Chapter Summary
- THE WOMAN IN RED
I bit her… I gave her the Harran virus. It's only a moment of time before she turns into a monster like me… I have to find her before it's too late. - Kyle
FIVE: BIRD'S-EYE
It was a small gasp when Crane woke up.
His lungs pounded heavily, like he had risen back from underwater, holding his breath for far too long. A disgusting taste of bile ran across his tongue. Christ! You didn't kill an innocent person, Kyle!
But the end of the dream rooted itself deep into his brain. He had turned to the woman and jumped onto her like an animal, claws digging into her shoulders. Hazel eyes stared back at him. Terrified. Horrified. There wasn't any time for her to scream when he dove down and ripped open her throat-
Stop!
Again, his empty stomach revolted. Crane swallowed and tried to keep it in. Gain control back. He didn't kill that woman.
Then he remembered again. The uncomfortably uncomfortable feeling of...claws on his face when he wiped off the sweat from his forehead. It was a sudden jolt, like a Biter was in the same space with Kyle but no. Disappointedly, no.
It was his body. This body. He was still the zombified Kyle Crane from yesterday.
It wasn't a dream. How he really wished it was...
Once reality sunk in again, he observed his cramped sleeping space and remembered he was in the back of an ambulance. Then came the next thing he had forgotten.
The stab wound.
His body must have taken a toll for him to lose consciousness before he could have patched up the wound. But he patted down on his gruesome abdomen and couldn't find the hole. There was something but it was like there was never a wound to begin with—only what looked like a web of black pulsating veins where the shiv had gone in.
"Yeah..." he groaned mentally. Waking up to find the wound closed up without stitches didn't settle well for Crane. At all. "Totally not creepy."
But he survived the night.
And that thought kicked him in the shin—he survived being stabbed in the gut because of the virus. He was here to stay in his new undead life, thanks to his mutation. And he couldn't take the more drastic measure to shorten it. Not when his feet were grounded and he still had a responsibility to do.
He was here to stay for another day.
"Hopefully, the lady slept better than me…" he thought. Because he felt awful. His body felt incredibly heavier than last night, when he felt as light as a feather. Crane mentally had to fight his own sleep deprivation. In his half-sleep state, he dragged himself over to the doors-
Suddenly, his right claw felt a horrid burn.
"Garmph!" Crane scrambled back, the panicked impact nearly shaking inventory off its shelves. Something also hit him on the head. "Ow."
The feeling wasn't as aggravating as the UV lights last night, but it felt like putting a palm on a hot stove.
"Right. Sunlight." Terrific. Any more shitty problems he was going to get? "This keeps getting better and better."
Now, he truly comprehended why some freaks never came out during the day. A Volatile could easily fry up like an egg on the sidewalk by staying out for too long.
So go back to sleep.
Crane shook his head furiously with a vocal growl, even attempting a slap to the face. "C'mon. Stay awake."
He had a goal, remember? The woman in red was a bomb waiting to happen. Anyone who had the pathogen would wind up transformed from between hours to days. And that was if she hadn't taken Antizin.
Moreover, if the lady was to go to a populated place… That would be a grisly outcome on his mind.
Crane took his stance, his determination powering him from going back to slumber. He could stay in the van all day, or he could leave and bite down on the pain.
It was now or never.
CLANK!
The ambulance's back doors burst open and the Hunter was off. He could feel the blistering everywhere on his skin—the worse sunburn he had ever felt. With whatever raggy clothes he had on his back, Crane tried to pull his collar and some folds over in a desperate attempt for more cover. It was all in vain, but he kept on running, getting off the overpass and diving into the shade underneath it. Unfortunately, it ended as a crash-land for him, the guy who could easily traceur the highest buildings without fear. The dew-covered grass beneath his skin or the looming structure's shadow didn't help relieve the burning sensation.
"God…" He bit his teeth down to combat the pain, rolling on his back. This time, though, it was gone as quickly as it came.
Was this how it'd be for the rest of his new life...?
Crane pushed himself up with a struggle. Ahead of him were windows of sunlight streaming down, creaking through any gap the sun could seethe through. It would be a long and difficult path back to the construction site with the limited shade he could see and find. Which would have been a three-minute walk for a human on a clear, less-hostile day.
Fate really loved to stick it to him.
A heavy sigh came out of his mouth. The things he did for people…
He pressed on against the power of daylight. Crane persisted, ignoring the many burns or the voice in his head beckoning him to go sleep.
Despite the slight heaviness logged into him, he was just as agile as...a normal runner. He didn't have the insane velocity from last night. Sure, Crane could use the weird...tendrils coming out of his hands like that superhero with the webs. But that would mean smoking himself on the skyscrapers like beef jerky.
There was another disadvantage he immediately noticed once he stepped out of the ambulance: his vision was shit in the day.
It was an exaggeration, though. He could make out his world decently—able to see twenty feet in front of him but with a bit of shortsightedness unless he focused hard. On the plus side, there were absolutely no orange skeletons he could see.
Maybe that was why the infected had some difficulty catching up to their prey in the daytime. It was hard to see in the sunlight. He had other senses to help—smell, touch, superhuman hearing—which left a disturbing feeling in him.
When Crane arrived outside the construction site safehouse, he grimaced to see no sign of one specific skeleton inside the trailer. The only evidence someone had long left the place was the pushed Volatile corpse off the gate and the footprints in the dirt.
He groaned.
"Why can't she just stay in one spot?" But that would be too easy on him, wouldn't it? He searched high and low.
The nearest place she could have gone was that Junction location. Kyle was off again, in the shadows of the abandoned buildings.
Continuing on made Crane study his own eyesight again. He was wrong about it being shit—more like the perspective was warped, maybe thanks to the sun. It couldn't make its decision on what he should be seeing. He saw colors in one way but as for the 'orange skeletons'…
He couldn't figure out how to describe them, but he tried anyway. In their places, their orange glow wasn't as vibrant as those last night—just faint blurred-out shapes behind walls. Now and then, he would spot those faint orange shapes moving around in the distance.
However, if he was a little closer, his eyes could make out what those shapes were. For one example; a pack of runners vaulting towards the west, high on the roofs and a mile away from him. Normal human beings rushing to find supplies during the day. Each of them had a faint, deep glow inside the torso area.
Pulsating.
Like a heartbeat.
It gave Crane the creeps. He'd prefer the nighttime skeletons over this daylight vision. It helped disconnect the matter, as harsh as it sounded in his head.
Soon, he found the Junction at the end of the uphill street. Of course, he didn't walk in. That would be suicidal. The safest way was to have a vantage point across the street, away from people who could shoot him on sight.
The oddest thing he realized as he stepped into an empty silicone factory was feeling like he had been in that building before. Even the sheltered perch at the topmost part of the scaffolding looked recognizable as he glanced at the overview of the Junction.
He had been watching up there before. Once. Waiting for something. Someone. He would be lying to himself if he pretended it didn't irk him. Maybe this was a spot that his other self had used—to hunt. How often did he use this spot as a feral monster?
