Panic spread like wildfire. The bunker was shutting down, going into a full lockdown. Each floor was closed off one by one. The main elevator had been deactivated. Residents flooded to the backup located towards the workers' sector, desperate to return to their own quarters and bolt the doors.

So far, the Hood didn't appear to have made any further moves, but Scott just knew he was out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows, preparing to strike. He was so convinced of it that he took Noah's revolver and used the final bullets on every security camera on their floor. With all the chaos, no one was questioning the sound of gunshots anymore. At least it made a change from all the crying.

Within ten minutes they were packed and ready to go. More emergency alerts were ringing over the broadcast system. Sirens warned everyone to stay locked in their quarters whilst the danger was dealt with. It was excellent news in so far as making a sneaky getaway. Not so much in terms of avoiding the infected, but hey, every silver lining had to have a cloud.

They loaded up on weapons. Jasmin's quiver had been replenished and she held her bow at her side ready to retaliate to any threat. Scott had taken permanent custody of the machete. John was back to knives. Virgil was in possession of a rifle. Theo and Alan had various blades and a collection of flares each. Gordon had been granted ownership of the brass knuckles that Alan had won a couple of weeks back, but no one wanted to give him a sharp object whilst he was still shaky on his feet. And then there were Marisa and Ellis with their guns.

They struck an impressive party, if you didn't consider the part where Scott was still covered in rotter blood, Alan had yet to stop trembling after being shot at twice, Gordon kept shaking his head to try to rid himself of the slight dizziness and Ellis looked as if she were about to pass out from dread because despite being fascinated by the infected they still terrified her.

Ben and several other of Alan's friends met them in the service elevator. Rumours were running wild. The upper levels had descended into mayhem. It was a free-for-all. Several self-important trigger-happy folks had taken it upon themselves to rid the bunker of infected personally in the hopes of basking in glory afterwards.

Needless to say, it had not gone according to plan. The only blessing was that Hira had called to confirm that she was safely tucked away in her quarters with plenty of supplies and a locked, air-tight door between herself and any rotters, although Scott still wished she'd agreed to come with them.

There was no time to dwell on the past. He grounded himself in the present and pushed any other thought out of his head. Fire alarms were now wailing as smoke clogged the upper floors. The inferno was contained within a single level, but it was hot enough to warp the elevator shaft. Cables drooped. If they'd stayed even two minutes longer, they would never have been able to escape.

Ben led them to a heavy metal door fitted with a series of deadbolts and two padlocks for good measure. It was concealed behind a thick, velvet curtain which was still clogged with dust from the original construction. All of this was within a tiny box room at the far end of a dark hallway.

"They really don't want people leaving, huh?" Marisa muttered, ghosting a hand over the gun at her hip to reassure herself.

Ben shivered. "Actually, uh… It's not to stop people getting out. It's to stop them from getting in."

The slight emphasis on the word them did not go amiss.

John stood up straighter. "There are infected in the tunnels?"

"So the reports say." Ben fiddled with the hem of his shirt, eyes downcast and filled with fear. He kept flinching at the gravelly tones of the emergency alert system. "But it could just be rumours. Either way… Good luck out there. And hey, if you can save the world too then, you know…" He offered a tight smile. "It would be really appreciated."

"No pressure then," Alan joked, voice still slightly too fraught to come across as light-hearted. He drew Ben into a swift hug. "Stay safe."


The tunnels were eerily silent. Everything was muted by several metres of heavy-duty concrete and miles of dense soil. Metal fixtures on the walls had presumably once held lamps but now just dripped rust down the walls like old blood. A series of rails set into the ground suggested automated carts had been used to transport supplies. Thick layers of mildew coated the ceiling, steadily forming stalactites.

Scott waited for Alan to whisper cool; the resulting silence filled him with dread. When he shone his flashlight at the kid, Alan had a hand clasped to his shoulder where the bullet had nearly caught him during his own narrow escape earlier, eyes faintly glazed with an all-too-familiar thousand-yard-stare. The sudden light jolted him out of the trance and he tried to give Scott a reassuring smile.

For a moment, none of them moved. Even a rustle seemed as deafening as a thunderclap. It was cold too, the sort of deep chill which took root in bones and drained every scrap of warmth from the human body.

Scott hugged his coat closer and wished he'd had chance to put on another hoodie. At least this way he could move more freely, but he was also wasting calories by shivering. He directed his flashlight down the centre of the tunnel and eyed the dark circle where it faded into obscurity.

"This place is creepy," Gordon whispered. "Maybe it's haunted. I vote we send John in. He's pale enough that all the ghosts will think he's one of them."

The painful silence shattered. Tensions still ran high, but breathing came easier. Scott forced himself to relax his shoulders. When he stepped forward, his shoes crunched on old gravel. He swept his flashlight over the tunnel, but nothing leapt out at him.

"What do we think?" Virgil asked. He'd yanked his hood over his head to fight off the chill and now his eyes seemed to gleam in the flashlight.

John tossed him a deadpan stare. "Seeing as going back isn't an option, I'd say we push on."

"Finch seems okay," Alan pointed out. Finch sat patiently at his side. Her ears were flat, but her hackles weren't raised, and she had yet to bare her teeth. She looked mostly unsettled which was understandable given how tense they all were. Dogs picked up on that sort of thing.

"So, just to clarify," Ellis piped up, "We're trusting the judgement of a dog?"

There was a pause.

"Yep," Scott confirmed in a cheery voice which really didn't match his mood. He patted Finch's head and pushed past her to take the lead. "Let's go."

It would have been easier had the tunnels not been so dark. It was an oppressive blackness which absorbed every glimmer of light. It seemed crushing. Scott swore it was sapping the oxygen from the air. Even putting one foot in front of the other was a struggle. It felt as if gravity had been dialled up. His skin crawled. The constant dripping of mildew reminded him viscerally of the infected. Noah's terrified face swam in front of him and he swallowed a wave of nausea.

The darkness was never-ending. It enveloped them. It was impossible to tell how far they had come let alone how far they had left to go. Even time grew warped down here. The flashlights seemed dimmer or perhaps the air was becoming thicker, swampy, toxic. If Scott switched off his flashlight and held a hand in front of his face he couldn't see it.

It wasn't just an absence of light but an absence of everything. It would be very easy to lose his mind down here. He was already utterly disorientated. The darkness drilled into his head and plucked his thoughts apart. Even Finch cowered, trotting behind Alan's legs with her fur on end.

Gordon kept jumping which had the unfortunate side effect of setting everyone else on edge too. In his defence, it was horrifying enough being trapped in the dark when you could properly hear, but with his ears still ringing he'd essentially been rendered blind and deaf.

