A single runner had broken away from the frenzy, locked onto him, and was now sprinting at an impossible speed.

  Hugo threw himself forward, pumping his arms as he ran. He swerved hard, turning a corner into another alley, hoping to lose it in the maze of buildings. His boots slammed against the cracked pavement, each step jolting through his body as his breath came in short, desperate bursts.

  He couldn’t outrun it.

  He needed to hide.

  His eyes darted wildly, searching for cover. His only chance was a wrecked delivery truck, its back doors half open. He veered toward it, diving behind a stack of wooden pallets just as the creature skidded around the corner.

  Hugo pressed himself against the ground, forcing his breath to slow.

  Silence.

  For a brief moment, all he could hear was his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

  Then—

  A slow, rasping breath.

  Hugo clenched his teeth, muscles coiled.

  The creature was close.

  A shadow passed over him.

  His blood ran cold.

  Then the awful sound of claws scraping against metal.

  His pulse slammed against his ribs as he turned his head—

  The runner was above him.

  Perched on the edge of the truck’s roof, its emaciated frame crouched low, its glowing eyes peering down directly at him. Its head tilted unnaturally to the side, its mouth stretching into a jagged, twitching grin, as if it knew exactly where he was.

  Hugo had seconds.

  It pounced.

  He rolled just in time.

  The creature slammed into the pallets, sending wood splintering in all directions. Hugo scrambled to his feet, gripping the crowbar like a lifeline as the thing twisted, limbs jerking unnaturally as it realigned itself.

  No more running.

  It was either fight or die.

  Hugo braced himself as the runner let out another shriek, its body tensing to lunge again.

  This time, he was ready.

  As it launched toward him, Hugo swung the crowbar with everything he had. The metal connected with a sickening crunch, slamming into the runner’s jaw and sending it reeling. It crashed against the side of the truck but barely faltered. Its head snapped back unnaturally, then realigned, that horrific grin still spread across its face.

  Hugo didn’t wait. He lunged forward, bringing the crowbar down again—this time aiming for the skull. The impact caved part of its temple, but the damn thing kept moving, clawing at him even as blackened blood oozed from the wound.

  Panic surged through him.

  It wasn’t going down.

  The runner lashed out, claws grazing his jacket, barely missing his flesh. Hugo twisted, stumbling backward, his breath ragged. He needed to finish it fast.

  His eyes darted to the truck.

  The open cargo area.

  He didn’t think—just moved.

  Ducking low, he faked to the left, drawing the creature toward him before pivoting sharply and lunging toward the open side door. The runner shrieked and sprang at him—

  At the last second, Hugo sidestepped and kicked out hard, sending the thing tumbling inside.

  Before it could scramble back out, he gripped the van’s sliding door and yanked it shut with all his strength. The metal slammed into place, sealing the runner inside.

  A second later, the truck rocked violently as the thing threw itself at the walls, its shrieks turning into deafening wails. It clawed at the metal, rattling the doors, but it was trapped.

  For now.

  Hugo staggered back, sucking in deep breaths. His arms ached, his chest burned, but he was alive.

  He wasn’t waiting to see if it found a way out.

  Spinning on his heel, he ran.

  The city around him was eerily silent again, but he knew better than to trust the calm. Those creatures—mutants, whatever they were—had changed the game. If more of them were out there, the city was no longer just dangerous.

  It was a death trap.

  Hugo kept moving, cutting through side streets, his focus locked on one goal: home.

  The air was thick with the scent of decay and burned-out wreckage as he navigated through the remains of the old world. Abandoned cars sat like tombstones on the roads, their windshields cracked and interiors looted. He passed a convenience store with its front ripped open, shelves toppled and scavenged long ago. Ahead, he spotted a pharmacy, its front windows shattered but the inside still somewhat intact.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  A quick stop. Just a few supplies.

  Hugo stepped inside, immediately hit by the stale scent of dust and faint rot. Shelves had been ransacked, bottles of medicine and boxes of bandages strewn across the floor. He moved quickly, knowing he didn’t have much time.

  Most of the painkillers and antibiotics were gone, but further down, behind a fallen display, he found a stash of pill bottles still sealed.

  Sleeping pills.

  He grabbed a bottle—sleep had been elusive, and exhaustion was becoming a real threat.

  Next, he spotted caffeine pills. Those went into his bag too. If he ever needed to stay alert through the night, they’d be a lifesaver.

  A few more minutes of searching, and he added some bandages, antiseptic wipes, and a roll of gauze to his haul. Not the best finds, but good enough.

  As he turned to leave, a rustling sound from the back of the pharmacy made his pulse spike.

  Not again.

  He froze, listening.

  A slow, dragging shuffle.

  A regular zombie.

  Hugo tightened his grip on the crowbar, slipping through the store quietly before it could notice him. He reached the front, stepping carefully over broken glass, and slipped back onto the street.

  The city wasn’t silent anymore.

  Somewhere in the distance, a chorus of shrieks echoed through the ruins, far away but too close for comfort.

  He had to move faster.

  A shortcut—he needed a shortcut.

  Hugo spotted an old service tunnel ahead, one he had never used before. It was risky, but if it cut through the streets and avoided open areas, it could be his best shot. He climbed over a chain-link fence, careful not to make too much noise, and slipped into the darkness.

  Inside, the air was heavy, damp. His footsteps echoed faintly against the walls. Rusted pipes lined the ceiling, and the scent of mold clung to the stagnant air. He moved quickly, weaving through the narrow passage, his fingers brushing against the rough concrete for balance.

  Then, a noise.

  A faint drip of water.

  And something else.

