I honestly apologize for how long it took me to write this chapter. :( I hit a little snag in my writing, and gave myself a break for a few days. In that time, I started the beginning of another fic I might post up here one day. :D
Anyway, the next chapter is going to be a quick reflection on how the Hunter got to where he is, and the transition from average human being to Hunter. :3
Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins.
I want to find you and tear out all of your tenderness.
Hours had passed since the Hunter had fled from the Humans, blood still smeared across his face and eyes still glowing with anger that his assault had been interrupted. Instead of returning to the furniture store, he instead chose to prowl about the streets, not even bothering to camouflage himself, as no one else was in the city save for those in the red-doored room. Rain had begun to fall in a misty torrent from a steel-gray sky, soaking the landscape and making it appear even more dismally monochrome than it had already appeared.
He slinked past a group of Commons, sitting or standing idly by a chain-link fence surrounding a parking lot. One of them vomited out a dark, viscous fluid before wheezing and standing up with a hunch to his shoulders before staggering away to join another one of his kind in leaning up against the fence. The Hunter found their type pitiful. They were sick constantly, and therefore had little purpose other than to loiter around and attack those who did not have the sickness. They died easily and their corpses made the city stink even more than it already did. Hunters had a sense of self-preservation, knowing that gunshots meant pain and death, so they hid from them. Those common sick ones knew nothing of holding onto their lives. Perhaps that was why they did what they did; they no longer wanted to live.
Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, with the lightning too far away to be seen. The Hunter usually had no aversion to rain, but the feverish heat within him was coming back in large waves, and dizziness was beginning to seize him with every step. He allowed himself to whine in irritation as he began scanning for a place to step in out of the rain.
With a snarl, he stood up and attempted to shake off what rainwater had collected on the fabric of his clothing. The cold was already seeping into the cloth, touching his skin and causing immediate irritation. He growled at the sensation and ducked under the awning of an abandoned store. The door to the store was locked tight and the glass was still intact, so he threw his weight against the door repeatedly until wood splintered and glass shattered, leaving a decent hole in one door for him to enter.
The store looked as though it had been frozen the moment the sickness had spread throughout the city. Racks of clothes were placed aesthetically and colorful bottles of perfume lined the walls, glinting in the dim light that the city's generators were able to sputter out. A cash register still blinked side-scrolling words welcoming customers, though the customers had all died out long ago. Behind the register's desk, a large bulletin board hung from the wall, advertising other stores, upcoming events in the city, and items being sold by citizens. Pinned up in the top right corner was a paper with a child's drawing, showing two happy stick figures holding hands, the word 'Mommy' written above the tallest one. The Hunter stared at the picture for a long while, trying to make sense of it. However, the meaning felt lost, which frustrated him immensely. He snarled and turned away from it, crawling under a clothing rack and settling down with a huff.
Rain hissed outside, pattering loudly against the awning and the windows. He watched lazily as it slid down the panes, making strange, fractal images of the outside world. The air was still mildly warm, as with the fringes of fall still riding on it, and it pushed with a breeze through the hole in the door. The Hunter lowered his head, content there was no danger outside on a day like today, let alone if there were any other Survivors out there. Keeping his arms folded in front of him and his legs stretched out behind, he felt himself slowly sliding into a tired state, with the fever edging his tattered nerves.
'Gri-'
His head snapped up, eyes wide, and mouth agape. Slinking out from under the clothes, he sniffed the air, his head turning left and right. There were no smells that were out of the ordinary, nor any feeling that something was out of place. He let out a warning growl, just in case it was needed, before crawling back under the clothing rack, settling into a position that was both relaxing, yet if need be, would allow him to jump to safety or attack. He allowed himself to ease back into rest, knowing that it would be a while before he could make it back to his den and sleep was something he needed desperately if he wished to fight off the fever that had plagued him for as long as he had been sick.
At first, there was just a slight tremor that shuddered through the ground, only doing so much as making the Hunter whine in his sleep. Then, there was a crash from outside, followed by a piercing scream. The Hunter awoke immediately, lifting his head and sniffing at the air once more. This time, there was a terrible, rotting smell in the air unlike anything he had smelled before. He recoiled and snarled, standing up slowly and prowling to one of the windows to see if there was any source of the smell and the sounds. However, all he saw was the rain-soaked street. Another tremor ran under his claws and he growled lowly, slowly coming to the realization as to what had awoken him. One of those gigantic beasts the Humans called 'Tank' was around. In a city dominated mostly by the smaller strains of the Infection, Tanks were unwelcome.