Scott was trying not to hover because Gordon would only take it as an implication that he was considered incapable and that would prompt an argument, but God did he want to give his brother a hug. Virgil beat him to it, looping an arm around Gordon's shoulders under the pretence of sharing body heat. Finch pressed close to their heels and Gordon reached down to rest a hand on her back.

Somewhere in the dark depths behind them, something large and wet slithered. Scott whirled around, snatching Alan's bicep to pull the kid closer. Alan's eyes were wide and owlish in the flashlight; it was telling of just how scared he was when he didn't protest. He clung to his knife like a lifeline.

"What was that?" Marisa hissed.

John caught her elbow and motioned for silence. They stood in a circle, back-to-back, breaths sharp and heartbeats uneven, a little ring of light amid the dark. Scott tried to strain his vision, but he still couldn't see anything. He listened intently but all he could hear was their own breathing and Finch's low, fearful whine. A hand brushed his wrist and he clenched his jaw against a startled shout.

"Sorry," Virgil whispered.

John swung his flashlight in a cautious arc. Nothing moved. Finch let out another faint whimper and backed up until she was safe in the middle of their huddle. Alan caught her bandana and tapped a finger against her muzzle in a command for silence.

Gordon edged forwards. His head was tilted ever-so-slightly as if he were listening to a frequency that no one else could hear. He brushed a hand along the wall and wiped the grime on his trousers.

"Something's here."

Theo let out a choked sound and clamped a hand to his mouth to stifle it.

John surged forward to grab Gordon's shoulder. "What do you mean? Where? I don't see anything."

"Neither can I." Gordon pressed his hand to the wall again. "But can't you feel that? It's like- I don't know. Some kind of faint vibration? You can feel it. It's like a disturbance in the air flow. Can you not sense that? Do I have superpowers?"

"You're super irritating, if that counts?"

Gordon glared at him. "I think I preferred you when you were possessed by the hivemind. You were less mean."

John turned away to hide his smile. "It can't be the infected. The canaries aren't singing."

"Right, but there's something."

Gordon took another step away from their group and Scott lost his nerve. He stashed his machete under his arm and strode forward to stand at Gordon's side. For a moment, they remained frozen, staring in the darkness until their eyes played tricks on them.

Another cold chill scuttled down Scott's spine. He scrubbed a hand down his face where dried rotter blood was beginning to flake and reminded himself to breathe. He couldn't sense anything out there, but he trusted Gordon's instincts, so he was reluctant to put his back to the unknown threat.

"Maybe there are other survivors?" Alan suggested quietly. "A lot of people went underground."

Gordon exhaled through gritted teeth.

"Maybe," he acknowledged, tearing his gaze away from the tunnel behind them. "I dunno. It just kinda seems like…"

"Like?" Virgil prompted.

Gordon sunk his hands into his pockets to hide his shiver. "Does anyone else feel like we're being watched?"

"Well, on that suitably creepy note…" Marisa slotted her gun back into its holster. "Shall we carry on?"


The tunnels had a terrible sense of presence. The darkness seemed to be a physical, conscious being, poisonous and deadly. Light and life and anything which flourished under the sun had been vanquished down here, driven out by the oppressive dread which clung to everything. It was difficult to imagine ever escaping this place.

The tunnel walls were formed of a heavy layer of reinforced concrete, overlain with thick metal brackets. In some places there were iron doors which had been welded shut to forever conceal their secrets.

The constant pressure of eyes didn't dissipate but trying to spot anyone – or anything for that matter – was a hopeless endeavour. Their flashlight beams ran out after a few metres leaving all those who lurked within the dark free to go about their unnatural business. There were no such things as ghosts and ghouls but if there were then this would be the place to find them.

It was impossible to differentiate between real sounds and mind tricks. The noises seemed to come from all around – wet slithers, a dull squelch, splashes of a liquid thicker than water, steady thuds like a heartbeat, the sharp scratch of metal, damp rustles, occasional pained mumbles that had to be their imagination but then, just once, worst of all, a low chuckle.

Jasmin jolted backwards and crashed into Marisa. "What in the horror movie hell was that?"

"Oh, great, so everyone heard that?" Theo's nervous ramble was magnified into something monstrous and he flinched. "Cool. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine. We're gonna get eaten by Pennywise or some shit but it's fine."

"Dude," Alan whispered plaintively, flexing his hand around his knife. "Why would you say that? Now I'm picturing clowns. I hate clowns."

"Same," Gordon muttered.

"Why would you be scared of clowns? You are one." Alan sounded a little too freaked out to hit the teasing mark he'd aimed for and the result was a sort of manic laughter. "I hate everything about this. I wish we had a Mole pod."

"Oh, for god's sake," John sighed with a distinctly uneasy edge to his voice. "This is ridiculous. There are no clowns down here. Aside from Gordon, obviously."

"Thanks," Gordon deadpanned. "Hey, if you're so chill with all of this, why don't you check it out?"

John cleared his throat. "No. It's unnecessary."

"And?" Gordon prompted.

"And Scott made me watch Stephen King's It when I was eight and I was emotionally scarred for life, so really this is his fault."

"Really?" Scott shot John a betrayed look. "You're going to bring that up again?"

Any traces of humour – albeit fraught with nerves – fled as a faint yet distinctive chirp came from Marisa's backpack. Impossibly, the temperature seemed to plummet even further. Scott took a cautious step away from their huddle, machete aloft in preparation to strike. The darkness seemed to swirl, twisting into non-existent hauntings. There was nothing there, yet he could almost sense eyes boring into him as if the danger were staring him in the face, utterly invisible.

"Infected?" Virgil put out an arm to keep Gordon from braving the darkness. "Finch is scared."

"Finch has been scared since we stepped foot in here," John pointed out. The dog was cowering behind his legs, her hackles raised, ears flattened against her skull as she bared her teeth. "Okay, I take that back. She's definitely picking up on something."

"The canaries aren't singing though." Jasmin's grip on her bow tightened. "So… if there are rotters, they can't be that close, right?"

"Right," Marisa echoed, accompanied by a sharp click as she switched the safety off her gun. "But there's something following us."

"You think it's following us?" Virgil whirled to face her. "I've been hearing something up ahead."

"Guys," Gordon murmured. "Remember how wolves hunt?"

John reached for Ellis' wrist and gently tugged her behind him to take the lead. "They're not that clever, not without a hivemind connection."

Gordon didn't look convinced. If anything, he looked faintly nauseous, although that wasn't helped by the glare of the flashlight. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, honing his senses.

A fleshy scuttle echoed from somewhere in the shadows ahead. John backed up a pace, tugging a knife free. For a moment, no one said anything. Finch's low growl reverberated through the walls, sending shivers through puddles. The canaries fluttered nervously, faint chirps muffled by the fabric of Marisa's backpack. Jasmin sidestepped to aim an arrow at the circle of darkness but didn't let it fly, shoulders taut as she held her breath and focussed.

