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To anyone who can hear this… Our situation is dire. There are women and children here. We can offer electronic equipment and ammunition in exchange for medicine, food, and drinking water. Please…
…help us.
The intercom blared over the loud, rasping sound of strained breathing emitting from the streets below. I adjusted my footing on the horizontal flagpole jutting from the rooftop. The sound distracted me from my survey of the city. I shifted in my crouch and sighed in exasperation. “We’re going to have to go check that out, aren’t we?”
Crane shot me a deadpan glance, one I’d become surprisingly accustomed to. I sighed again and sprung from my flagpole to the rooftop he was standing on. The tall runner was taking a break to down some water, resting his lean frame casually against a nearby wall. Old Town so far had proven to be more problematic than the Slums, which was really saying something. I stretched, pulling on tense muscle as I waited for Crane to finish his drink. Ever since we’d decided to team up with Troy in an attempt to make ground zero of the infection safer, we’d been running ourselves ragged in an attempt to help survivors. Well, even more ragged than usual.
The loud, serious message projecting from the building reserved for game fans had plagued us for days with no sign of stopping. The message set my nerves on edge; something about the whole thing didn’t sit right with me. The arrogant runner who had become attached to my hip seemed unlikely to let the situation go, especially at the mention of women and children. Anything that flagged the savior personality within the man took top priority, I’d learned, and I had been surprised that he had waited to investigate the message for this long.
“Someone over at the Embers’ tower asked me about it yesterday.” Crane grimaced as he tossed his bottle aside. The environmentalist in me frowned, although recycling was the least of our worries here. “Guess we should probably look into it. If they’ve been in there for days, they probably need supplies now more than ever.”
We were at least fortunate enough that the area around the building entrance was blocked off by barbed wire and police blockades. The metal security door was cracked enough that a person could crawl in. I ducked inside and took in the desk and closed elevator door off to the side. Crane slid in behind me, crashing into me as his running start carried him far, before he stood and barked into his radio, “Troy? There’s a distress signal coming from the Fan Zone.”
My glare directed at his rude slide went ignored, so I moved closer to the desk. It contained a still-working computer and a few papers next to an open binder. He slapped my hand away when I moved to turn the pages, his eyes still fixed on the radio. I smacked him back, wincing internally at the juvenile action, and he shot me a look that clearly read, seriously?
“That place should be empty,” came Troy’s prompt reply.
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll check it out.”
I snorted. Yeah, maybe. Like we weren’t already here investigating. Crane, I had come to notice, had a habit of casually interjecting himself into situations without telling others. Had he raised her on the radio earlier, Troy probably would have told him either not to go, or to wait for more backup. Now, Crane dialed down the volume and strode to call for the elevator. I watched him go with raised eyebrows. Troy would be pissed when she learned we were already headed up to the area, but Crane’s plan allowed for the fact that we would already be ass-deep in whatever awaited us on the office floors when she finally raised us on the radio again. In essence, we would be far too busy to answer her questioning.
Guy was smart, I had to admit.
The silence that filled the elevator was shattered as Crane muttered, “Quit giving me that look.”
I turned to hit him with my raised brow fully. “What look?”
He rolled his eyes into the turn to meet my gaze. “The look you always give me.”
“Yeah, well, if you didn’t keep doing shit to deserve it, I wouldn’t have to dish it out this much.” I sighed in an attempt to relax the tension I felt; from the quarantine, from Old Town itself, from this endlessly frustrating man who had somehow become, more or less, my partner in crime during tasks. “You know Troy is just going to worry about you going after this. Even if she does assume I’m here to watch your dumb ass.”
The faintest hint of guilt etched itself across the strong features of his face. Surprisingly warm brown eyes met mine, but what surprised me more was what came out of his mouth next. “She’d worry more if she had to send some of her own into potential danger like this. At least this way, she wouldn’t have to deal with…” He trailed off.