  A low, wet sound.

  Breathing.

  Hugo’s grip tightened on the crowbar as he froze.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Somewhere in the darkness, something shifted.

  A shuffle of movement.

  Then a low, guttural growl.

  Hugo exhaled slowly, every muscle in his body tensed. He turned his head, trying to pinpoint the source.

  Then—

  A shape lunged from the darkness.

  He barely had time to react.

  The force sent him sprawling backward, crashing against the damp floor. The crowbar slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. A weight pinned him down, cold, rotting hands clawing at his shoulders.

  A regular zombie—thank god.

  Still, it was trying to rip his throat out.

  Hugo bucked hard, twisting his body. His fingers scrambled against the floor until they closed around something—broken rebar, rusted but solid.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  With a guttural yell, he rammed it upward.

  The jagged metal punched through the zombie’s skull.

  It twitched once, then went still.

  Hugo shoved the corpse off him, chest heaving. He retrieved his crowbar and wiped his sweaty brow.

  That was too close.

  He couldn’t keep doing this.

  Exhausted, battered, but unwilling to stop, he pushed forward. The tunnel eventually let out into an alleyway not far from his complex. Relief flooded through him as he recognized the familiar broken fence leading into his block.

  Almost home.

  He hurried forward, slipping through the gap, but he didn’t relax until he reached the stairwell of his building. His muscles screamed in protest as he climbed, each step feeling heavier than the last.

  Finally, finally, he reached his door.

  The moment he stepped inside, he locked it behind him and collapsed onto the couch.

  Salem stirred from his corner, giving him a sleepy, unimpressed look before curling back up.

  Hugo exhaled, running a shaky hand through his hair.

  He had made it.

  But the city had changed.

  And whatever those things were…

  They were only the beginning.

  Sleep took him before he could even process everything that had happened.

  A noise jolted him awake.

  Hugo’s eyes snapped open. It was still early—dim light barely filtered through the covered windows.

  Then he heard it again.

  Voices.

  He sat up, his pulse kicking up. They weren’t whispers. They weren’t careful. Whoever was outside wasn’t trying to be quiet.

  Then—

  A single gunshot rang through the air.

  Hugo was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his gear. He threw on his Kevlar vest, slung the empty shotgun over his shoulder, and took up his crowbar.

  Salem was already up, ears flattened, tail flicking with agitation. The cat was staring at the door, low to the ground like he sensed the tension thick in the air.

  The voices outside grew clearer as Hugo crept toward the window. He lifted a slat of the blinds just enough to see what was happening.

  Twelve men stood outside the complex, all wearing masks. Armed.

  Hugo remained crouched behind the window, keeping his breathing steady as he studied the group below. The men were standing in a loose formation, their weapons held at the ready but not aimed—yet. They weren’t just some ragtag survivors looking to scavenge. They moved with purpose, with discipline. These were people who knew how to handle a fight.

  A cold weight settled in his stomach.

  This wasn’t just some chance encounter. They had followed him.

  Salem flicked his tail and let out a small, almost impatient chuff, his green eyes fixed on Hugo. It was as if the cat could sense his unease.

  Hugo forced himself to move. He slung the shotgun over his shoulder, gripping the crowbar tight, and crept toward the door. The apartment was still and silent apart from his own breathing. Every footstep felt too loud, too obvious.

  As he made his way toward Frank’s apartment, he kept to the shadows, listening to the muffled voices from outside.

  “…we know someone’s in there.”

  “Come on, no need to make this difficult. Let’s talk.”

  Hugo’s jaw clenched. He reached Frank’s door and knocked once—light but firm.

  It swung open almost instantly.

  Frank was waiting, rifle at the ready, his face unreadable in the dim light. The old man’s eyes flicked down to the shotgun on Hugo’s back before he gave a slow nod.

  “You see them?” Frank murmured.

  Hugo nodded. “Twelve, all armed.”

  Frank exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening on the rifle. “Figures.”

  “What happened before I got here?” Hugo whispered.

  Frank’s gaze didn’t waver from the window. “One of them got too close. I fired a warning shot. Didn’t hit ‘em, just let ‘em know we’re not easy targets.”

  Hugo swallowed. “And now?”

  “They’re waiting. Testing us. Trying to figure out if we’re worth the trouble.”

  From outside, a voice called again. “We just want to talk.”

  Hugo exchanged a look with Frank.

  Neither of them believed that.

  Frank sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hope you got a plan, kid.”

  Hugo tightened his grip on the crowbar.

  He didn’t.

  But he needed one.

  Fast.

  "You see them?" Hugo whispered.

  Frank nodded. "Been watchin' since before dawn. Bunch of 'em. Too many to take in a straight fight."

  Hugo swallowed. "That gunshot—was that you?"

  Frank grunted. "Warning shot. They got too close. Figured it’d make ‘em think twice."

  Hugo exhaled. "What do they want?"

  Frank’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t know. But they sure as hell ain’t here to help."

  Outside, one of the masked men stepped forward. He carried himself with authority, the others standing slightly behind him like they were waiting for orders. His voice rang out, calm, but firm.

  "We know someone’s in there. We’re not looking for trouble—just a conversation. Step out, and let’s talk."

  Neither Hugo nor Frank moved.

  A long silence stretched.

  Then the man spoke again.

  "Don’t make us come in."

  Hugo gritted his teeth, muscles tensing. This wasn’t good.

  Frank’s grip tightened on his rifle. "Guess we’re in for a long morning."

  Hugo nodded, his pulse steadying. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  Neither was Frank.

  Tension hung thick in the air as the stand-off began.