Gordon's brass knuckles caught the edge of a flashlight beam and winked like a sightless eye. He edged forwards until he stood at John's side, staring into the abyss.

"Something's out there." There was a dreadful conviction in his voice. "I swear to you, I'm not screwing around right now. There's a difference in the air flow, like something big is moving up ahead." He crouched to flatten his palm against the ground. "Can anyone else feel those vibrations?"

Scott was a little too preoccupied with the threat lurking behind them. His instincts were screaming at him, just as they had done only a few hours earlier in that corridor. He aimed his flashlight at bend where the tunnel veered to the left and swore he caught the tattered edge of a shadow in the beam. His heart leapt into his throat so that he could practically taste his own pulse. Another of those low, shuffling mutters drifted on the air. He couldn't bring himself to move. Something was there.

The canaries let out another feeble chirp.

"I can feel it," Alan was whispering, trousers soaking up filthy water as he knelt down. "It's like a tiny earthquake, right?"

"Respectfully," Theo piped up, "How the fuck is Gordon sensing that?"

"Great question," Gordon remarked breathlessly. He flinched backwards so sharply that Alan had to catch him as a low, hungry wail carried through the dark. "Oh, shit. That definitely came from up ahead."

Something rustled. Scott kept his sights fixed on the bend in the tunnel. Whatever was creeping up behind them, he doubted it was a rotter, but it certainly wasn't anything he wanted to run into. A shock of cold splashed onto his neck and he swung his machete at it with a startled shout.

"What?" Marisa surged forwards to reach him, yanking him back by his coat. "What is it?"

Okay, well that was embarrassing.

Scott wiped thick water from his hair. "Nothing. Just the ceiling dripping. Got spooked."

"Jeezus," Gordon muttered, glaring at him. "Don't do that."

"It wasn't intentional."

"Enough," John snapped. He flipped his knife between his hands to shake off nervous energy. "We can't stay here forever. Going back isn't an option so we have to continue. If we run into any infected, we'll take them out, preferably at a long range."

"You want to face a horde in an enclosed space?" Ellis' voice pitched with fear. Her eyes were very wide behind her glasses. With her wild hair and hunched shoulders, she resembled a terrified owl.

"I want to reach the surface before we all lose our minds down here," John corrected. He shouldered his backpack again and headed into the dark without hesitation. "Come on. The sooner we get out of here the better."

Scott hung back a fraction longer. That unidentifiable shadow lurked just out of range. He stared at the gloom until his eyes stung and he was forced to blink. A primal survival instinct prickled under his skin, danger. He ran a thumb over the hilt of his machete and exhaled slowly. His breath fogged in the air. Somewhere in the dark, damp fabric rustled. He shivered.

"Scott," Virgil called quietly.

"Yeah, coming."

Scott reluctantly turned his back on the shadow and broke into a jog to catch up. He couldn't resist a final glance over his shoulder. For a moment, he swore he caught a glimpse of eerie green, but then it was gone again. Unease pounded around his temples.

Virgil shot him a curious look.

"It's nothing." He gripped his machete tightly. I hope.


Minutes passed like hours. Hours passed like days. Seconds were even greater than both of these. Time twisted itself in and out, warping reality, writhing like some giant snake. The constant darkness only grew stronger.

Scott had never been claustrophobic, but he would happily have sold his soul for a glimpse of sunlight. There was a dreadful brutality about the tunnels. Even in a group, there was a certain solitude and harsh despondency which was inescapable. Add in the part where they were tired and cold and distinctly damp, and morale hit new lows.

But fear was an excellent motivator. Eerie groans had developed into high-pitched growls and odd clicks and scuttles. The canaries were restless, feathers rustling as they hopped within their carrier. Finch was on edge, teeth bared in a low snarl. Sometimes she plucked up the courage to strike out ahead, but most of the time she hung back, loitering at Alan's heels.

Scott felt sick with heightened adrenaline. Taking a break wasn't an option though – not just because of the unknown threat which he swore was still following them but because standing still in the dark was enough to drive anyone mad.

Those uncanny clicks surrounded them and Gordon revealed that he could still sense movements up ahead. One of the iron doors had been forced open and the interior was covered in deep dents and smeared blood. Whatever it had contained was now on the prowl and Scott had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't die easily.

"Have you ever heard rotters sound like that?" Marisa asked, jaw clenched as another growl faded into a series of clacks. She patted her backpack as the canaries let out several frightened chirps.

Scott forced himself to relax his grip before his hand could cramp. He twisted sharply as he felt the pressure of eyes on his back, but once again the shadow slipped out of sight before his flashlight could catch it. He was beginning to question whether it was his imagination.

"Nothing like this," Virgil replied after a beat. "John? You've spent the most time around them."

"Thanks for that reminder."

"I didn't mean-"

"I know," John sighed, shrugging his jacket closer. "Sorry. I'm just on edge. In answer to your question, Mari, no, I've never heard an infected like this."

As if on cue, another of those awful clicks rang from the tunnel ahead. It was similar to cracking bones but wetter and deeper. Scott was vaguely reminded of that infected which had been torn apart in the fight ring – the dreadful snap as its spinal cord had severed. But these were consistent and showed no signs of stopping. If anything, they were reminiscent of dolphins calls: those clicks and trills which could travel so far through water.

They continued a little further. Impossibly, the darkness seemed thicker as if the air were liquid. It was so cold that the rails underfoot were icy. Virgil hooked his rifle over his shoulder and carried Finch, concerned that she might slice her paws open. Her bandana was a shock of colour against his dark jacket and pale face.

Fear had drained the life from all of them. In the gloom, they resembled ghosts, not helped by the harsh flashlights. For a brief, detached moment, Scott wondered whether they were all already dead. He snapped back to his senses as Alan caught his wrist and stuck close to his side for the next few minutes. Whether it was out of unease or because he'd spotted the look on Scott's face was up for debate.

"Shit," Gordon muttered, whacking his flashlight against his thigh. "The battery's dying."

"That's okay," Scott interjected before panic could catch alight. "We've still got five left between us."

"Four," Alan corrected very quietly, lifting his own to reveal the dimming bulb. The final glow revealed the distinctive sheen of fear in his eyes. "How long have we been down here? Are we all gonna run outta power?"

Finch wriggled in Virgil's arms, sensing the new shockwave of anxiety.

Scott steadied his voice. "It's fine. We've got candles, haven't we? I know we were saving them for above ground, but we'll use them now and conserve power. Fire hurts the infected, so it might do us a favour and dissuade our unwanted guests from making an appearance."

Despite destroying the hivemind link, John still carried a lighter on him. It had taken up permanent residence in his pocket like a good luck charm. It sparked but wouldn't catch initially and he burnt his thumb on it with a bitten-off curse. Gordon stole it from him and lit it on the first try.

"Pure luck," John told him haughtily.