Crane pushed the queasy thought away, grimacing at his next problem. He did see the blotchy shapes inside the Junction. But was any of them the woman?
"This is going to be a needle in a haystack." For all he knew, the woman in red might have gone elsewhere instead. Maybe she was already dead-
Klunk!
The rooftop door at the Junction opened. And out of it came the familiar flashy-red jacket.
Crane had been holding his breath the entire time. The moment he saw no signs of transformation, he let it out with relief. The woman must have gotten Antizin from this place just in time.
Thank god.
Maybe she had a fighting chance. She could be luckier than he was. That thought alone lightened the weight off his shoulders a little.
Beep!
"Bones, do you read?"
"Loud and clear, Jack." Crane heard the radio talk again. This time, a younger male voice. A local. Crane still couldn't get used to his own heightened hearing. "How was your first day in Scanderoon?"
The woman scoffed in that thick, South London accent. "Riveting. Escaping death, getting a few close calls. It's been good."
Her sarcasm took the cheerfulness right out of her companion, replacing it with thick anxiety in one sentence. "What happened?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle, mate."
"Seriously?" Crane mumbled to himself. Let's go down the list, then. There were the three Volatiles chasing after her, every common infected stirred up in the dead of night and what else? Oh, right. Him nearly trying to kill her!
Even her friend was on the same page as Crane. "It doesn't sound like it's nothing. What's the reading on your PACT? Tell me now!"
"My PACT is green," she stated. "I just had another run-in with that 'Day' Hunter I told you yesterday."
"You're doing a terrible job of convincing me you're alright."
"Then how about a good job convincing you I found something worth your while? That freakazoid? It didn't die."
There was a pause in digesting those words. Crane couldn't understand the significance behind them, but the woman's friend had an inflated reaction—like it was the best news he had been waiting for the longest time and he couldn't believe it.
"You mean...you tested your secret weapon on him?"
"Yup."
"And it lived? It actually didn't drop dead?"
"Still kicking and breathing."
The short mumbles were incomprehensible on the other end, with a few uncontrollable laughs in between. It was strange to Crane—why would anyone be happy that a Special infected wasn't dead?
And what secret weapon?
The disbelief was still verbally present, however. "Wait. So… You tested that poison on him?"
"I'm telling the truth, Bones," she replied abruptly. Unsure why the obviousness hadn't hit him yet.
"Which means you went up close to it."
"Of course."
"And did he bite you or you bite him?"
That was when she stopped. "...I mean… I was dealing with a Special infected."
"Gaaargh." The mic spiked from a sudden bump on the other side of the line. Just like that, the amazement fizzed out. "Please tell me you didn't use your fists against this thing."
It was an odd reaction that Crane didn't expect. Was her caller this detached? She was bitten—bitten!—that should warrant some sort of emergency! Her friend should be pointing that fact out! But everyone easily brushed it away like that, especially the woman in red.
"Nooo," she sang. "I did hit him with a piece of plywood."
"Jack. Tell me what the color on your PACT is, right now!"
"I told you. It's green. I'm fine," she exclaimed, pointing at something on her wrist.
"It doesn't matter. You tried to go against a monster. Which, might I add, is something we've never seen before in the Outskirts. Alone. Without your equipment. And may I remind you that you're not the same Wild Dog as you were three years ago?!"
Another person from the Outskirts. Crane tagged that piece of information in the lines and filed it away in his mental cabinet—how many survivors were still alive in that location?
"Just, just listen for a second. What's most important right now is that I found you a candidate," the woman stated urgently. That settled the guy down. To a degree. "He didn't die."
The sound of a few aggressive finger tapping on the table—Crane could imagine that whoever was on the other line was slowly losing his patience, disliking the fact that the woman tried to change the subject. But with a sigh, the young man continued. "Just because he bit you once doesn't mean he built an immunity against it."
Immunity?
"Actually, he bit me twice. So I bit him back twice."
Twice? He rubbed the sore on his shoulder. He didn't remember a second bite.
"What-" There was a struggle with words, ending with a "grrrah." The radio guy tried his best to keep his frustration in. "Then he should be dead!"
"That's what I thought!" she uttered with a dramatic flair.
Hold it. Back up a sentence or two. They knew something he wasn't getting any info on. What did they mean by dead, Crane wondered.
What on Earth did he stumble on? Secret weapon? Hunting Specials? Immunity? Moreover, this 'weapon' they had sounded fatal to the infected. The only thing he could think of with that kind of reaction was, well, Bolter poison.
Among the infected types Crane had seen through the weeks in Harran, one stood out from the rest. Not because it was a zombie; it didn't even have the courage to stick around, hence the name Bolter. But besides their cowardice and their grouping with Volatiles, it was the subject of a few odd jobs he took. Nothing impressive enough for a lead, other than its own tissue, with the right ingredients, could become a potent poison.
That wasn't a trade secret. So what did it have to do with biting this lady?
"Ok. Fine. He lived," the voice on the line muttered, the spite still lingering. "Can't believe you tried to pick a fight with a Special on your own."
"Freakazoid didn't give me a choice, Bones. He's no normal Special. There's something strange about this one."
"Strange how?" he whined.
"Remember you were saying about those scaredy-cats having some sort of recognition back home? Mongrel knew a bit of Judo."
Uh oh, Crane thought. They weren't talking about him, right?
"Pft. Judo." the radio guy snorted. "That's funny. I'll give you that-" But he stopped himself. "You're not joking."
The woman had an obvious, tight-lipped frown on her face. "I've fought enough opponents in my life to know what kind of fighting style I'm dealing with."
"I really don't like the sound of a zombie knowing kung-fu."
"He's done more than that. Junction had two runners ambushed by a bunch of crooks last night. Supposedly, a Special turned up and killed them blokes," she explained. "Bones, it didn't attack the runners. It attacked the bad guys."
Yup. They were talking about him. Mutant Kyle. His last night's vendetta was coming to bite him in the ass. Somehow. He hadn't figured out how exactly.
"And this is the same one?"
"He also played Santa Claus last night and gave those runners supplies. Supplies I was assigned to get. Even left me a gift right at my doorstep."
"Hey, I was doing you a favor," Crane grumbled.
"Ok. That's way more comprehension thinking than it should have. What is this thing?" her friend asked worriedly.
"You tell me. He's full of surprises."
"Exactly how many more surprises does he have?"
"Well," the woman's voice trailed off. She just couldn't find the right words. Crane couldn't read her mind either.
Honestly, Jack had no idea what just happened back at the small chapel. It'd be a lot easier to say that the infected had a lot of oomph in him—unnaturally so when the undead didn't have the mentality for tactical attacks like animals or average humans.
It was also the fact it 'talked' that made her wary. And she wasn't even sure if it came from its mouth.
"Can infected..." The hooded woman twirled air circles with a hand. "'Talk' with one another?"
"Talk?" the radio guy asked, not expecting an answer. "...I mean, we've never established if they had some kind of vocal connection. They groan. The Specials' got their own way of dominance to order their lackeys around."
Vocal. Crane did find that suggestion...well, a little interesting, but the context told him one thing—these two weren't normal civilians.