Of course, I understood everything he hadn’t been able to put into that sentence. He wanted to save Troy the trouble of mourning the loss of someone she cared about. As he always did. We’d all suffered that feeling far too much due to the dangers of surviving in this city. Of course he was more worried about that than actually keeping himself safe. I’d been running with Crane long enough to know the man had enough self-esteem issues, or just issues in general, to completely miss how much he already meant to these people. Even hardened survivors like Troy were unable to contain the affection they felt for the man. It was hard not to feel that way toward the loud-mouthed former GRE agent after how much blood and sweat he poured into helping those who needed it here.
Even I had a hard time hiding the same affections. Coming from me, that affection would only feed into the arrogance the man spouted at every chance. Or, he’d just laugh it off as though I’d intended it as a joke. His refusal to take any kindness from me as serious was about as unconscious and ingrained as his refusal to accept the fact that he was a permanent and very-appreciated fixture in the city.
Honesty was, I guess, the best way to deal with this. “Cut that bullshit out. You know we’d all have to deal with that if something happened to you. The way people talk about you…” I turned my head. Talking about the very real possibility that his stupid yet ultimately necessary suicide missions would get him killed was difficult even for me. The very real affection I felt for the guy who’d saved my ass more times than I ever wanted to admit would hardly be received well, let alone returned. Running for our lives regularly distracted me from that reality, but times like this, where there was nothing but the two of us and the rare dead silence, it was hard to ignore the screaming truth.
It was his turn to cock an eyebrow up at me. “People?”
I was spared an answer as the elevator door clanged open. Well, one half of it anyway. Darkness flooded the floor, save for the dim prevailing light from a vending machine on the other side of the room. I flicked on the flashlight strapped firmly to my shoulder. The scene that met me caused me to take a startled step back; I drew my gun from the holster at my side. At my reaction, Crane swung his rifle from where it was slung it over his shoulder and gripped it tightly.
It was clearly the floor where the zone telecasted events from, if the large TV spotlight ahead of me was any indicator. The overturned cabinet and door ripped off its hinges making a makeshift wall caught my attention first, as did the bloody mess of a former living person propped up against that wall. A surgical mask covered the mouth and lower half of the face, and I half wished it extended up to the top. The eyes looked to have been gouged out by something sharp, judging by the congealed blood running from the sockets like demonic tears. His legs were half drawn to the chest, stiffened by rigor.
I started again when I dropped my gaze down. Several other bodies littered the floor like discarded trash; a man in a suit, two plain-clothed civilians, what looked like one of Rais’ men, and a woman who was dressed like a runner would be. Had to be one of Troy’s. They all lay in various positions, all wide eyed, all spilling enough of their blood to cover the floor like gallons of spilled paint. My stomach heaved, but I forced the sensation down. Upon further investigation, I could make out drag patterns within the red pools staining the floor. Those patterns led to other parts of the room and into adjoining rooms. I was not looking forward to seeing the rest of the carnage.
Crane took in my pale expression silently, not wanting to alert anything to our presence with noise by asking. He did slowly move a hand to motion to me after I stood frozen for a minute. I shook my head and pointed out to the room, raised my gun, and steadied my grip before I took a few tentative steps.
He followed, and the second his eyes took in the scene I had needed a moment to process, I could practically hear the typical holy shit that would have fallen from his mouth. He emerged from the elevator, and while he was scanning the room ahead with trained military precision, I turned to look behind us. The unopened part of the elevator door contained a spectacular blood splatter pattern that both sprayed up and smeared downwards. Several large caliber bullet holes were etched in the wall leading toward the door, most cutting high and low of the height a human would stand at.
I turned back around to follow Crane as he stalked forward quietly, cutting left around the pillars in the middle of the room. More bodies met our low gazes. I hadn’t seen this many massacred people in one space since the initial outbreak. What the hell had happened to cause this mess?
The door at the end of the hallway ahead seemed to be his destination. The electronic card reader to that first door seemed broken, judging by the sparks spitting from the small device. Crane reached for the door to the right, jerking the handle and pushing forward with strong biceps, but the wooden frame wouldn’t give. He grunted in frustration.