Gordon grinned. "Pure skill, more like."

A strange, inhuman scuttling was funnelled by the walls, so it was impossible to tell which direction it come from, like the patter of thousands of tiny feet. There was a sharp shriek of metal. The scuttling rushed closer. Movement caught the edge of Marisa's flashlight. Scott lashed out with his machete and pinned the creature in the dirt. Blood leaked from the wound, matting brown fur.

"It's a rat," Virgil breathed, cradling Finch closer. "It's just a rat."

Scott yanked his blade free and wiped it against the side of his shoe.

"Not just one rat," Alan murmured in a strangled sort of voice. He backed up a pace until he knocked into John. "There's hundreds of them."

The creatures flooded towards them in a tidal wave. Tiny, indistinct squeaks blended into a high-pitched scream. Their damp fur rustled, feet scuffing the rails, claws slipping-n-sliding as they fled into the darkness. Ellis made a noise of disgust and kicked one away. Marisa swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself until her coat creased under her grip.

"Not a fan of rats?" Scott guessed.

Marisa shuddered. "You could say that."

"Oh my god," Theo choked, ramrod straight, flinching as rats scampered over his boots. "We're gonna catch a plague."

"Shut up, Theo," Jasmin snapped.

"I'm less concerned with the rats themselves," Virgil ventured, "And more worried about what they're running from."

Another garbled trill swam out of the shadows.

Scott wiped his palm against his jeans, then tightened his grip on the machete. His skin was crawling. The light pressure of the rats rushing around his ankles made him shiver. He had never wanted a shower so badly in his life.

The final few rats vanished into the abyss. Finch growled at them, then fell silent, trying to burrow into Virgil's neck with a low, frightened whine. Alan glanced across sharply. The fur along Finch's spine was standing on end. Something was coming.

For a moment, they remained frozen. Theo grabbed Jasmin's hand. John wordlessly handed around lit candles. Scott passed his to Alan and pushed through their circle to face whatever was approaching from the front. Flickering candlelight cast a fearful, haunted glow over everyone and everything. The canaries erupted into a terrified warning just as Gordon yanked one of Alan's blades from the kid's belt and tossed it into the dark.

There was a squelch as it made contact. Scott swung the machete in a high arc and brought it down on the back of the rotter's skull as the creature stumbled into the circle of candlelight. It collapsed facedown in a heap, limbs twitching sporadically before it stilled. The knife was sticking out of its shoulder. Scott pulled it free, grimacing as the flesh resisted, and held it out hilt-first to Gordon.

Gordon raised his brows. "Thought I wasn't trusted with sharp objects? Y'know, on account of falling on my ass half the time?"

Scott tried to ignore the dark blood pooling under his shoes. "I think you've just proven otherwise."

Virgil exhaled in a rush. "Nice aim, Gordo."

"Not bad given my coordination skills got knocked outta whack." Gordon wiped the blade against his trousers and tucked it into an interior pocket. "Unfortunately, I don't think that's the last rotter we'll run into down here."

Ellis observed him as though studying a particularly fascinating cell sample under a microscope.

"You could sense it coming."

"Uh, kinda? Air flow was different, like I said." Gordon gave a nonchalant shrug. "Plus, vibrations. Could you guys seriously not pick up on that?"

"Almost like echolocation," Ellis mused.

"Okay, first off, did you forget the part where it's my hearing that's the problem?" Gordon gestured vaguely. "Also, are you kidding? What am I, a frickin' beluga whale now?"

"You have got a big head," Alan joked, leaping out of range as Gordon made to elbow him.

He stumbled over the body of the rat and caught himself against the wall, all good humour evaporating as his gaze fell on the infected corpse. Scott could practically see the spark in his eyes dim. Finch wagged her tail feebly in an attempt to coax a smile back on his face, but no one was laughing anymore.

The body slowly leaked putrid blood, but at such close range it was possible to pick out the red shirt of a Target uniform underneath all the grime. The reminder that this had been a person was a slap in the face.

"Let's go," Scott said quietly, as if speaking too loudly would wake the dead.

He steadied Gordon as he stumbled; the adrenaline rush which had enabled him to throw that knife with reasonable accuracy was already beginning to dissipate and Scott made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. He caught Virgil's worried gaze and read an identical thought there. From the way John fell into step beside their brother, it was clear they all had the same idea.

Candlelight made everything so much worse. It was still preferable to being in the dark, but it set them on edge, evoking strange shadows which could be mistaken for threats. Flames reflected off weapons and took flight over the ceiling so that it seemed as if they were engulfed in fire. If they'd been jumpy before, this was an entirely new level. Jasmin had taken to carrying her bow in her hands and Marisa hadn't switched the safety back on her gun.

More clicks bounced around the empty space. Scott wondered how deep the tunnel network went. The theory had crossed his mind that it was connected to other bunkers. They'd stumbled across an abandoned truck, still loaded with crates of bricks but as dead as a dodo, so the labyrinth was vast enough to require transport. That meant there were more places for rotters to hide. For all they knew, there could hundreds down here. The tunnels could be teeming with them. He tried not to dwell on that thought. God knew he was already on edge as it was.

Marisa spun on her heels and aimed her gun at the gloom.

Scott had to duck to avoid getting pistol-whipped.

"Shit, Mari."

"Sorry." She slid her gun back its holster, chewing her lower lip. "I thought… Never mind. We've been in the dark for too long. My imagination's running wild."

Scott didn't relinquish his defence stance with his machete just yet. The candle had a shorter range than the flashlight, but he held it out anyway, watching the glow tease the frayed edges of shadows.

Ice crunched underfoot as Virgil backtracked to join them. "What's wrong?"

"I thought I heard something," Marisa explained, blowing hot air into her cupped palms in an attempt to thaw them. Tiny flames reflected in her pupils as she cast an apprehensive glance over the darkness. "It was probably just in my head."

Virgil's gaze flickered down to Finch who stood at his side, bristling. "What did you hear?"

Marisa hesitated.

"Footsteps," Scott answered for her. He tilted the machete to glimpse his own shadowed face in the reflection. "Right?"

Marisa took a deep breath to steady her voice. "You heard it too, huh?"

"I've been hearing it for the past three hours."

Virgil stepped closer until his shoulder pressed against Scott's. He seemed to draw strength from the contact, holding himself perfectly still as he listened.

Up ahead, the others had drawn to a halt. Scott twisted to gesture for silence and John caught his eye, tilting his head in question. Gordon let the knife fall into his grasp, shifting his weight evenly between his feet but still swaying ever-so-slightly as he approached his limits. Then: nothing.

Scott held his breath. Virgil was as tense as a taut string about to snap. Marisa's hands on her gun were steady but she'd drawn blood from her bitten lip. The tunnel stood empty and still. Distantly, a low growl trembled through the walls.