This whole discussion wasn't just simple chatter; this was almost the talk of professionals. Crane could only guess from the voice on the line—someone else who may have studied the infected since the outbreak started, like Zere and Camden. But the radio guy's voice sounded younger, in his twenties. Inexperienced. Still learning.
However, the woman was a different case. She wasn't a random person. She was observant. She could follow the subject to the point and pry out the questions that needed to be asked.
She knew what information to look for.
That made her dangerous.
"Then what about us normal infected? Can we hear them...speak in a way?"
"I don't really get it. Where are you going with this?"
Nothing out of the woman in red. She was stiff as a tree. Crane could vaguely see the deepening confusion on her face—something really bothered her, but she wasn't sure how to explain it well.
"Jack?"
She simply shook her head. "You know what? Forget it. I'm not even sure what I heard."
"Uh...sure," her friend compelled, dropping it completely and moving on to the next issue of the talk. "It's all a lot to take in but… If he really survived, then yeah... He's a candidate."
Crane didn't like the word 'candidate'; worse, they put that title on him. Like the discovery of a new animal species, and that didn't sound good to him. There was too little info for him to go on and more questions he'd like. More importantly, why did that person on the radio sound pleased? What was this pet project even about?
This was sounding like Zere's meat experiment Kyle helped with. That didn't go anywhere.
"A rather pompous but fascinating candidate. And here, I thought this assignment of yours would be a little boring. Proved me wrong."
"So what now?"
"What else? I'm going to go find and retrieve Freakazoid."
There was so much whimsical certainty, so much cocky trust in her own words...that it sounded like a load of bull to Crane! As supernaturally excellent as his inhuman hearing was, he swore he needed an ear check.
And he wasn't alone on this either.
"Wha - hold on, Jack! You can't go catching this thing on your own!"
"I don't see why not," she rebuffed with a cheeky smirk. "Just a simple catch, and we'll be one step closer for your research."
"I think you're banking a bit too much on this succeeding. They're just theories-"
"Theories we only have right now. You said something was up with this virus. You pointed out the rapid mutation and diversity in the infected and us survivors. This Hunter is a prime example that supports those theories."
There was some merit between the lines. Or maybe this woman was talking out of her ass. But she was right—Crane himself couldn't deny it, with his own body and mind as evidence.
"Yeah, but-"
"Have some confidence, Bones. The Tower would appreciate everything you do and this project."
"The Tower?" Another hit on the brakes. Back up again on that little bit of detail! How did they know about the Tower?
"You don't even have the syringes," the radio guy explained loudly and bluntly. "How are you supposed to get a blood sample?"
Immediately, Crane's dubiety changed to sheer urgency and self-dread.
"Oh, fuck, no. You are not sticking needles into me," he snapped. If they knew he was listening in on them, they'd regret thinking about going after him.
"That isn't going to stop me," the woman boasted. "I just need to find him, make sure he's incapacitated, find Lenny's boat and be back home before sunset."
"You're going to bring this thing to my lab?!"
"Oh. Great," Crane thought. "This guy has a lab."
"It's not a solid plan. And hey, a Hunter that can think more than just eating people? That's something to look into," she pointed and tried to sell the idea even further with the next lines. "Think of it this way. It's a new type, never been seen before. You and the other Grads will have a blast with whatever scientific claptrap you find."
"If he's sedated!" the radio guy boomed. "HQ hasn't fully recovered from last week, and you want to bring a dangerous and possibly intellectual monster into our place? Do you hear yourself?!"
"Bones, you know how I operate. If a plan's good, it's worth trying. But I'm all ears for options," she offered calmly. "Let's hear them."
"I…" The young man on the other end really struggled this time round. He rammed his own brain to think of another way, anything. Quite frankly, Crane hoped that he would suggest giving up on the 'special' Special infected, aka Kyle himself, and call it a day. The radio guy did in fact give up. "Everyone is going to hate you for this."
"On the contrary, I think half of them will like my idea."
"I don't," Crane huffed. Instead of waiting for the day the brunette would turn into a destructive monster like him, it turned out that Crane has become the target of some group's experimental errand!
When did the tables get turned around for him?!
"I managed to tag him candidate with a tracker. Geyong's finished with her code yet?"
"She said there were a few bugs."
"I just need Freakazoid's location. I'm also gonna need Lenny on this one." Two more names. How big and knit-tightened was this group, Crane wondered.
"Yeah. No. Not gonna call him."
"Why now?" she asked inquisitively.
"Uh, hello? You stole his boat. He's still fuming after you left. And I'm not gonna tell him his thief needs help-"
BAM!
Wow. The harsh, loud noise of something shutting in the background hurt Jack's right ear.
"Hey! What are you doing, you old cock-?! " Something fell in the background, giving off a loud bang and a crack. The sound of a chair knocked over.
Then came the outburst.
"You accursed wench! You took Caroline!"
The loud holler gave an awful, sharp hurting to the eardrum, forcing the woman in red to visibly yank the earpiece out of her ear. The accent wasn't native but much heavier than the woman's. Scottish or Irish? Crane wasn't sure—all United Kingdom accents sounded kind of the same to him.
With a quick massage to the painful ear, she was daring enough to put the device back on.
"Good to hear from you too, Lenny," she greeted. "And taking is such a strong word. I was simply borrowing it."
"When you get back here, I'm gonna string you up and leave your corpse out for the walkers! Now bring her back!"
"And I will. As soon as I'm finished with Bones' pet project."
"What-?! You-!" It was clear that the older man wanted to strangle the nearest thing he could reach. That target was nearby—the younger man Crane had heard, yelling, "Hey! Stop!" while the Lenny guy screamed heatedly, "You tell her to bring Caroline back! Right now!"
"Enough horsing around. I'm burning daylight here."
Another loud thud and the accent-sounding man came back to the mic. "I should be the one doing this! But oh, you took that away from me! And my boat!"
"We both know you can't do this, Lenny. Not with your arm like how it is."
"I told you again, I have it under control!" he spat.
"Yes. And look how last week's trapping went. You nearly got crushed by a Demolisher and fifty tons of concrete."
There was so much context in those sentences that Crane wanted to ask, but the question would only fall on deaf ears.
"You don't get to make that call! You need an expert for this doaty hooligan project for this bone fetish freak!"
"Hey!" the young voice hollered somewhere in the back. "It's not a bone fetish! Osteology is a study, you crazy gunman!"
"Boys, boys." Out of the discussion between the three, only the cool-headed woman was the one bringing order to court. "Can I remind you both that Asem can hear you all the way from her ivory watchtower?"
That stopped the fight—with the exception of some grumbles here and there.
"Lenny. Scanderoon isn't like the Outskirts. The new types here would have killed you in minutes. And I'm the best and only retrieval specialist the Ravs got. If you hate the idea, then you'll have to run it up with Asem."
There was another loud, obvious groan on the other end, ending with some rude Scottish words Crane couldn't make out.
"How about a compromise? I'm in need of your tracking advice. You help me with the ropes, I'll give you the credit. And your boat. Deal?"