I turned back toward the source of the light. The small glass-enclosed room contained the vending machine and several couches. The door at the end of that room was locked, too. I heaved against it until I felt a tapping against my shoulder. I looked back. Crane held a red key card in two fingers, his expression unimpressed with my vain efforts. I sighed, which brought a quiet chuckle from the man.
He slipped the card through the electronic slot and stepped inside. It was the room where all the filming happened. Several cameras were still set up, pointing toward the small stage and its two simple chairs. A large, brightly colored poster with an athlete boasted of the 2014 Harran Global Athletic Games. Crane pushed forward and picked up what looked like an envelope from the stage. I left him reading and headed toward the other door in the corner of the room. While I waited, I watched out of the corner of my eye as he crumpled the note with a sour look on his face.
The door pushed forward easily under my palm. It was the control and editing room. Two of the TV panels had been shattered, but there was no evidence of blood anywhere in the room. I frowned. In the middle of the desk sat a laptop, still brightly lit and working. I floated toward it as if in a dream and glanced at Crane; he shared my suspicious look. He reached forward and slammed the device shut. The still projecting message that I’d forgotten was happening suddenly cut silent.
The distance between us had closed when he moved to shut the laptop. I took in the furrowed brow, slicked with sweat and dirt from the city. Another frown tugged at his lips. He met my gaze again as if he also seemed to realize the proximity. His eyes were searching for something, but I had no clue as to what. He rubbed his face, hand lingering on the stubble lining the strong jaw, and found myself envying that hand.
Feedback struck through the air as I opened my mouth to speak. Crane threw himself in front of me, barring me behind him with a strong forearm to protect me. I wanted to spit out a smart remark about how I didn’t need protecting when a voice that seemed to slice straight to my soul emerged from the speakers.
To anyone who can hear this: your situation is dire. I’ve killed women and children here.
My hand unconsciously came to grip Crane’s shoulder as icy fear poured through me. Something about the tone, something contained within the deep accented voice left no doubt in my mind that this man had been the one to unleash the brutality etched all over the fallen people in the hallway. The sinister and predatory personality expressed in the voice terrified me and awoke in me the strongest flight instinct I’d experienced in the quarantine.
I can offer you death in exchange for your medicine, food, and drinking water. Come to me.
Crane’s sturdy hand came to grasp mine and he strode forward, pulling me with him. The door leading to the beginning hallway came open with a sharp kick from one of his legs.
Troy’s voice cracked over the radio. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Crane glanced back at me, catching me gaze with a fierce intensity that made me feel somehow safer. Whatever the hell this torture scene was, I knew he would do whatever he could to keep me safe. Abandoning silence now that the fucker running this freak show clearly knew we were here, he replied, “I’m in the Fan Zone. This place is a trap. Keep people the hell outta here.”
Prompt as ever, Troy responded, “Understood. Now take your own advice and get out of there.”
With an exasperated sigh, Crane said, more to me than her, “I think I’m gonna have to deal with this one, Troy. Crane out.”
I nodded and attempted to pull myself together. No matter how I felt, I owed it to him to back him up. Judging by the bodies strewn around us, he would need all the help he could get dealing with this psycho. He seemed to notice the change in my demeanor and his gaze softened. “Look—”
The menacing, disembodied voice interrupted his thought. The tone, though, turned more playful in nature. Ah. So you wish to challenge me. The sick fuck was enjoying this, I realized. It was a game to him. The remains in the hallways were challenges for this guy. Like some kind of very fucked up game of cat and mouse. Take the elevator, the voice drawled, and it will take you straight to me.
Crane dragged me until we were at the elevator. “I’m taking the elevator up. You see that open closet over there? You’re gonna hide until I make it up to the floor, and you’re going to take the elevator down and get as far away from this fucking building as you can.”
The concern in his eyes almost surprised me. It turned the light brown softer than I’d ever seen it, and while this situation was unlike anything we’d seen in the quarantine so far, I knew I’d proven myself capable on more than one occasion through the missions we’d run. I was momentarily stunned by the reaction. He stepped inside the elevator and pushed the button with one last lingering glance at me.