Scott tried to push his senses outwards, to detect that disturbance of air that Gordon had picked up on, but he couldn't focus on anything other than the stench of rot and the dried blood peeling off his skin. Several clicks and clacks followed. A gurgling trill struck ice into his blood. He was so certain that something was out there that he was half-tempted to plunge into the tunnel and haul the culprit into the light.

There. A muted shuffle like boots over gravel; the scratch of clothes against rough concrete; a faint sigh like a whisper of wind through leaves. The shadows seemed to creep closer. Even their own ring of candlelight became sinister. Virgil's hand closed around Scott's wrist. When Scott looked over, his brother didn't seem to be breathing, struck into stillness.

A faint scuffle drew their attention back to the group.

"Sorry," Gordon whispered. Alan's hands were on his shoulders to steady him. "Got dizzy for a sec." He tried to muster a joking grin. "You gonna confiscate my knife, Scotty?"

Scott faltered. Panic took him by surprise, surging up in a wave until it knocked against his teeth, bitter like blood and just as threatening. He'd been repressing it for so long that now it had come to enact its vengeance, striking a violent chill between his ribs to drive the air from his lungs. He was suddenly grateful for the darkness; more precisely for the anonymity it granted.

"Keep it." His voice came out as more of a croak but at least it didn't shatter. He could still feel the ghost of a trigger against his fingers. Noah's desperate voice echoed in his ears. A full-body shudder ran down his spine and Virgil's grip tightened on his wrist. "We need to keep moving."


It could have been thirty minutes or an entire hour when they reached a fork in the tunnel. Scott had encouraged them to keep walking regardless of unnerving noises and sinister shadows. He had an uncanny feeling that if they stopped now they'd never start again. He tucked his machete under his arm and strode forwards to inspect the two entrances, hoping for smeared ink or old tracks – anything to suggest which route led to the surface.

Alan knelt beside Finch and looped an arm around her neck. "Any ideas? Can you smell fresh air?"

"She's hardly going to say yes," Gordon deadpanned. "The GDF were up to some freaky shit, but I don't think talking dogs were on the list."

It took visible effort for Alan not to snap at him.

John tucked his hands into his pockets, craning his neck as if he could glimpse clues on the ceiling.

"We could always toss a coin," Scott joked humourlessly. There was an unfortunate note of hysteria in his voice which he really hoped no one had noticed. "Or we could vote. Yay for democracy, right?"

"Alternatively," a deep, painfully familiar voice suggested, "You could take the left tunnel given that's the one which leads to the surface."

The Hood loomed out of the darkness. Shadows played in his hollowed face so that his scars seemed to glow, twisting his sneer into something sharp and pointed. Steeped in candlelight, he looked more menacing than ever, every childhood villain poured into one man. His eyes gleamed with a vivid, faintly luminous green. So much for those contacts being destroyed; it certainly explained how he'd been manipulating the comms.

The sight struck a chord of pure terror that left Scott's ears ringing. The Hood was still speaking, but he didn't hear a word. His own heartbeat was thunderous. Adrenaline fizzed under his skin, pooling in his fingertips until he curled his hands into fists.

His last encounter with the Hood had activated the flight part of his fear response but this time he'd been in constant fight mode since he'd first stepped out of that elevator to meet Noah Warren. He didn't think. He didn't even recognise that he was moving until his fist slammed into the Hood's jaw.

"Get him, Scotty!" Gordon whistled. "Do you want to borrow my metal knuckles?"

Virgil wrapped an arm around Scott's chest and bodily pulled him away. "Don't waste your energy."

Scott shook him off and straightened up. The air seemed thick and nauseating again. There were tiny tremors running through his hands as the Hood's gaze tracked over him, cold, calculating, remembering, hovering over scars that left him gasping for breath in the aftermath of nightmares.

He hated it, hated that the Hood had seen him vulnerable, knew his weaknesses, could knock him into a flashback with just one carefully placed hand or wrong word.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Following you." The Hood inspected his gloves as if he couldn't care less. "I'd have thought that was fairly obvious, but then again you're not the clever one, so I suppose I have to make allowances. Congratulations on not dying. I have to give you credit for the elevator escapade. Maybe I should have expected it. You're damn near impossible to kill."

"Yeah, it's a talent of mine," Scott snapped. "I'm still waiting for an explanation. Following us isn't an answer."

"Technically," the Hood drawled, "It is. It's just not the one you want to hear."

"Are we still voting?" Alan asked, "Because I vote we take one of these flares and…"

The description which followed was unhealthily detailed and if Scott ever found a therapist then he was going to sit the kid down with them for a psych evaluation because holy shit, Alan, what the hell? This concern was quickly overridden by a hysterical urge to laugh as he glimpsed the sheer horror in the Hood's eyes. Gordon clapped a hand to Alan's shoulder with a proud smile which wavered as he tried to gauge whether his brother was actually being serious. It was difficult to tell.

"The bunker has been compromised," the Hood began with an air of self-entitled grandeur that had Scott wanting to smack that smug smile off his face.

"There are infected in the bunker because you put them there." John's voice was clipped, cold death turning his eyes stony. He rotated his knife so that it blinked like warning light.

"True," the Hood conceded. "These contacts were very helpful. But we were also running out of supplies. It was most tiresome. Besides, it's time for the next phase of my plan and those bumbling idiots have fulfilled their usefulness. Your family rescues people. So. Rescue me."

"No." John stepped forwards to place Scott behind him. "You can rot in hell."

A vein in the Hood's temple twitched. "I'll see you there."

Jasmin aimed an arrow at his throat. "Just say the word and I'll let this fly."

"Do it, Jazz," Alan urged, only partly joking.

Scott held up a hand and Jasmine reluctantly lowered the arrow. He turned back and made the grave mistake of meeting the Hood's gaze over John's shoulder. Time momentarily overlapped as that green glare transported him back to feverish panic.

"Let's make a deal," the Hood offered quietly, an oddly serious note in his voice. The scarred tissue of his neck twisted as he smiled. "You and I can do business, remember?"

A knife struck the stone less than a millimetre from his head.

"Would you look at that?" Gordon declared, his voice drenched in cold fury. "My aim is getting better." He held out a hand and Alan wordlessly passed him another blade. "The next one is headed for your heart, Hood, presuming you do actually have one."

"Haven't we already been over this?" The Hood tipped his head back against the concrete with a heavy sigh as if being threatened was boring. "You've proven that you can't bring yourself to kill me."

Gordon's grin was shark-like. "Nuh-uh. I didn't let John kill you. He's a civilian. But I'm military. Don't fucking test me. If I didn't think you had something to offer, I'd have thrown this already." He flexed his hand around the knife. "Start talking. The left tunnel leads to the surface?"

Scott drew a sharp inhale as his vision swum, reminding him that he hadn't actually been breathing for the past minute. He couldn't help but flinch as the Hood lifted a hand. Artificially green eyes gleamed with pleasure at the sight.