"...Aye, you bloody wretch and a half. Keep your damn credit. All I want is my lassie back. You better bring her in one piece, Brecken. Or I'm gutting you open," the older man grunted.
"Brecken?" Crane repeated. He heard that right.
No, no, he told himself. It could be a common surname. Anyone could have it. Brecken, the very man who led the Tower back in Harran, never mentioned anything about someone else sharing the same name—Brecken never talked about family.
It had to be a coincidence.
It wasn't so much he had a hard time believing. It was because he didn't want a name. Hearing a name or even acknowledging it was going to make him feel more...responsible. The more attached he was to another person, the more guilt he would receive when he could take their life. Indirectly or not. That has been why he pushed away the names he's been hearing over the comms. Just label them as radio guy, Scottish man and the woman in red.
Don't get attached. No first name basis.
"I promise to bring her back in one piece," the lady exclaimed cockily, ending kindly with a question. "Now. Will you help me?"
It was a convincing plea that got the older voice to scoff. "What's the rundown on this mark?"
The lady's grin was wider than before. Good.
"Locals call it a Night Hunter but this one can move in the day. Hits harder than a Goon, faster than a Volatile and clever enough to know the risks. Regular traps or weapons aren't going to work on it."
"Hah. This bloke is still an infected git. He's going to make mistakes."
"Try me," Crane gruffed from his vantage point.
"I would agree with you there. But we're gonna have to treat this with more discreet, Lenny."
There was some added grumbling in the background, the sound of someone pushing a chair back to the radio station. "I'm not over that, you damn lunatic!"
"You're thick-skinned. Shrug it off."
"Boys," the woman interrupted, keeping order in place despite being in another city. "I know you two don't play well together. But I need you to hold it for just today."
"Fine. You two click like two peas in a rotten pod." A loud slam of the keyboard and aggressive typing.
"Now I don't even know whether to find that flattering or insulting," Jack jested.
"Insulting," Lenny baulked easily. "I want my boat back."
She rolled her eyes. She couldn't please anyone today.
"Ok. The HEADS app should be up and running on your phone," the radio guy said.
"You Grads really do need to think of better names."
"Agree with yer on that," the Scottish man added.
"Just click on it," Bones hissed.
The woman in red did as she was told: withdrawing her phone out like a revolver pulled in a Wild West movie. The same phone Crane had found and thrown right back in the trailer safehouse. "Armed and ready."
"So where's this blasted Hunter-?" A few more background noises. As if the two men were fighting over the keyboard.
Smack! "Stop!" A sigh exhumed. "We'll find it. Courtesy of Ministry of Defense's internet access. And they don't even know."
"A hacker's favorite toy," the woman droned.
"And it's ours to play with. You can use it to track down other things. Loot, safehouses. We can even be your bird's eyes on our end and give you heads-up before the problem comes to you. Or the internet goes off again."
"Aw. But I like being surprised."
"Then we can shut it off," the Scottish guy remarked.
"No, we won't," his companion next door uttered. "Do you remember how terrible it was? A month without any signal?!"
"You Grads needed the fresh air. Get you off your computers and focus on the walker problem."
"I-I... I'm trying to solve this stupid pathogen problem here!" the young man yelled, trying to bring reason to how urgent the situation was. Didn't sound like the other man saw eye to eye.
"So. Our candidate?" the woman interrupted. No cut into her stern patience but she did want the ball rolling.
"On it."
"This app is in real-time, right? I'm not going to be surprised by a Bomber with a five-minute delay?"
"I did say Geyong hasn't fixed all the bugs yet." The typing sounds were lighter, strings and code coming to a close. "And here's where your Hunter is."
Beep!
The woman in red jerked her head back—the results immediately smacked her smirk right off her face. Crane could tell she wasn't pleased with it. He was admittedly curious on how accurate this app was but scoffed at the thought; they couldn't find him that quickly and easily.
He simply observed her turn around slowly, the phone as a compass in her hand.
Then she looked straight at the silicone factory.
No.
Wait a second.
She was looking straight at him!
Now it was Crane's turn to be dreadfully surprised. Eyes wide.
"Hang on." The radio guy took the words right out of his mouth before he could say them. "Isn't that across from where you are?"
The lady grimaced with a tired sigh. "How lovely. Beastly doesn't know when to quit."
And that definitely sold it for Crane. They were 100% after him. Most importantly, he was being tracked! When did she have the time to put a bug on him?
"When you mentioned this thing bein' clever, I didn't reckon he'd be canny enough to trail ye," the older guy exclaimed.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit!
Crane patted himself down. Where was the tracker?!
"You'd be wise to take this one slow, Brecken. He's gonna use close corners to his advantage. Don't give him enough space to pounce on ye."
The woman absorbed the information as she strolled to the edge of the Junction's roofs. At Crane's direction. The first thought he had; there was no way she could make it across the twenty-metre gap. The problem: he wasn't dealing with normal folks.
She was coming for him one way or another.
Time to go, Kyle!
"Uh, Jack. He's running!"
Crane bolted as fast as a Bolter could in the day. He was not going to give these people the luxury!
Besides! She was a street across. She'd never catch up-
"On it!"
Something metal shrieked irritably but it sounded like he had heard it before. A quick glance over the shoulder and he could have sworn he saw an orange glow speeding along the floor above him.
Right. Grappling hook. She had to have one at her disposal!
"This really can't get any better!" Crane hollered.
"He's heading west!"
"You can cut him off at the right block."
Never in Crane's entire career—wait, rephrase that—his entire human life had he ever been the one on the receiving end. He had chased after people for a reason as a human, a person. The outcome of those pursuits was either ending with a calm non-violent resort or blood on his hands.
The only time he had ever been pursued was when night rolled over. Being hunted by Volatiles and chased all the way to the safehouses. He remembered the tunnels at Rais' tower. And that nest when he searched for an exit into the Old Town.
Now he, an infected with his brain intact, was being hunted down by a human—the woman he was supposed to kill. A ridiculous oxymoron he had ever heard!
What made this all worse were the bird's eyes guiding her to him.
They could keep this up for as long as the tracker stayed on him. If it wasn't for his hearing, the lady might have gotten the advantage over him—hearing her footsteps behind him. However, some things also played a part in his disadvantage: the sunlight, his battling lethargy and his dullened vision.
Crane had glanced back a few times, spotting the orange glow. She wasn't as fast as the best runner at the Tower but she certainly knew how to catch up without wasting too much on speed. Leaping over obstacles that should have slowed her down, taking the shortest route to him—she had the stamina and she didn't spend it freely!
Call it quits, lady! He wanted to shout that at her. But Crane kept going, ducking out from a closed-down library and into a street of residential flats.
"What is going on? It's like he knows how to shake you off."
"Brecken, he spots infrared like any other infected. You gotta nab him when he's not lookin'."
"I got this!"
Crane dove into one of the houses, second floor and one with some walking, angry residents. All of a sudden, her footsteps sounded like they went up. Higher than him.
"He can still get an opening if you don't watch yourself!"
"I got this!"
Coming down was a blur of red ready. Like a wrestler diving in for the final slam.
