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
A small gasp fled out of his dry mouth 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 anyone, Kyle!
But the dream's vivid ending rooted its way deep into his thoughts.
He'd turned to the brunette and jumped on her like an animal, claws digging into her shoulders. Hazel eyes stared back at him—terrified, horrified. There hadn't even been time for her to scream before he dove down and ripped open her throat-
Stop!
Again, his empty stomach lurched. Crane swallowed and tried to keep it in. Gain control back. He didn't kill that woman. She's still alive in that trailer!
He wiped away the cold sweat… And he felt it—claws.
The realization hit like a jolt of electricity. His heart raced as though a Biter was right there in the cramped space with him. But no. Disappointedly, no.
Everything wasn't a dream.
It was his body. This body.
He was still the zombified Kyle Crane, staring at his claw.
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. Any hole.
Instead, there was a web of black pulsating veins where the shiv had gone in.
Completely healed.
The only evidence he had been stabbed was the deep-red stain on his rags.
"Yeah..." he groaned mentally. Waking up to find the stab wound completely closed—without stitches—didn't sit well with him. "Totally not creepy."
But he survived the night.
And that thought kicked him in the shin—he survived being stabbed, not because of luck or skill, but because of the virus. His mutation.
Crane was stuck in his new undead life, thanks to his mutation. There was only one option, embedded deep in his mind. But not when he still had a promise to keep. Responsibilities to uphold.
He was here to stay for another day.
"Hopefully, she slept better than me…" he mused. Because he felt awful.
His body was heavier than it had been last night when he'd felt light as a feather. Crane wrestled with sleep deprivation, but he forced himself to move. In his half-conscious daze, he dragged himself over to the doors-
Then, burning pain shot through his right claw.
"Garmph!" Crane scrambled back, the panicked impact nearly shaking inventory off its shelves.
Thud! Something also hit him on the head.
"Ow."
The burn wasn't as severe as the UV lights from last night, but it felt like pressing his palm against a hot stove.
"Right. Sunlight." He glared at the offending rays streaming through the small windows but gave up with a sigh. "This keeps getting better and better."
Any more shitty problems he was going to get?
Now, he truly understood why the freaks avoided the day. Staying out too long would fry a Volatile faster than an egg on hot pavement.
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 transform within hours—or days if they were lucky. And that was assuming she hadn't taken Antizin.
If she reached a populated area… It wouldn't just be grisly—it'd be catastrophic.
Crane took his stance, that grim image burned in his mind, fueling his resolve. He could stay in the van all day, or he could leave and push through the pain.
It was now or never.
CLANK!
The ambulance's back doors burst open and the Hunter was off.
It hit him immediately. The blistering sensation spread across his skin like wildfire—the worst sunburn he'd ever felt. With whatever tattered clothes he had on his back, Crane yanked his collar and folds tightly to cover any exposed flesh.
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 traverse 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 clenched his teeth, rolling on his back. The pain was gone as quickly as it had come.
Was this how it'd be for the rest of his new life...?
Crane pushed himself upright with a grunt, his movements sluggish and labored. Ahead, shafts of sunlight streamed through every gap, creeping into even the smallest cracks the sun could find. It would be a long and grueling path back to the construction site with the limited patches of shade he could see and find.
What should have been a three-minute walk for a human on a clear, less-hostile day now felt like a marathon.
Fate really loved to stick it to him.
A heavy sigh came out of his mouth. The things he did for people…
He pressed forward, battling against the relentless daylight. Burns prickled his skin, and the ever-present voice in his head urged him to give in, to stop and sleep.
His agility wasn't what it had been last night—no insane bursts of speed, no supernatural leaps. He moved more like a regular runner now, albeit one weighed down by fatigue.
Sure, he could have used those… tendrils coming out of his hands. Like that one superhero with the webs.
But that would mean smoking himself on the skyscrapers like beef jerky.
Then came the next disadvantage he noticed as soon as he'd stepped out of the ambulance: his vision was shit in the day.
It wasn't completely useless, but it was far from ideal. He could make out his world decently—able to see twenty feet in front of him but beyond that, everything blurred into indistinct shapes unless he concentrated.
On the plus side, there were absolutely no orange skeletons he could see. No 'prey'.
Maybe that was why the infected had a hard time catching up to their prey in the day. It was hard to see in the sunlight. He had other senses to help—smell, touch, superhuman hearing—which that realization left a sour feeling in him.
When Crane reached the construction site safehouse, he grimaced to see no sign of the one person he was looking for.
The trailer was empty, void of one specific orange skeleton. The only evidence someone had been there at all was the Volatile corpse shoved off the gate and the footprints in the dirt, walking out.
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. But he could only see so far. The nearest logical destination he could think of was the Junction.
That was where she'd likely gone.
Kyle was off again, weaving through the shadows of abandoned buildings.
As he moved, he couldn't help but reevaluate his earlier judgment of his eyesight. It wasn't shit, exactly—it was warped. Colors appeared vibrant one moment, dull the next, as though his vision couldn't settle on how the world should look.