Virgil didn't let go, a barrier of warmth against the frost and fear. He rose onto his toes slightly to whisper in Scott's ear, "Still with me?"

Scott couldn't tear his gaze away from the Hood.

"Scott."

He dug his thumbnail into his palm until pain jolted him out of the trance. A heavy weight had settled on his chest. He had to consciously think about each breath. Virgil caught his wrist and guided his hand away before he could draw blood, sparing a second to silently hope that John chose any colour except green if he ever got another pair of tech-infused contacts. He shivered as Virgil took him by the shoulders and guided him away from the Hood's cold chuckles.

His back hit the wall. He flattened his hands against the rough concrete and tried to focus on the coarse surface.

Gordon moved to block his view of the Hood.

"Don't check out on us now, Scooter," he murmured, painfully gentle of a sudden.

"Oh dear," the Hood drawled, "Did I break him again?"

Gordon promptly lost his shit. "Alright, listen, you son of a bitch-"

The Hood tipped his head back and laughed. The sharp sound was twisted into an unholy cackle by the empty space around them. Distantly, the inhuman clicks and wet scratches fell silent before returning in a rush, growing louder. Be them rotters or any other monster lurking in the dark, they were clearly attracted by sound.

Survival instincts overrode panic until Scott could take a gulp of air and squash his feelings into a box. If he didn't pay attention to them, maybe they would remain locked away until he wasn't in imminent danger from zombies.

"Gordon, enough."

He hauled himself upright, clasping his brother's shoulder and noted with a pang of concern that Gordon listed way too heavily into his hand. There was a brief moment in which he was certain that he was the only thing keeping his brother upright, but then Gordon recovered and levelled him with a searching look. Once upon a time Scott would have considered it a strange role reversal to be met with that fiery overprotectiveness but this deep into the apocalypse he'd come to expect it from all of his brothers.

"Enough," he repeated, more gently this time and released Gordon's shoulder with a final squeeze.

Alan was still throwing a shadow over them, blocking the glow of candlelight and green contacts. He crossed his arms, unconvinced and unwilling to back down. Scott rose to his feet and tugged the kid aside with a fond smile.

Alan caught his wrist and pulled him within earshot. "No more deals." He tugged at his collar absently, an anxious tick which had developed shortly after the satellite incident. "He tried to kill us both less than six hours ago."

Yeah, somehow Scott didn't think he was going to be forgetting that detail any time soon. The image of Alan stumbling through that door - ghostly pale with fear beneath the blood on his face – was permanently stained into his memory. He had half a mind to leave the Hood for the infected to maul. But unfortunately – and it was deeply, deeply unfortunate – those blueprints didn't match the actual tunnel layout and the Hood seemed to know the way out.

So.

He withdrew his machete without any real intention of using it. There was something comforting about the weight of a weapon in his hand. It was a little like how he had once worn suits as battle armour during those initial TI meetings – an additional layer of subconscious protection even if it had minimal real-world impact.

"You know the way out."

It wasn't a question. He stepped to within an arm's length of the Hood and studied him for a long moment.

The man was ailing – that much was clear. His shoulder was padded with thick bandages, but it was stiff and he couldn't move the joint without wincing. The contacts had bled pain into his temples which travelled into his jaw where the healed fracture had left an ache. He was favouring his left leg and, despite his supposed nonchalance, there was a glimmer of apprehension behind his eyes and perhaps even fear.

Looking at him now, alone in the dark with no one to mourn him or even wonder what fate had befallen him, Scott was surprised by a wave of pure pity.

"I know the way out," the Hood confirmed.

"You'll show us the path. In return, we'll let you tag along until we reach the surface. There are infected in these tunnels. I'm sure you wouldn't want to run into them alone."

The Hood tapped his temple. "I have my own methods for dealing with the local wildlife."

"Really?" Scott crossed his arms, allowing a hint of his old self-assured bravado to slip into his smirk. It didn't run deep, but the Hood wasn't to know that. "Are you sure about that? The hivemind's gone, Hood. What makes you so certain that your frequency will still work on the infected?"

It was a theory which Ellis had proposed during their hasty packing of final supplies. She'd been musing aloud, playing with ideas to distract herself from their imminent descent into the tunnels, and probably hadn't intended her words to be taken seriously. But the suggestion had stuck with Scott and now he planned to use it to their advantage. Regardless of whether it was truthful, the injection of doubt would be enough to tip the Hood into agreeing to their terms.

And, sure enough:

"Deal."

"It's not a deal," Scott snapped.

The Hood surreptitiously rubbed his injured shoulder. "How else would you describe it?"

Scott could have chosen some smartass comeback stolen right from John or Gordon's books. It would have been entertaining to watch the Hood puff himself up like a prize turkey. But instead, he settled for something far simpler – and also far more effective.

"Pity."

"You pity me?" The Hood scoffed, voice tight with barely constrained rage.

"Yup." Scott turned his back. "If I were you, I'd enjoy the company while it lasts," he called over his shoulder. "You'll be entirely alone on the surface. And with those injuries? Rotters aren't the only things which can kill you."


They trekked onwards into the dark. It was full of fear and doubt and nameless monsters.

They were ambushed by a mostly decomposed rotter which had been lurking around a corner. It lunged into their ring of candlelight and reached for Alan with oozing fingers. John slashed its throat and its head rolled back, teetering on a partly liquidised spinal cord until gravity claimed it. The body slumped in a heap and spilled its organs over the floor like tangled ribbons.

For a moment, there was utter silence beyond the dripping of John's knife and Alan's startled gasps as he clung to Scott's arm where he had pulled the kid close to his chest. Then Ellis promptly doubled over and vomited.

Without any markers, it seemed as if they were making no progress. It wasn't only disheartening but exhausting and that was dangerous.

Virgil's arm around Gordon's shoulders had gone from emotionally supportive to physically. John's face was smeared with tiredness as well as blood. Marisa's reaction time had increased. Ellis was shaking like a leaf. Alan was counting his own breaths to stave off a panic attack. Jasmin and Theo were huddled together like shellshock victims.

And Scott? He was hyperaware of the Hood's presence and it was making him a liability. If it hadn't been for John's reflexes, they'd have lost Alan because he couldn't keep his damn head in the game. So, all this considered, he reluctantly suggested a break.

They set up camp in a straight expanse of tunnel without any bends that could conceal rotters. Candles were arranged in a wide circle in the hope that flames would dissuade any rats.

"It's like a salt circle," Alan mused, the first words he'd spoken in two hours. He was sat with his back to the wall, pressed close to Scott's side, hunched over his knees so that his expression was cloaked in shadows. "You know, to keep away ghosts?"