Freakazoid sidestepped. A lone Biter then wandered into his spot.
"YOU BLOODY TWAT!"
CRASH!
The brunette and the empty-headed infected went down, boards breaking beneath them. The only grace was the Biter being her cushion for the fall at the cost of its spine breaking. Dead again, from the impact on the ground floor.
She forced herself up, teeth grounded that she had been given the slip. She! And from a bloody zombie. She flared her nostrils when she noticed Freakazoid had dared peer over the edge and at the angry human.
Then Freakazoid bolted off.
"Slippery bugger!" Jack hissed.
"Maybe we shouldn't go after this Hunter."
"Naw. Keep goin'. Ye've got him on the flee."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Lenny?!" Jack snapped at the deadpan tone, rising back on her feet quickly with fists ready at an incoming threat. Another resident with their ghastly groans and yellow bared teeth staggered towards her but a good head twist took the Biter out before it could grab her.
"Whose fault was it to steal my boat, Síle?"
"Let it go, you oaf!" Back to a sprint before the other homeowners lunged after her.
That setback delayed the brunette by a minute - and it bought Crane one more minute. He was passed three blocks already, entering a parking lot. A short moment of respite he needed to search through every nook he could find on his rags.
"Where the hell is that tracker?!" he hissed. Was it somewhere he couldn't see on himself? Something he ate?!
There were few options Kyle could think of—taking his rags off to ditch the tracker was one he wasn't going to do for the sake of his leftover dignity—and in the short amount of time, he concluded to just endure this pursuit until that lady would give up! Even if it would take the whole day!
It didn't help that the neighborhood thralls didn't like his company in every building he plunged in and out. Even inside the parking lot on every level, they sleepily snarled at Crane to leave, their ferocity dulled by daytime. Furthermore, they were more irritated on the upper floors because of more unwanted guests Crane would only notice upon reaching there.
Three orange glows on the tenth floor. The pulses beating slow. Their pacing was calm and stationary.
More humans.
"Perimeter One. We've located another refugee location down the Coast. Used to be an Orphanage for kids."
"That's three so far."
"Understood. Any sign of Umit Solak?"
He stopped. Nearly skidding on his own feet. Something about that conversation sounded familiar.
No, it definitely sounded very familiar to him.
"That voice," Crane muffled to himself. It almost struck an old nerve in him.
Why?
"No sign of him, ma'am. Want us to barge in and locate the guy?"
Carefully, ever so quietly, the Hunter peeked around the corner. He knew in his gut what he was dealing with but it was more for his own confirmation.
In one part of the carpark, blocking the door to the stairs, was one little setup tucked with ammo crates, neatly-stacked weapons and mobile surveillance tools. Not packed in a way that they were staying for the long run but only for a few hours. There had been a cleanup near three parked cars—the fresh undead bodies piled aside with the blood smears being clues of where they previously stood at.
The kicker of the situation was the three residents at that setup. Tough and trained. Heavily armed and heavily dangerous. Crane knew these men and their affiliation—he had been one of them before. He worked for that company.
"GRE."
The organization he freelanced for. The very same organization who sold him a story to find a file in saving lives when it was to cover their asses for what they've done. The real truth was that they made the Harran virus! G. R. E. was responsible for everything!
And now they were in Scanderoon. Why?
A dumb question now that Crane took a second to retract the question. If they were in the city, that meant GRE had decided to take drastic measures into their own hands after everything that had happened in Harran.
It also gave Crane a terrible dilemma, making him tighten his claws—the last time he heard about them, they were disbanded by the Ministry of Defense. Did that mean they have gone rogue? But why the focus on another infected city? To try and clean up their reputation?
Whatever the reason was, it couldn't be good.
"Negative. There's enough red tape from Harran to put a noose over this company. We can't be the enemy here."
Hearing the female voice struck on that nerve again, this time with the grounding of his teeth and the swelling of anger. He finally realized why that voice was so familiar.
"I know that voice," he said distastefully. It was like a bad rash coming back to him, reminding him of all the messed-up orders Crane had to obey!
"Continue on with the mission. Discreetly."
"Roger that."
Just like that, they had their orders. Men sterner than him with thicker skulls but thinner spines—they took the job for the paychecks. And unfortunately, the thrills.
People were going to get caught in their crossfire again. And again, the dark whispers encouraged Kyle to prepare the pounce, the sinking of teeth.
Don't let them hurt anyone again.
He readied himself, using a car as a blindspot-
"Alright, you bloody mongrel! Come out and fight me!"
And everything stopped like a drop of the needle. The impulse was shoved right out of the window when the heavy accent of a woman snapped Crane out. Reminded him of one crucial thing that he was almost inclined to facepalm himself.
What the fuck?!
"What the actual fuck, lady!" he hissed. What awful timing for the woman in red to be on the same floor as three GRE freelance contractors! Mercenaries!
It was something out of a comedic scene cut from an action movie. Jack had only noticed them once she had turned around the corner, coming to a halt and skip.
She was in trouble. Deep trouble.
"Boys. I'm gonna have to call you back."
"Jack-?"
She gave a silent apology for shutting off her comms and a reminder to herself: to get back to Bones after this was over. But right now, she couldn't get distracted. The brunette in the red jacket was locked in absolute concentration, counting down the risks. One assault rifle was in plain sight but the barrel angled low, enough to be a threat but not enough to be fired and draw more guests.
"I'm not supposed to be here, aren't I?" Jack asked.
One trooper gave a nod.
"Yeah," she muttered to herself. "Don't suppose we could forget about this and call it a day?"
A shake of the head this time from another.
"I figured as much."
The distance between the ex-kickboxer and the GIs shrunk. Two men each unfolded a police baton with a snap of the wrist—they wanted her to go down without trouble. No loud noises regardless if she had a say in it.
"Perimeter One, we have a survivor here." Basic radio talk for one GRE soldier to the device latched on his bulletproof chest armor.
"Affirmative. Bring her in for evaluation."
"Come on, lady. We're not gonna hurt you."
Obvious lie. And the truth was she was going to hurt them.
"You heard him. Move," one grunt, wearing a skull-patterned hockey mask, ordered. The rough push on the shoulder and rude demand didn't sway Jack off her feet. Even the firearm pointed dead at her didn't scare Jack.
Crane nearly galloped up from his spot. Three against a lady was unfair—even if she was a fighter. As much as he wanted to stay hidden, he couldn't and wouldn't turn away when someone needed help.
But her patience eventually drew thin before he stepped out of the shadows.
"I said move-"
BOP!
The jab to the mouth was sudden. A window of opportunity Jack created, seizing the anguished soldier by the hand and spinning him in front of her—a human shield. The gunner wouldn't shoot at his own ally, hell, he couldn't risk stirring up the infected mod outside.
Everything happened in seconds. Quick and simple that the three thugs couldn't retort back. One boot on her captive and Jack sent him flying into the gunner, snatching the baton. The other grunt came running, his stick held up. Another opening: Jack parried his with hers to stop the swing and one good kick at his shin, forcing him down in pain. In his moment of vulnerability, he received a good hit with the baton to his head, another good kick to his knee and his own weapon stolen by Jack.
