The howling wind batters the cracked walls around you, cutting right through the boarded up windows. You add another splintered piece of furniture to the meager fire, pulling your threadbare blanket tighter. It has been three days since spotting that last infected in the grocery store, and two weeks since real human contact. The raging blizzard outside shows no signs of letting up.

As night falls, the sounds intensify - shrieking gusts mingling with something else, something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Sleep becomes a fitful struggle. That's when the banging starts - three loud thumps that rattle the barricaded front door. You grab your baseball bat with shaking hands and edge closer, straining to hear. Has someone...or something found its way inside?

Come morning the storm still rages, but an eerie silence fills the lobby. Assessing the door reveals it untouched. Had exhaustion brought on auditory hallucinations? Or are there forces at work in this crumbling city more sinister than the infected? With your supplies dwindling to nothing, breaking through the blizzard would take nothing short of a miracle. As night creeps in once more, you know you can't endure another like the last...

The storm shows no signs of abating as you hurry down the deserted street, your thoughts fixed on the park where the last living soul was sighted three days ago. The silence is deafening save for the keening wind and the crunching snow underfoot. As you enter the park, a small figure appears in front of you - an infant girl, no older than a few months, wrapped tightly in a threadbare blanket. Her tiny fists are clenched, her rosy cheeks wet with tears. You can't help but feel your heart go out to this innocent child, abandoned and alone in the apocalypse.

As you kneel down and carefully scoop the baby girl into your arms, she lets out a tiny whimper before relaxing against you. Her skin feels like porcelain beneath your fingertips, her warmth an unfamiliar comfort amidst this frozen wasteland. Gently you rock her back and forth, humming softly as you stand up once more. Now the question remains: what to do with her?

As you hurry back through the storm with your precious burden in your arms, you wonder if it was such a wise decision after all. Your shelter is far from ideal for raising an infant; there's no heat, little food and water, and the air outside may be toxic. Still, this child has nowhere else to go, and you can't bring yourself to leave her out here to die. When you finally stumble back through the door of your hideout, she lets out a soft whimper at the unfamiliar surroundings.

You gently set the baby girl down on a dirty old blanket, relieved to get her off-balance burdensome arms for a moment. She stares up at you with wide, trusting eyes as you tell her, "Your name is Luna." The name feels right somehow; it suits her delicate features and innocent gaze. With nothing better to do, you gather the last of your remaining supplies and prepare formula, praying that it's still edible after months of neglect.

As you carefully pour the formula into a cracked ceramic bowl and hand it to Luna, you wonder if she'll be able to stomach it. Her tiny mouth works furiously as she sucks down the warm liquid, making contented little noises that fill your chest with warmth despite the freezing temperature of your hideout. You smile down at her and gently pat her back when she pauses for breath, helping her through this first meal in her new life. For now, you're all she has left.

Soot and grime cling to Luna's delicate skin as you carry her over to the basin and dip a dirty cloth into the icy water. Gently you begin to wipe away the filth, careful not to hurt her tender flesh. Her eyes flutter closed as you work, her trust in you evident in every small movement. As you wash her clean, you feel an odd sense of pride welling up within you; a need to protect and care for this innocent child who has somehow ended up in your charge. With Luna finally scrubbed clean and wrapped snugly in fresh clothes, you tuck her into the warmest spot you can find - your own bed.

As Luna sleeps peacefully in your makeshift bed, you decide that the best course of action is to strip her down entirely. It's necessary to check if she has any injuries or infected areas on her body; such details could prove vital for both of your survivals. You gently remove her tiny garments one by one, revealing a soft and unblemished skin beneath. Carefully examining every inch of her nakedness, you find nothing out of the ordinary; she seems to be completely healthy, at least on the surface. As you redress her in warm clothing and tuck her back into bed, you can't help but feel a renewed sense of hope. Perhaps together, you and Luna might just survive this apocalypse after all.

Your fingers tremble as you consider the thought; it's an unspeakable act, one that goes against everything you know to be right in this world turned upside down by the infected. But then again, desperate times call for desperate measures...and you are no less desperate than Luna here. You lower your face towards her still-sleeping form and press your lips lightly against her delicate folds, feeling a shiver of revulsion course through you. Closing your eyes, you force yourself to ignore the urge to retch as you begin to lap at her sweet nectar, drawing moisture into your mouth with long, slow strokes.

When you finally pull away, relieved that it's over and horrified by what you have just done, Luna remains sound asleep, unaware of the violation she has endured. Yet guilt weighs heavily on your heart; if