Determination finally returned to my bones, and I stepped inside just before the door closed. He reached for the door-open button, protests rising to from his throat already, but I slapped his arm away forcefully as he’d done to me earlier. Thankfully, I managed to keep the frightened tremor out of my voice as I snapped, “You’re not ditching me that easily, Crane. Who else is gonna keep protecting your skinny ass?”
He paused, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Like he was genuinely surprised that I would follow him into such danger. I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. All we’d accomplished running through the city together, and he still doubted that anyone, including me, would be willing to follow him to the probable end. That self-deprecating attitude prevented him from believing that he deserved something as small as a friend standing by his side to the end. Being that friend was the least I could do for the man who was doing his best to save Harran. Even if I’d wanted more than friendship.
But before I could even begin unpacking the self-deprecating attitude that was clearly years in the making, Crane rushed forward and kissed me. Hard. Hard enough that my back met the front wall of the elevator, but even that contact didn’t distract me from the sudden sensation of the strong body I’d admired from afar on mine. There was no telling how little time we had before the door would open to the most challenging enemy we would face in the quarantine so far, but it was enough that by the time he pulled back, my lips felt bruised and I was left thoroughly confused but wanting more.
To anyone who can hear this… Your situation is quickly deteriorating.
Crane leaned in once more and claimed my mouth in another kiss, pausing to slide a velvet tongue alongside mine before he backed off with a groan. The elevator slid to an abrupt halt, but he took another few precious seconds to press his forehead against mine. A silent promise; the two of us would either get out of here together, or not at all.
The door leading to the elevator shaft in the ceiling clanged open. The disembodied voice rang through the enclosed space as Crane hoisted himself up out of the elevator and lent a hand down to help me up.
I’ve killed so many I can hardly remember them all, the predator boasted. His voice turned quickly to contempt as he added, but they were all weak. You are weak too, so you will die.
We both glanced up at an open air vent in the shaft. Crane shifted toward it, but I grabbed his shoulder and said, “Crane, wait.”
As he turned back around expectantly, I jumped at the opportunity to shove myself unceremoniously up and into the narrow shaft. I wasn’t about to let him face whatever happened first; he’d already been through too much in this quarantined hell.
“Goddamn it—”
As I predicted, he was pissed. I could practically feel the big guy seething behind me as we both army-crawled through the slender duct.
To anyone who can hear this… I’m going to cut out your ear drums, so you won’t hear anything. The end of that taunt was punctuated by a sudden pinging of metal near my right hand. A flurry of bullets tore up through the bottom of the duct. I flinched in surprise and struggled to muscle myself forward quicker. Adrenaline coursed through my system. Fear drove out all other thought from my mind. You will die in total silence. Not to worry, he added with a maniacal laugh, I will hear your screams for you, so they won’t go to waste.
I turned the corner frantically and came upon a small slice of light. There was a panel missing ahead, a way down, and although it couldn’t lead to anything good, I was desperate to get out of the space driving me toward claustrophobia.
To anyone who can hear this… I was left behind by cowards, but I’ve survived by awakening my natural predatory abilities.
The drop down brought my knees up short, and I realized I’d landed on top of an overturned bookshelf that placed me up higher. The air was suddenly forced from my lungs as I breathed in some kind of smoke that hung thick in the air. I coughed, sputtered, and threw myself to the ground. I gasped in the small corridor of fresher air close to the floor as Crane dropped behind me and broke into the same kind of painful choking and heaving.
From everywhere at once, the sound of the predator’s voice echoed through the room, louder than ever. Here, I am ruler. Here, I am king. Here…
You will die.
I struggled to peer through the fog. I was on edge. I had no idea where the bastard was, or what he had set up for us. The shimmer of glass encasing the small space told me we were in a similar room to the one with the couches earlier. For a second, I saw a flash of light across the room. I drew my gun and rushed forward.