In that case, it clearly wasn't very effective because one of Scott's ghosts was sat less than four feet away. He glared at the back of the Hood's head and silently hoped the man would spontaneously combust from the sheer force of his hatred.

Sadly, the Hood remained alive although not necessarily well. He looked waxy, coated in a thin sheen of sweat which beaded on his upper lip. Scott had a sneaking suspicion that if that shirt were peeled away it would reveal the red feelers of blood poisoning spreading from the shoulder wound. It made him wonder why the Hood was really here. He wouldn't abandon the bunker's supplies for such a weak reason as a power grab elsewhere.

"Let's hope it works," Marisa muttered, drawing his attention back to the conversation. "These tunnels feel very haunted."

The Hood propped himself against the wall at the very edge of the circle. "The living are a greater threat than the dead."

An unidentifiable emotion threaded through his words. No one was willing to press the matter. He might still strike fear into those around him, but that wasn't the only unsettling thing about the Hood these days. Death hung around him like a shroud and it didn't take too much stretch of the imagination to believe that it might be contagious.

The sensible decision would be to share rations and sleep in shifts. But most appetites had fled and it was impossible to rest whilst surrounded by threat - not just the Hood's presence but the unknown numbers of infected prowling in the dark.

Every flicker cast by candles was an adrenaline shot. A single droplet of water splashing from the roof became a thunderclap. Eerie, gargled groans from deeper in the tunnel sounded like a warning. Danger ventured to the edge of their circle and laid down to wait for the candles to burn themselves out.

They formed little huddles. Theo tried to sleep, curled in on himself like a pangolin, his head pillowed in Jasmin's lap whilst Jazz herself stayed close to Marisa's side. Ellis sat nearby but avoided physical contact. She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared into the haunting flames. The Hood remained an outcast, legs outstretched and ankles neatly crossed, but nursing his shoulder with pain engrained so deeply into his face that it seemed to consume him.

Alan tucked himself under Scott's arm. He rotated one of his blades in his hands, running his thumb over the grooves in the handle. He seemed to alternate between overthinking and shutting down entirely. In the shadows his eyes looked haunted, but in the candlelight they appeared empty.

It had been a while since he had seemed so small. Scott briefly wondered whether it was his hivemind memories overriding his current reality, but no, Alan looked distinctly younger than usual, more of a lost child than a survivor. Even with a weapon in his hands, he seemed more like a kid playing dress-up.

Virgil was sat on Scott's other side but shuffled aside slightly to make room as Gordon scrambled between them. He was more than halfway to falling asleep already, but unease sank in its claws and kept him from letting himself rest. He propped his head on Virgil's shoulder and twisted slightly so that he could keep the Hood within his sights.

"Quit that," Scott murmured. "You need to sleep."

"With him here?" Exhaustion transformed determination into desperation. Gordon scrubbed his hands down his face to hide a yawn. "M'fine. Just gonna, uh, rest my eyes for second."

"You do that," Virgil agreed, exchanging a knowing look with Scott over the top of their brother's head.

"M'not sleeping, 'kay?"

Scott hid a fond smile. "Of course not."

John was recounting supplies, anything to keep his mind occupied. Occasionally, he would glare daggers at the Hood or stare into the darkness as if he could hear something. He stacked their bags against the wall and reclaimed his place at the edge of the circle where he sat perfectly still like a sentinel, just listening, watching, waiting. He currently had possession of Virgil's rifle and had it propped against his shoulder in anticipation. Finch rested her chin on his knee in silent support and eyed invisible threats.

A faint rattle like teeth clacking slunk from the dark. It was so faint that it mostly just a suggestion rather than an actual sound. Finch's ears pricked. John's light tapping against the rifle stilled. Scott held his breath to listen. Virgil lifted a hand as if to shield Gordon – already out for the count – from the distant threat. Nearby, a candle wavered as Alan exhaled in a rush. His thumbnail was bleeding where he'd bitten down to the flesh and now, as a shiver ran across his shoulders, he chewed on it again.

Scott guided his wrist back down. "Stop that."

"Sorry," Alan mumbled, an automatic reply as opposed to a conscious thought. He hunched further over his knees, absently ghosting a hand over his neck as his gaze flickered to the Hood. He'd sharpened his fear into a weapon but now it threatened to turn on him. Lost in the dark with no sense of time, it was all too easy to fall through the spaces between logical thoughts.

Scott tugged him closer. "Hey. Clue me in." He lightly tapped his knuckles against Alan's temple. "What's going on up there?"

Alan didn't look away from the Hood as he whispered, "Mercury." He took a shaky breath and curled his hands around opposing wrists to hide the tremors. His eyes were dark and glistening as he dropped his chin to his knees and repeated, even quieter, "I dunno if you remember that."

"I remember," Scott replied softly, tightening his hold. "Anything I can do?"

Alan gave a tiny shrug. "We're, um…" He picked at his bleeding nail. "We're gonna get out of here, right?"

"Of course we are."

"Okay." Alan flinched as another scuttle echoed along the tunnel. "'Cos I don't want to…" He swallowed. A bead of blood split on his nail and trickled down his thumb. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to breathe evenly. "…you know."

"I'm not a mind-reader, Al," Scott teased, glancing sideways to meet Virgil's concerned eyes where his brother was definitely eavesdropping.

Alan closed his eyes, voice tiny as he confessed, "I don't want to die in the dark."


"We're getting close now."

The Hood's sudden voice was jarring. They had been walking in silence for the past two hours – maybe more, maybe less: Scott had lost track and no one else had been keeping count. He'd been distracted by the sticky layer of congealed blood which coated this section of the tunnel floor, not to mention worrying over Gordon's deteriorating sense of balance.

"How close?" John demanded.

The Hood gestured vaguely. "Ten minutes or so."

The ground had been steadily sloping upwards for the past hour, so this made sense. The gradient had increased from gentle to fierce and Scott could feel the burn in his legs. He dreaded to imagine how Gordon must have been feeling.

The revelation that they only had to suffer through ten more minutes was a godsend, bringing a new boost of energy. Young hope kindled in his chest, reintroducing warmth to his cold limbs and frozen fingers. They hadn't even run into any rotters in the past half hour despite hearing them. Maybe - just maybe - they'd escape unscathed.

They came to a final crossroads. The Hood strode onwards without hesitation, but Finch stopped short as if someone had hit pause. She stared into the dark, hackles rising, then, slowly, retreated back to Alan's side. Her entire body rumbled with a ferocious growl. She planted herself in front of Alan, teeth bared in a snarl.

The Hood turned back to them. "Well? Come along then."

"Uh…" Gordon had an arm looped around Virgil's neck, faintly greyish with pain. "If I can hear that, it must be loud. Tell me there's not a horde headed our way."

Virgil backed up a pace. "There's not a horde coming unless I say there is?"

"Oh, man, Virg." Gordon's laugh was faintly manic. "I really wish that was how reality worked."

