring him back to life? Are you all staying here to die with him?"
Someone looked up at him, their eyes red: "Couldn't you have waited? A living, breathing person just—"
"This is the apocalypse!" Zhao Lie roared back, "This isn't kindergarten! Do I have to teach you that the slowest person dies?"
The man shrank back after being yelled at.
Zhao Lie's gaze swept across the entire group.
"I'll say it one last time. The convoy won't wait for anyone. Anyone who falls behind is responsible for their own actions. If you can't keep going, find a place to quietly wait to die, don't drag others down with you."
After he finished speaking, he turned and walked away, but stopped after taking two steps. He turned his head to the side, and the firelight danced on half of his face.
"Speed up. We have to get through this ruin before dawn. If anyone dawdles, I won't mind making the decision for them."
Everyone understands what "helping him make the decision" means.
The team started moving again.
This time, no one complained, no one cried. Everyone lowered their heads, gritted their teeth, and put all their strength into their legs.
Fear is the best fuel—more effective than compressed food, more effective than clean water, more effective than anything else.
You don't want to die, so you have to run.
Jiang Che also started running.
It's not running, it's brisk walking.
His right knee was hurting beyond the threshold, so his brain simply shut down the pain signals, leaving only the mechanical command of "step, step, step again".
Just when he thought his leg was about to break, a hand reached out from the side and grabbed his right arm.
Su Qingyuan.
She helped him up.
It's not the kind of helping that's just a quick check and that's it.
It's true.
Her arm slipped under his armpit, her hand resting on his shoulder blade, and he could feel its softness.
She lifted him up a little—just a little—so that his right knee bore less weight.
"Let's go," she said. Just one word.
She herself was still injured and her infection had not improved, yet she used her body to support another person.
It was warm, carrying body heat, like a small stove for only two people on a cold autumn night.
He suddenly felt very embarrassed.
It wasn't because he was being supported by a woman—in the apocalypse, gender is insignificant in the face of life and death.
It was because he could clearly feel the warmth of her palms seeping through her clothes onto his skin, her breathing was so close, and her hair occasionally brushed against his jaw, making his mouth dry.
He turned his face to the other side, pretending to look at the pebbles on the roadside.
But his heartbeat betrayed him; it was pounding so hard he even doubted Su Qingyuan could hear it.