He was down and Jack wheeled quickly to the two jarheads. Twirling the two batons in both her hands to show off the flexibility in her ambidexterity. She knew how to use dual weapons.
So what, the men's anxious faces said that question. The numbers still surpassed her and so did the assault rifle against her dual batons.
The gun aimed straight, done as a scare but Jack arrested the barrel with the crossing of the batons, pushing it upwards. The second man thought he had an opening and readied a fist but he couldn't even touch her. A hard kick to his stomach and Jack used the momentum to pull the rifle out from the gunner's hands.
The next series of attacks were like a drummer's beat: a play to one face with his own police baton, then the other baton hit on his ally. Repeat and rinse. Their skulls were Jack's drums and she gave the best performance without a single pause in rhythm.
Christ, this woman! Crane was wrong earlier—she didn't need any sort of help whatsoever. So she knew a bit of arnis. Crane could have been a gentleman but he wasn't going to interrupt her show.
If he did so, she would probably hit him too.
The ending act was both batons held up high before slamming down on one grunt's back. The entire squad; down for the count.
"Heh." Jack observed her work on the floor, giving one mocking twirl of the batons. "You boys should have called it a day."
However, she missed one. The first GRE soldier she took down slowly climbed back up, ready to strangle her from behind-
"Garph!" -his world suddenly shifted, spinning out of control.
Jack swung around, batons at the ready but halted at one bewildering sight. Right behind her, an infected had lunged at the GRE guy. Even he himself took the full comprehension that he was about to get mauled.
"Ga-AHHH!"
POW!
Teeth didn't sink down on the neck. Claws didn't rip open his stomach. A fist suckerpunched the merc out cold.
That was close, Crane thought.
Then he realized his mistake.
His mind told him not to look back but he looked anyway. Every little motion he made did spook the lady in front of him.
Shit. She saw him.
What should he do?
Even the woman in red didn't know herself. She held her batons up, prepared to whack him down at a notice of a skittish jump. The sunglasses had slid down the bridge of her nose and revealed her wide hazel eyes to him.
She was scared out of her mind. Partly because she was in the same proximity as a Special but most importantly because she was with this specific Special infected. It should have been like getting a present right at her feet on Christmas morning but the tense realization of danger overwhelmed her senses.
No. Not just that. She had already known there was something wrong with this Special.
Anyone could tell! The Hunter took too long to jump at her, to go for the opening. It didn't feast on a downed human. No matter how stiff it tried to be, Jack easily picked up on the little details.
Details an infected shouldn't and couldn't have. What made it harder for her next move was because of those silver-blue eyes on her. First of all: were they always that color? Second: something was readable in them.
Emotions. That wasn't right but she read them just as well as she could on any other human being. Concern, worry, and fear rolled up into one bundle. Why could she read all that from an infected's eyes?
Suddenly, those eyes widened. At something else, not at her.
"Behind you!"
If Crane was human, she would have listened and turned around. She could have easily seen the jump before it came at her. But the woman in red was petrified, backing away from him. Two words she shouldn't have heard burst out from his charred, broken lips. Verbally.
"I got her-!"
"Infected!"
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The sight of a creature on the same premises as humans overrode the command to seize the woman. The powerfully deafening slugs urged her to duck in the opposite direction and Freakazoid to dodge out of the way.
Jack kept her head down and her feet going. Every bullet fired made her heart pound, with splinters and concrete spraying everywhere while she slid behind an ammo crate for cover.
The chaos, however, escalated. She could hear more noises from outside—shrieks of the damned specifically. The shots fired were nothing but lovely music for the bigger crowd. She wouldn't be able to escape without meeting Virals on the lower floors.
"Get the woman!"
Despite the discord happening around her, one problem didn't add itself to her already-growing list of problems: the Hunter. He too had ducked into hiding but from there, he had several moments of locking his eyes on her—why? Because he was so persistent with her as a meal? He had other choices!
Weirdest thing was that he didn't come after her. Those eyes were filled with concern.
At himself, maybe? Freakazoid then made his stand. He leapt out of his hiding place and howled loudly. Telling the gunmen to come after him. Not Jack. Worry about the monster instead!
The squad fired at him. But Freakazoid was lighting fast, speeding around with every bullet-sponged cover. He was in an element that became a disadvantage to the GRE soldiers: the claustrophobic space. Freakazoid basically bounced across the walls until he found one opening and shot his tendrils.
"GAH!" One body was off his feet and sent flying over the edge. Down, down he went for the walkers outside the lot. His long scream turned into a short gurgle.
"Shit!"
"Shoot it!"
It had pounced right in the middle of the fire team and took out their leader. Firearms gravitated to the beast, but it was a failure before the men could pull the trigger. One claw yanked a combat knife swiftly from a grunt's belt and tossed that very weapon right into one's open skin. With one death as a distraction, the next trooper was targeted. A dropkick by a powerful Special was enough to fracture three ribs and send him flying into a car's window.
This thing could distinguish what was the bigger threat to him. He was easily disarming weapons and delivering blows without the need of primal rage. Almost like a military mutant. And that was a frightening thought to the Wild Dog.
She had to get out-
"Your left!"
Again, that voice. A human-sounding voice that didn't come as sound.
The first time it rang in her head the other day, she thought she had lost her mind. And she would have accepted it. Then the first time she heard Freakazoid speak to her—speak, she reminded herself—it was double-confirming to her that she had gone magnificently insane.
This time though, despite the number of chills she got running down her spine, she reacted with an elbow to a sneaky grunt. Bam, right in between the eyes!
She saw a blade flash but she still kept to the pattern.
One grab to arrest the dangerous hand, she redirected the swing away from her and shoved his arm hard at a pillar, an attempt to get him to drop the knife. Now she had a six-foot professionally-trained man behind her—all he had to do was wrap the other arm around her neck—and a second one behind them, rushing in to help his partner.
The first thug launched his arms but Jack ducked and back-kicked him in the knee. His body fell forward as she tossed him over the shoulder and grabbed something on the go.
The GRE grunt recovered, getting up. He turned to see the other man face-to-face with the brunette.
Down, his friend flumped to the floor, hands on his neck.
What happened? The grunt rushed over-
-then he felt something plunge deep into his side, the ex-kickboxer giving a swift swing of her fist back to him.
He found a knife in his gut. At a vital spot.
His knife was in him.
Two men down. But how many weren't there? The gunfire didn't seem to quiet down, and the commotion outside got louder. Jack knew her odds—she was on the same floor as the Day Hunter after all!
Forget it. Let Freakazoid deal with all of them.
She glanced out of her cover, searching for a way out—any way. To her surprise, Jack spotted a twenty-feet-long zipline over the railing and to the roof of a bank. A welcome saying that the universe gave her the backdoor.
Take it, Jackie!
She unhooked her ascender off her belt. Another mental note to herself: she really needed to thank Siv for this gift!
"Stop!"
Jack shot into a daring sprint, pushing out all senses of fear from her mind. With one leap over the railing and into the open air, Jack snapped the ascender onto the wire. Wooshed down the line! In seconds, the brunette would be safe on the other side!
