(( @onbronzesails whoops my hand slipped))
An icy drizzle of rain fell on the darkened city, tapping at the rooftops of long-abandoned houses. The silhouettes of buildings half-collapsed rose like jagged rows of teeth, black against the dim grey sky. Here and there the remains of more recent encampments could be found - boarded-up windows and doors that had been broken down, painted over with gang insignias and warnings to stay away. But these makeshift shelters were vacant now - even the gangs had been run out of the city a long time ago.
To any observer, it might have seemed at first that there was no movement, no sign of human life anywhere among the rubble. Then, out of the darkness, footsteps. A lone figure, running down a street overgrown with ivy, breathless and terrified. Behind her, more footsteps in pursuit, many more, shuffling and uneven.
Around her, the city that had seemed so silent was slowly coming alive.
They had come out of nowhere. The infected were not fast, not built for pursuit, but they were patient. They had been waiting a long, long while for the right sign - a sound, a flicker of movement, the smell of human sweat, anything to indicate the presence of a warm body, of fresh blood. And when they found it, they came in swarms.
Melissa knew she wouldn’t stand a chance if they caught up to her. Her one chance was to outrun them, to hide, to pray she wouldn’t be found. Broken glass crunched underfoot as she turned blindly down a side street, running past rows of rusting cars left gutted on the pavement. She didn’t dare look back, searching desperately for a way to safety, something, anything...
There. A ladder against the side of a moldering brick building, a fire escape that had long since rusted almost beyond recognition. The bottom rungs had broken or been cut away long ago, but the rest seemed sturdy enough to hold her weight. She grasped desperately for the lowest rung, just barely within reach, and pulled herself up, scrambling for a foothold. Rust cut into her palms and the metal was slick with rainwater, but she held on, climbing as quickly as she could to the relative safety of the rooftop.
Her years on the run had taken their toll on her - she was thin and gaunt, layers of dirt and grime that could never quite be scrubbed away darkening her skin. She had her fair share of scrapes and scars, both new and old, and her clothing was so tattered and muddy she was almost unnoticeable against the grimy wall. Only her eyes were visible beneath her hood, her nose and mouth covered by a makeshift mask of cloth - it would do little to protect against direct exposure to the Blight, but it was better than nothing. It had been a long while since she had last slept properly but fear was always enough to keep exhaustion at bay, and she was stronger than her frail frame implied. She had been alone for months now, perhaps a year - it wasn’t always easy to keep count anymore - and she had all but given up hope of finding any other survivors here.
The ladder creaked and shifted ominously beneath her as she climbed, the edge of the rooftop nearly in reach. She finally dared to glance down - below her, a mass of pale figures, too many to count in the moment, had gathered around the base of the ladder. And began to climb.
Years of rust and damage had weakened the bolts holding the fire escape to the wall - it couldn’t hold this much weight, and began to sway as the figures clambered higher, clammy hands grasping desperately skywards. Melissa made a lunge for a nearby ledge beneath a boarded-over window, catching it just in time. With a painful screech of twisting metal the ladder shuddered and tilted back, falling with a clatter to the street below. Melissa pulled herself onto the rickety ledge, pausing to catch her breath and looking down to the street. Three stories below her, the pale figures moved about in apparent confusion, some searching for another entrance, some reaching with bloodied fingers for other handholds as though they intended to scale the side of the building, staring up at her with hungry, blight-encrusted eyes.
Melissa pulled back with a shudder. They would find a way up to her eventually, she knew, but it would take them time. She had to find a way out. Going back down wasn’t an option, and neither was going up - with the ladder gone there was no way she would make it to the roof, and no way down from there even if she did. But the boards nailed across the broken window next to her were rotting, the nails loose - they might come down, with a little work. She dug her fingertips into the crumbling wood, ignoring the splinters as she pried one board free, exposing an empty frame edged with broken glass and a scattering of pale termites that quickly retreated to darker corners. It didn’t take long to open a wide enough gap for her to slip through, and a few moments later she was scrambling back to her feet on a dusty carpet.
She couldn’t see much of the room, but even in the darkness the space felt stiflingly small. The earthy smell of mold and rot tickled her nose, and she could just make out the outlines of what remained of the furniture - a couch, an overturned table with a broken leg, a bookcase lying on its side. It must have been an apartment once, Melissa thought. This place had already been ransacked a long time ago, it seemed, and anything of value would be long gone. She moved forward carefully, shuffling around the broken furnishings, trying to find her way to the door. Her foot nudged against something long and cold and she picked it up gingerly - a length of metal pipe, heavy and sturdy enough for a makeshift club. It might not have been the best of weapons, but it would have to do. She gripped it tightly in one hand, the other feeling along the wall until she came to the doorframe. She breathed a sigh of relief - the sooner she was out of here, the better.
She found the knob and turned it - it was stiff with age, but not locked. The handle turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. She tried again, throwing all her weight against the door with a hollow thump. Still, it would not give. Melissa’s throat tightened, her mouth dry - the door had been boarded up as well, from the outside. Her hand moved away from the knob, fingertips trailing along the wall around the doorframe, running down deep gouges in the crumbling plaster. Like claw marks, she thought, like someone had torn at the door again and again with jagged fingernails, as if -
As if someone had tried to get out.
Melissa froze at the realization of exactly why anyone would have sealed this apartment from the outside, not daring to make a sound, silently praying that whatever had been trapped here was already dead. The infected could last an unnaturally long time without food or water, but they all had to perish eventually. Maybe it had starved, trapped here, maybe it had found another way out. Maybe -
Behind her, just on the edge of hearing, came the slow, wet sound of a ragged breath. In and out, irregular and shuddering. Then, the soft shuffling of slow, unsteady footsteps.
Melissa’s own breath caught in her throat, her grip tightening on her makeshift weapon, her palms slick with sweat. The stench of rot was overwhelming now - not just the dusty hint of mold but something heavy and cloying, the all too familiar and all too human miasma of Blight. She remained frozen, unable even to turn and face the approaching figure. There was no way it didn’t already know she was here, no chance to hide, and sudden movements might only provoke an attack.
A rasping, gurgling sound replaced the labored breathing behind her, close enough to make her flinch. It was trying to speak. The words were lost, garbled by infection, but Melissa knew nonetheless that it was a cry for help. They always cried for help, until they were too far gone to make any sound at all.
It wasn’t until cold fingertips, nails worn down to bloodied stubs, brushed against her shoulder that she finally willed herself to move. She ducked out of the way, swinging the pipe with as much force as she could muster to knock the creature off balance. She caught only a glimpse of its face as she pushed her way past it - waxy skin marred with dark lesions that spread from the lips across one cheek, fetid ichor crusted around the mouth and eyes, a gaze that was still too human, desperate and afraid. The creature staggered back with a grunt of pain and Melissa made a desperate lunge for the window, pulling herself back onto the landing. A hand grabbed her ankle and she kicked back hard, tugging her leg free and scrambling back -
This time she couldn’t quite stifle her scream, catching the railing of the landing below her just in time. The pipe fell with a clatter to the pavement as she dangled precariously, arms aching, grip faltering. Below her, the waiting figures looked up in interest, ready for her to fall.
“Help me! Somebody help me!” There might not have been anyone left to hear her, and she knew screaming might only attract more of the infected, but she was too desperate to care. She wasn’t going to die like this, not after everything she’d been through, not after all the years she’d spent fighting to survive. “Please...” Her voice dropped to a whisper, more prayer than plea, eyes squeezed shut to block out the image of what waited below her. “Please, anyone... there’s got to be a way out of this, there’s always a way out...”