Several things happened at once. I felt a tugging at my shin as I passed through the space between the glass walls, I heard a tiny click, and I made it a point to turn back and yell, “Crane, don’t!” as he made to follow me.
The bomb I was expecting to go off didn’t; there was a second’s pause before a gunshot rang out, far too low to be from the man hunting us. The noise resonated down low to the right, and I felt a sudden searing pain that barely grazed my calf. Barely, because I’d been moving forward at enough speed to offset the target of the shot. But I still went down, tangled up in the chair that had abruptly appeared in front of me, crying out at the pain of it all.
The fucker had planted a gun on a wire to act as a trap. Not planted to kill, as the height suggested, but to slow me down and make me easier to kill. He had clearly thought about this plenty, the sick fuck.
Crane shifted closer, probably figuring the path directly behind me was safe now that I’d already tripped the trap that was set.
I clamped my teeth down on top of another cry and muttered, “Wait, wait! Bastard’s got this place rigged for traps to slow us down.”
He nodded grimly before he turned on his heel and glanced around. While he stood guard, I examined my calf. The bullet had carved a nice channel in the skin but wasn’t bleeding too profusely. I was extremely lucky. I gripped my gun and shifted to squat on the balls of my feet.
A smattering of gunshots tore toward us from the other side of the room. I ducked. Crane turned toward them and edged forward. I moved around the other way, circling to cover him. I moved more deliberately this time; I was sure my luck had run out after having literally dodged a bullet. My eyes strained against the harshness of the thick smoke. Where the fuck was this guy? I turned to pivot around one of the columns in the middle of the floor.
Crane’s pained exclamation caught my attention, and I turned in its direction. The momentary distraction was enough that I was completely surprised by movement close to my right side. Something knocked into me. I turned to my right and fired off a few shots before I extended my left arm to hopefully catch my fall.
The wall came up much sooner than I’d anticipated and a sharpness I also hadn’t been expecting suddenly lanced through my arm. I screamed as the force from that shove pushed whatever sharpness completely through my arm. The smoke in front of me cleared at all the movement and my eyes met a bunch of thick, black, literal spikes that had been stuck to the wall. Two of them had passed completely through the skin and muscle of my left arm, scraping past bone as it went.
I was now stuck. If the fucker came back around, I wouldn’t be able to run this time.
Move, you idiot! I thought desperately. But the image in front of me had short circuited the connection from my brain to my muscles; I couldn’t move. I could only sit and watch as red pulsed from the immobilized limb on the wall.
“You fucked up, sick motherfucker!”
Crane’s shouting brought me back. The voice begging do something! in my head aided as I shifted back and tugged on my arm. Several whimpers escaped my lips as I slowly and painfully tore my arm from the crude trap.
Inspiration suddenly struck. If we couldn’t see, then I could at least level the playing field. I reached into the side pockets of my vest and pulled out every flare I had. With difficulty, I flopped my now semi-useless arm up to the good one. Crane’s voice cut through the room again, and I struck all six flares at the same time and scattered them.
The light that cut through the room caused both men to shout in shock and pain. I’d closed my eyes in time to avoid the initial flash and I now squinted past the glare. I sucked in a quick breath and stood, holding my gun straight out with my good arm. I raced about the room. If my plan worked, the predator would be too busy worrying about his eyes to really listen to my footsteps. I leaped over another wire I saw close to the ground and turned the corner into another glass-encased room.
A man stood over where Crane had fallen, clad in what looked like full army gear. The features of his face were distorted under a respirator mask. His vest, I noted, held several grenades, and in the hand that wasn’t struggling with the respirator, he held what looked like a police rifle. I dove forward and tackled the solid body to the ground. His grunt was muffled through the respirator.
Now that the tables had turned, I needed to think quickly to stay ahead. I planted my knees square on the guy’s chest and swung my gun down. The force was enough to slightly crack the plastic of the mask, and he cried out in surprise. His other hand, though, rocked up and caught me on the side of the head. His knees rocked up and forced me head first into the nearby bookcase. As I ran headlong into it, the man struggled to his hands and knees. From my dazed position, I saw Crane throw himself over the guy’s back and wrap his arm over the bastard’s throat.