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Klack-thuh! The sound of metal wire snapping apart from a couple of grazings from the bullets. And the zipline went weak and wild in her grip.
"No! NO! NO!" Jack screamed. Her whole world rotated everywhere. She had only one way, and that was down. Gravity said so.
This time, her luck had finally run out.
She wasn't going to be miraculously saved. Unless she somehow did the saving herself; she tried to grab for the snapped zipline-
"Got you!"
Jack felt the wind knock right out of her as she suddenly found herself wrapped in protective arms. Everything was difficult for her to progress other than what she headed right into—a window.
CRAAASH!
She felt linoleum and something heavy on her. A person. And he wasn't letting her go, even as they rolled to a stop. If she wasn't in such a disoriented state from the near-death experience, she'd be thanking the bloke who saved her.
Then she looked up to see the Hunter right on top of her. Canines clicking together. Blue eyes haunting at her.
"Aaaah!" Out of reflex, she gave a hard kick.
"Urgh!" He should have expected that. Crane stumbled back from the surprise boot, clutching his face. Man, did it hurt. The terror-stricken woman crawled away from him, getting to see his ugly face in all of its glory.
The danger wasn't over yet. Before the panicked brunette, Freakazoid suddenly perked himself up and watched out the broken window. Attentively. Sound picked up by his terrifyingly sharp hearing and quick movement by his inhuman eyes.
"Dammit. Another squad's coming."
"Shit! Shit! You really talk!"
Crane wheeled back, shocked. Her expression and mannerisms really showed it—she couldn't believe anything about him. And Crane himself couldn't believe it either—at the revolution that the woman heard those words out of him. Not hear him speak. She heard it inside her head.
Like how he had heard the Mother speak to him before. So he could imagine her astonishment going on overdrive from the number of red lights going off.
"What the fuck-?! Why do I hear your voice inside my head?! What the bloody hell is going on?!"
The same questions he had asked the Mother too. Crane would also like to know. At the same time, he didn't want to know. But the longer this one-sided conversation took, the quicker the GRE men were coming.
"Get out now!"
Jack was still too shocked by this turn of events. But she could hear something whistling.
THUK! THUK!
Metal arrowheads pierced right through the concrete wall, making the Hunter jump. Jack hopped wearily up as five GRE men ascended to the office floor on metal lines.
GRE had zipline guns! What was this, a spy movie?!
"Now!" Freakazoid roared.
Ok, ok! Do what the talking zombie said!
Crane watched her take to the fire stairs. With one less thing to worry about, he grabbed one end of a zipline and, with all his strength, pulled it off.
"Who-AAAAAAAH!" Two agents down. Three more left.
"Holy shit!"
The sight of a firearm out of a holster stopped Crane from getting to the other zipline. He leapt back to a row of cubicles, watching the men take a stand through the broken window.
"What is that thing?!"
"I'm not a thing, you assholes!"
The men seemed to ignore him. Or didn't hear him.
He howled. He needed the heat on him.
"Shoot it!"
And quickly, he ducked behind cover from the fire.
Holy shit! He couldn't afford a frontal attack with such high stakes and in even tighter spaces. Crane's only choice of action was to leave the same way that woman took, locking it with a piece of pry bar he picked up from the floor.
That only bought him a minute. A few shots at the door were enough for the group to get out. But he was long gone, hurrying to the corridor above the foyer as he scanned for that one orange glow. It headed down to the first floor of the bank. Four more appeared behind it.
He rushed over to the second-floor foyer.
"Target on sight!"
Crane rarely thought of plans on the fly. It could have been said that he took a bit of imagination from the woman's recent daredevil stuns. One leap of fate off the rails.
Below, the lady in red ducked behind the receptionist's desk, and four GRE goons aimed dead at her position. All too focused to look up and see Freakazoid lifting his balled-up talons for the ground pound.
THUD!
It was a baby version of a Hulk smash, but the impact was enough to turn soldiers into astronauts for a second—balance and composure lost. One man couldn't regain them fast enough to see his legs covered with horrifying tentacles. Like the whipping of a bolas.
Their attention turned to the monster but it was a lost cause. The soldiers even tried. They never thought to see an infected monster swing one of their own at them.
"There! Shoot it!"
From the second floor. Three barrels targeting Crane. The assholes from earlier had caught up.
He dodged swiftly from the first firing, grabbing a rifle on the floor. It had to be a terrifying sight—even for Crane himself—to see a Hunter using a gun. That hesitation in trained men was what he needed, though.
He spidered his way along the foyer's pillars and stuck to the height advantage. The combination of his mutated body, his sharp mind, and his expertise as a fighter gave Crane more than just wings. He was deadly. Five rounds into one grunt, six into another while flying in midair.
The last one had the courtesy of a tendril wrapped around his torso, and his body pulled off the edge.
The impetus brought the monster towards him like an arrow but a rifle didn't aim right at him. Just a fist to the jawbone. Back to the first floor, with the soldier's body as Crane's buffer.
Please tell me that's enough of you guys!
Because the pot was boiling hot inside the bank, evidenced by more Virals rushing into the sound of gunfire. By him and the soldiers.
Click!
Something was pitched at his feet. Small, narrow, and with the pin pulled. Crane immediately knew what it was.
Flashbang!
"Shit!" He jumped-
BANG!
Everything went white, followed by ringing in his ears. Dammit! He had to see! Because the grunt he kicked away earlier had stood back up and come for vengeance. A freelancer like Crane got the advantage over him with an injury, clutching his bruised chest and struggling with every hurtful breath.
The blurry gun pointed at the Hunter.
He could have sworn the first shot would have hit him. But something inside Kyle took the wheel and moved his feet. The second one was another miss. But the third grazed his shoulder.
"Gah!" Crane cowered down; a loud muffled roar exhaled out as he battled the pain. Stand up now, hollered the voice inside.
They couldn't die here!
Finally, his vision crept back to see the German 9mm an arm's length away from him.
The trigger tightened-
THUD!
Bone and brain matter flew from one good batter of a crowbar and the grunt's body dropped like a rock. His savior was one he never thought of seeing, one who shouldn't have come for a beast like him. It was pure insanity.
But the woman in red stood there, weapon in hand—she had picked it up somewhere during her entire retreat. Her face screamed, "Why am I doing this?!". Heavy breathing from the running, the fighting, and the shock.
She could have clobbered the freak's head in now that she was on top of him. But a sudden flinch from him stopped her. Arm over his head just in case. The many surprises in one Special infected she was given were too much to comprehend in one day but thankfully, she hadn't decided to kill him.
The next shrieks did tell her not to delay any longer, making both of them look up to palms banging on window panels. The horde had surrounded the bank.
Cracks slithered across the glass. Then, it finally shattered.
CRACK!
Brrrrrring!
The bank's alarm screamed at the intrusion, which meant an enormous lure for more Virals. What did help was the first distraction. The bodies of the GRE troops—unconscious or dead - made good bait for the unlikely two to escape.