"Step aside." The Hood let out an exasperated noise between gritted teeth. "I'll handle this, seeing as all of you are clearly incompetent."

An unnatural rush of air swept through the tunnels. It was more than a mere disturbance. This was an artificial weather system created by hundreds of rotten feet. Scott could sense movement more than actually see it.

"Flashlights," he ordered, already swinging his backpack over his shoulder to retrieve his own. He discarded his candle stub and stamped out the flame. The beam illuminated the tunnel to their right and he instantly wished he'd never switched on his flashlight. Apparently there was some truth to the saying ignorance is bliss.

The tunnel was swarming with infected. Their skin drooped like melted wax, jaws gaping as they scented the air. Sightless eyes rolled in sockets as they turned en-mass. Several tilted their heads with a series of inhuman clicks. Another let out a low, hungry howl which caught like touchpaper and spread through the horde. There were so many that some had been crushed against the walls to leave a trail of glistening skin and intestines in their wake.

Gordon unhooked his arm from Virgil's shoulders and reached for his knife. He was already wavering on his feet. Virgil stepped in front of him, rifle readied but uncertainty swimming in his eyes. Ellis let out a strangled sound and backed up until she hit the wall, her hands shaking so badly that she couldn't switch the safety off her gun.

"Oh my god," Marisa breathed, uncharacteristic panic slipping into her voice.

The Hood rolled his neck, then casually cracked his knuckles. He seemed entirely confident in his ability, but Scott's doubt in the frequency's effectiveness had only grown stronger. He silently gestured for the others to move into the empty tunnel which led to the surface.

The horde were becoming agitated.

The Hood breathed deeply, then, with a twisted grimace, activated his frequency.

There were no immediate effects.

A rotter staggered forward. Several more accompanied it. The horde picked up the pace as it registered the prey within its grasp. Scott glimpsed a flare of electronic green as the Hood sent out the frequency again.

"Scott." John grabbed his arm and yanked him away. "Let's go."

"The frequency's not working!"

"Exactly." John shoved him into a run. "I'll be right behind you."

Scott turned on his heels and bolted. It was only when he rounded the corner that he registered John was no longer with him. His shoes skidded in a thick layer of rotten flesh and decomposing organs and he caught himself on the wall. Rough concrete tore strips of skin from his palms. The pain was faint like an afterthought. Adrenaline numbed every bruise as he flung himself into a run.

For the second time in forty-eight hours, he was rattled by the agonised screams of a man being eaten alive. The empty space picked up sound and flung it further; the squelch of flesh between molars; the slick slosh of blood as it gushed over claw-like fingers; the crunch of cartilage and sinew stretched until it snapped; slurps, snarls and shrieks as the infected feasted.

John hurtled around the corner, closely tailed by a cluster of rotters. "Run."

No shit, Scott thought hysterically, waiting just long enough for John to catch up before breaking into a sprint. He'd always been the faster runner between the two of them and time hadn't changed this fact. He hauled John into a quicker run until his heart threatened to burst out of his chest and he swore he could taste blood in his mouth. The infected were so close that he could feel the unnatural chill wafting off their bodies; unaffected by human limitations the rotters had an advantage.

A bullet skimmed so close to his ear that he could hear the rush of air as it passed. The closest rotter collapsed backwards before it could close its hands in his coat. He tracked the gunshot back to Marisa, who was the only person not screaming for them to hurry the fuck up, too focussed on making each shot count.

"Go, go, go!"

Everyone was shouting at once. The clamour of voices drew more infected. They spilled into the tunnel like a wave encroaching on the beach. Scott grabbed the nearest person – Theo – and pushed him into running. They were only ten minutes from the entrance. It had to be enough. It had to be. They were so close…

More shots rang out. Scott twisted and sliced his machete through a rotter's skull. It split neatly into two halves and splattered across the floor. He turned back and put on an extra burst of speed to catch up, just as an infected lunged for him. An arrow pierced through its empty eye socket and it toppled like a felled tree.

The next corner revealed a door framed with a holy halo of pure sunlight. It pushed in the tiny space underneath and through the keyhole and between the gaps in the warped frame. It was only about a hundred metres away if that.

Marisa slammed the handle of her gun on the rusted padlock and shoved the door open. The sudden light was blinding. Scott decapitated the rotter at his heels and ran for his life. Ninety metres. Eighty. Holy shit, they were going to make it-

It would be very helpful if things went wrong in slow motion like they did in the movies to give him appropriate time to analyse and react. As it was, everything went very wrong in a split second and while Scott's reaction times were a helluva lot faster than the average person, they weren't quite as fast as Alan's. Or Virgil's, for that matter.

A newly infected rotter crashed into Scott's back and pinned him against the wall before he had chance to reach his machete. He grappled for the blade but the creature was struggling to sink its teeth into his throat and it was all he could do to hold it off.

There was no clear shot. He could hear Marisa yelling. The barrel of a rifle smashed into the infected's skull and it slumped to the ground. Scott remained frozen for a moment, gasping for air, dimly aware of the rotten blood soaking through his shirt. Virgil grabbed his arm and physically pulled him towards the exit.

At the same time, Gordon stumbled. Without Virgil there to steady him, he didn't recover and instead went crashing towards the awaiting arms of several rotters.

Alan caught him before he hit the ground.

Scott didn't think he had ever experienced such pure, visceral panic. It consumed his entire body. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't fucking move. He froze yet again and maybe he was shouting or screaming but he couldn't reach them-

Alan curled around Gordon like a human shield, tucking his chin over Gordon's head to protect from the infected and the worst part was that he didn't hesitate. Not even for a second. Then they disappeared beneath a snarling, heaving mass of rotters and-

Jasmin's arrow met its target before anyone could even blink. The closest rotter slumped and Alan shoved it away, scrambling backwards, still trying to shield Gordon from the others as he fumbled for a knife. Scott swept in and grabbed his kid around the waist, dragging him to the exit whilst Virgil hauled Gordon upright and practically carried him. John shoved them all into the light, stabbing his blade into the final infected's face before tripping over the doorframe after them.

Marisa and Ellis slammed the door shut and slid the external deadbolt across.

Scott still couldn't breathe. He yanked Alan's backpack from the kid's shoulders and ran his hands over Alan's arms, turning him to check his back, searching for any frayed fabric or blood.

"I'm okay," Alan was saying, gulping down air. "I'm not bitten, I'm okay. Scott, stop. I'm fine, I swear." He tried to brush off Scott's hands to no avail. "Scotty, they didn't get me." His voice rose into a shout. "Dad, I'm okay."

Silence settled.

"I'm okay," Alan repeated softly. "Really."

Gordon held up his hands before Scott could whirl on him. "No bites. We're both okay." He tipped his head back to stare up at the sky in wonder. "Oh my god. We're okay. We made it."