The predator was strong, though, and he bucked up to stand. Something caught on Crane’s leg jerked him down off of the guy’s back. Some kind of trap ensnared around the lower part of Crane’s leg, I realized. The predator turned to face the fallen runner. I felt blindly around my head and grasped a particularly thick book from the destroyed shelving around me. My first toss landed squarely on the back of the predator’s head, and he whipped back around to me with a furious roar.
Two swift kicks straight to my exposed ribs made me instantly regret the action. He planted his hands firmly on the wall in front of him to get enough leverage that the third drew tears from my eyes. I glanced between the predator’s boots and met Crane’s eyes.
We were both going to die here. Whoever the hell this guy was, he was somehow stronger than the both of us, and more prepared. At least we would go out together.
Crane’s gaze diverted. I heard him grunting and straining as the predator hauled me up by my bad arm. The bastard laughed at my scream of agony. I barely noticed the other cry of anguish that had matched mine as the predator placed a hand over my throat. I was already straining to breathe from the smoke. I stopped breathing altogether as the strong hand crushed down on my windpipe.
At least it wasn’t going out in a screaming fit of Volatile claws. This had to be less painful. Thinking so made me feel a little better, at least.
Despite the muffling of the respirator, the predator’s voice still cut down to my soul as he leaned in closer to repeat, “Here, I am ruler!” His grip tightened as he pulled me forward and slammed me back into the shelving. “Here, I am king! Here—”
The sound of close gunshots assaulted my eardrums. The grip around my neck loosened suddenly, and I saw wide, surprised eyes through the distorted plastic of the respirator. I fell to the ground and struggled to get air and the predator sidestepped and fell backwards, where he did not move again. I rolled to my hands and knees and stared at the ground, grateful for its solidness.
When I could finally breathe, I noticed the swirling smoke around us was slowly subsiding. I shifted to sit so that I could cradle my bad arm in my lap.
That’s when I first noticed Crane, who was sitting as well. His right leg was stretched out in front of him, and he was bleeding profusely from where the trap had cut just above his ankle. He was probably lucky he hadn’t lost his foot.
Quite a lucky pair, we were.
His arms were stretched out and I saw more blood dripping. I scooted forward gingerly and took one of his wrists with my good arm. There were what looked like teeth marks in the palms of his hand. The other hand held matching ones as well. I jerked my head up to look him in the eye.
He had ripped the trap around his leg open for me.
A slow, pained smile spread across his face. Pained, but genuine. He reached out to stroke a thumb gently across my cheek, careful to avoid smearing any blood in the process.
Maybe I’d been wrong in my assumption earlier. Maybe there was a chance at something here.
With a weary sigh, he picked up his radio and spoke into it. “Troy, it’s me. Some psycho’s been luring people into the Fan Zone and hunting them. There must be fifteen bodies here.”
He put the radio on the nearby table. I stood and reached under one arm to help him stand before I grabbed the radio back up. He was a little shaky on his feet, but I was steady enough for him to lean on as we made our way slowly back to the elevator.
Once inside, Crane crowded into my space and leaned his forehead on my shoulder. I pressed the elevator button and then rested my hand on the back of his neck. He started a little at the touch and brought his head back up. I met the warm brown gaze and felt relief wash through my tired muscles, relief that was followed by a wash of giddiness. We were alive. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines. A smile tugged at his lips again, and he leaned forward to brush them lightly against mine.
Troy’s voice interrupted the motion. “Is he dead?”
Crane sighed in exasperation and his breath warmed my neck as he hung his head. I smirked and brought the radio up in my good hand.
When I pushed the button to talk, he quipped, “As dead as I can make him.” When I giggled at his response, he shot me a grin that sent heat straight through me. In a final tone that invited no more interruption, he added, “Crane out.”
Another giggle escaped me, but the sound was cut off as he crashed his lips against mine again.