The Hunter was not one to attack a Tank unassisted, as he had seen larger Infected be tossed aside like mere toys before, their heads smashing to the pavement and shattering with sprays of blood as though their skulls were made of glass. One of his kind could not take down a Tank, but several could. Crawling back outside through the hole he made in the door, the Hunter let out a shrieking howl that was a call for his brothers to assemble. Several seconds after the call was made, it was met by other shrieks and growls, all followed by several dark shapes appearing on the edges of roofs and walls like gargoyles. He surged forward, a violent gesture towards the prey.
Guns chattered wildly as the group of Hunters neared the overpowering scent of the Tank. The roar of the beast was unmistakable, and the ground trembled once more as it moved back and forth, chasing after a scattering of survivors. Once the Hunter caught it within his sights, he couldn't help but recoil. The thing was enormous, with a large sheet of skin completely torn away on its left side and back, revealing pulsating and rotting muscle, rendered into disgusting shades of dark red, brown, and a pus-colored green. It looked furious, with milky eyes blazing as it snarled and threw itself back and forth. The Hunter then looked to the Humans, and had to look harder upon realizing they had been the very same that had been inside the red-doored room.
They hardly noticed the pack of Hunters, instead being far more focused on the monster that was approaching them. Several of the Hunters began to stray toward the Humans, until the Hunter snarled a warning at them, getting their attention on the Tank instead. Like flies to a corpse, they swarmed, claws extended and teeth bared. They attacked in droves, leaping on the beast with snarls and shrieks. It tried to fling them off, but they rebounded as fast as they had been discarded. The Hunter was certainly at no loss for fighting it, going into a spectacular leap and landing on its shoulders. His back foot slipped on the oozing flesh of its back, but he kept his claws secure in its flesh, ripping at it with a wild fervor.
The Tank howled in agony, riddled with gunshots and claw marks, rims of teeth securely printed into its scarred flesh. It angrily began advancing on the Humans, letting out such a roar that the Hunter felt it reverberating in his arms. With a territorial shriek, the Hunter leapt up a little farther onto the Tank's shoulders, his claws wrenching firmly into its eyes. Another roar was ripped from the hulking mass of muscle, and the Hunter could feel a hot, thick fluid running down his claws as the Tank was rendered blind. It shook and jumped, trying to get the offending thing off its back, but to no avail.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the air like a toll of a bell, and the monster went still, careening to the ground and landing face-first onto the cement. The Hunter crawled off the oversize corpse and looked at its midsection, finding a crass-looking hole at the thinnest part of its torso. The hole was dripping with hot blood, sizzling as though it had been scorched. Shattered bone could be seen within the hole, broken like wooden shards. It would have only been a matter of time before the Tank would have died. The coup de grâce of the Humans was the final blow, no matter.
He turned his head to the Humans, seeing the finial weapon resting in the hands of the one in the white suit. The gun was still aiming, and was now pointing directly at the Hunter's head. A quick look around revealed that not only was the Tank in the ranks of the officially dead, but three Hunters had also met the same fate, and the others had run. There was no positive chance of escaping. However, the boy in the yellow shirt and hat put his hand on top of the barrel of the gun, forcibly lowering it and shaking his head. The white-suited man glared at the boy, words flying out of his mouth faster than the Hunter could understand them. Yet it wasn't the words he was paying attention to, but what had just been done. For the second time in his wretched, Infected existence, he had been spared death. The only wounds sustained this time around were rips on the fabric of his hoodie, stained with blood from a stray hit from the Tank.
The white-suited man glared at the Hunter, his voice raised. "Goddamnit, get out of here before I change my mind!" he yelled. The Hunter could understand that, and the meaning was certainly not lost. With a shriek, he leapt out of the way, sprinting on all fours to return to the furniture store that was now seemingly his only safety.
His mind raced as fast as he did, fighting past the mental rot and the rabid thoughts of murdering and clawing and blood. He had been spared. The gun had been turned away. He wasn't going to die. Understanding all this was near painful, and he gave another frustrated shriek as he made a jump onto the ledge of his den. Perching there for a moment, he looked out onto the rain-drenched landscape, the smell of rot high in the air. Humans and Infected alike lay dead, strewn out like dolls tossed away from play and forgotten. Nature had begun reclaiming the land, stretching out vined fingers and stealing the flickering life away from the city. Yet for all this, he had been spared. The world just didn't make sense anymore.