It was not as a group, of course, for both the ex-kickboxer and the talking infected. No offer to tag along but neither side decided to change their mind and kill the other on the spot. Jack bailed into a maintenance hall.
Of course, Jack never registered she was being followed until a loud thud behind her made her glimpse back. Freakazoid had blocked the maintenance door behind them before sprinting down the hall. In milliseconds, he was already catching up to her.
"Give me a bloody break!" she exclaimed with bated breath.
The maintenance hall, however, wasn't safe. The exit had four wandering Biters, snapping their heads towards the new prey.
Before the crowbar could go up, a blur swooped past her. Freakazoid was already right in the Biters' faces, not enough time for them to retaliate. Tendrils fired at one Biter's legs. A strong tug made it timber down and for good measure, Freakazoid grabbed its head and smashed it down—the exposed brain liquid splattered on the floor.
"Gaaaargh-!" THUD!
One infected gnashed its teeth angrily at the rebellion but was whacked down by the crowbar. Jack then quickly swung at the last one, breaking his leg like an axe to a tree.
But she wasn't stopping. She wasn't in any mood to question why this Hunter was like a watchful guardian. Just count her blessings until she was far away from this place and that thing.
"Wait!"
Get out of her head! This was all too eerie, even for the Wild Dog! One shove at the exit door with her shoulder, right into bright daylight and freedom.
"Freeze!"
Another roadblock was laid before Jack. The screaming alarm and the growing horde inside and outside fences had ushered the last surviving squad of GRE soldiers to abandon their orders and head for escape. The pay wasn't enough for this shit. Neither was having to deal with some random refugee popping out of nowhere.
"Seriously," she gasped heavily. "How many blokes of you are there?"
"Drop down!"
Jack watched tendrils shoot forward at her sides and hooked onto a car. This time, she listened. Her body did anyway—trained diligently to react to anything, even to a warning holler.
"Rraaagh!"
"Oh, fu-!"
The blistering sun wasn't enough to stop Freakazoid. Primal persistence drove it on, bulldozing into the fireteam—a bowling ball to the last standing pins.
"Run!"
Jack didn't just up yet, ghastly fixated on watching Freakazoid's parrying and takedown moves. How could anyone not stop for a second to see such a fight in the middle of an outbreak, no less?
But the thrashing at the wire fence was enough to get her stirring. Onto a series of armored trucks and up to a fire escape at the next building, the red-jacketed woman was out of there.
Every second under the sun bled out a portion of Crane's stamina. He couldn't stay any longer, and the GRE grunts could see that. Quick thinking in a tense situation was no feat to Crane as he passed a gaze back and forth to one thing.
He fired his tendrils at the bending wire fence and pulled with everything he had, pain included.
THUNK!
The link mesh swung right into one man, sending him a good, solid five feet as Biters swarmed into the perimeter like hungry barracudas.
"Go sic them!" Crane thought bitterly.
"Fall back! Fall back now! "
"There's too many of them!"
Crane battled with his sunburn problem to care about the infected scrubs trying to pull him in with the grunts. He forced his way into the next-door building with what little strength he had, leaping into the ironically-blissful shade. The conviction to get as far from the disarray as possible gave him the extra push he needed.
After the fifth block, he stopped in the shadows for a breather. He listened. The alarm wailed on, the gunfire ceased, and the undead screaming was softer. It stayed that way for a good few seconds.
"Good… They're not following."
And he laughed.
He literally laughed. Of all the things to chuckle at, this was it. How long has it been since he just burst out like that?
It was crazy to him—he should be waking up any minute now. And yet, the whole experience gave him clarity. He was still the same man as before...just with a full-body upgrade, he supposed. Crane didn't resort to animalistic, vicious impulses like last night. He took those men out just as he did to Rais' men in the past.
"I can't believe that worked..."
Another laugh out of him. Louder this time. It was a nice thought of giving GRE a finger. Or talon, in his case.
Once that was out of his system, he went to look for that woman.
It was an easy find—one orange glow six blocks away from his location. Alone. But for some reason, it stayed still.
Oh shit.
Crane became worried on the spot, his pace slowing down. Did the woman get hurt along the way?
Or could the seizures be starting?
He nearly forgot about her condition.
The Hunter hurried but stopped again. The closer he got to the heartbeat, the more dread swept over him. Beat, beat, beat the pulse went loud in his ears. Faster and no change in tempo. The elation he had earlier was completely gone.
Right, Crane had a job. One critical job. As much as he didn't want to do it...
He cautiously turned the corner and saw the woman in red, her back to him. Head heavy, every breath was lethargic. She was completely unaware that an infected was next to her.
And that was all right with Crane. He didn't want her looking at her killer... It would make things easier for him.
"...I'm sorry," he whispered as softly as he could.
He didn't notice the tightening of the blunt weapon as he reached out. Or the sudden turn, the war cry or the crowbar coming at him.
"Arghhh!"
All Crane got was pain.
THUD!
"Gak!" Excruciating, blinding, god-forbid pain. Enough for Crane to shrink back and grab the sides of his head, fearing his head might have cracked open. However, he didn't go down.
Rather he was too pissed to do just that. Angry blue eyes snapped back at the brunette, who looked very fine and dandy.
"Make up your damn mind, lady!"
Did she want him dead or alive?! What?! Just do it so he could be done with it!
He shouldn't have yelled. The heinously raucous voice from a Hunter made the hair stand on the back of the ex-kickboxer's neck. The crowbar rose back up again.
THUD!
This hit was a lot harder than the first. In that short amount of time, he had forgotten he wasn't a human again. So the panicked lady in red had every right to knock his lights off. Even Crane himself would have done the same if he was alone with a talking monster.
Well. There was nothing he could do. He was once again unconscious.
A/N: 5/11/19 Both revamped and reedited this chapter. And I will say, this is my better revamping on the original version. There were a lot of things I am happy for and wished I had done them before. Crane is given more of a frontal spotlight than in the original and I changed up his zombie tactics because I didn't want to rely too much on a Night Hunter's skillset. Crane's mutation is and should be something more unique. Moreover, characters mentioned/heard like Bones and Lenny got a lot more exposure - one where I had wanted Lenny to be involved in this chapter but never did. Also the humor and action got ten times better. If anything, I'm so proud of this chapter.
There are some things I did take away like the female voice, the new infected type and other details. They're not gone but for a later revealing and with the direction I'm taking, this will really shape the prologue plot and later points much better.
Moreover...maybeeee, I should give Crane a break. Felt like I gave him too much this chapter. Which is unfortunate 'cuz of what's coming in the next original chapter for him. Hm...can't really think how so this will be a challenge.
Ah, it'll be fine. It's Crane anyway. I hope you guys enjoy this revamped chapter and look forward to the next revamp.
7/2/21 - Added new lines, fixed mistakes and edited parts according to new timestamp from pilot.
26/2/21 - Reedited for mistakes and added a small aesthetic change to Crane's design.
18/2/22 - Went over a full chapter edit with some fixes, retwists, deletes and adjustments.
23/3/22 - Made some small fixes, edits and adjustments. Changed title
1/1/24 - Final fixes and changes, I hope