And the 'orange prey'…
They weren't gone, but they weren't the same either. Their once-vivid glow had faded, reduced to faint, blurred shapes that shifted behind walls.
Now and then, he would spot those faint orange shapes moving around in the distance.
But when he got closer, things sharpened.
For instance, a pack of runners vaulting westward across rooftops, about a mile away. Normal humans scavenging for supplies in the safety of daylight.
Crane's eyes narrowed. Each of them had a faint, pulsing glow in their torsos.
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.
Now, everything felt uncomfortably close and real, like peeling back a layer of humanity he didn't want to see.
Soon, he found the Junction at the end of the uphill street. Of course, he didn't walk in. That would be suicidal. He instead found a vantage point across the road, well out of range of anyone who might shoot him on sight.
The oddest thing he realized as he stepped into an empty silicone factory was feeling like he had been there before. Even the sheltered perch offering a clear view of the Junction looked recognizable as he glanced at the overview of the Junction.
He had been watching. Waiting for someone.
To leave the safety of the Safe Zone.
He would be lying to himself if he pretended it didn't irk him. How often did he use this spot to stalk as a feral monster? Crane shook off the queasy thought, forcing his focus back on the Junction.
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 emerged that familiar flashy red jacket, unmistakable even from a distance.
Crane had been holding his breath the entire time. The moment he saw no signs of transformation, he let it out with relief. She must have gotten Antizin just in time.
Thank god.
Maybe she had a fighting chance. Maybe she could be luckier than he was. That thought alone lightened the weight off Crane's shoulders—if only 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 a thick, South London accent. "Riveting. Escaping death, getting a few close calls. It's been good."
Her sarcasm evaporated her companion's cheerfulness, replaced by thick anxiety. "What happened?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle, mate."
"Seriously?" Crane mumbled to himself. Let's recap, shall we? Three Volatiles chased her down, every common infected in the vicinity waking up into a frenzy and what else? Oh, right. He nearly tried 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."
"How about I do one better? 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.
"Wait. So… You actually tested the poison on him?"
"Yup."
"Meaning you went up close."
"Only way to give it to him."
"And did he bite you or you bit him?"
That was when she stopped. "I mean… I was dealing with a one-of-a-kind."
"Gaaargh." The mic spiked from a sudden bump, followed by an exasperated groan. The amazement fizzled out in an instant. "Please tell me you didn't use your fists against this thing."
The reaction threw Crane off. Was her caller seriously this detached? She was bitten—bitten!—that should've been a big deal! Why wasn't her friend freaking out about that? Better question, why wasn't she either?!
"Nooo," she sang with mock innocence. "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. A watch?
"It doesn't matter!" he shot back, making the brunette roll her eyes in frustration. "You went after a monster we haven't seen in the Outskirts. Alone. Without your equipment. And may I remind you that you haven't been Wild Dog for three years?!"
Another survivor from the Outskirts—Crane filed that piece of information away in his mental cabinet. How many more were still alive in that location?
"Just, just listen for a second. What's more important is that I found you a candidate," the woman said in an urgent tone.
That seemed to settle the guy down—though not completely.
"...It actually lived? It didn't drop dead?"
"He's still alive and kicking."
The sharp sound of aggressive finger-tapping came through the radio. Crane could picture the man on the other end, barely holding onto his patience, clearly annoyed by the woman's attempt to change the subject. After a long sigh, the young man finally spoke.
"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."
Crane rubbed the sore on his shoulder. He didn't remember a second bite.
"What-" The voice on the other end broke, struggling for words before letting out a frustrated groan. "Grrrah! Then he should be dead!"
"That's what I thought too!" she droned with a dramatic flair.
Hold it. Crane's mind whirred. Back up a sentence or two. They knew something he wasn't getting. What did they mean by dead?
What on Earth did he stumble on? Secret weapon? Hunting Specials? Immunity?
More importantly, this 'poison'...it sounded fatal to the infected. The only thing Crane could think of with that kind of reaction was, well, Bolter poison.
Among the infected types Crane had seen in Harran, one stood out from the rest. Not for its ferocity—far from it. It didn't have the courage to even stick around, hence the name. But despite its cowardice and occasional grouping with Volatiles, it had become the subject of a few odd jobs.
Its tissue, when combined with the right ingredients, could create a potent poison. And that wasn't exactly a trade secret.
So what did that have to do with biting this woman?
"Ok. Fine. He lived," the voice on the line mumbled, still upset. "Can't believe you tried to pick a fight with a Special on your own."
"Freakazoid didn't give me a choice, Bones. And 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 kill all of them. It went after the baddies."
Yup. They were talking about him. Mutant Kyle. His last night's antics were coming to bite him in the ass, though he hadn't quite figured out how yet.
"And this is the same one?"
"He also played Santa Claus last night. Gave those runners supplies I was assigned to retrieve," the brunette replied. "Even left me a gift right at my doorstep."
"Hey, I was doing you a favor," Crane grumbled.
"Ok. That's way more cognitive 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. Leaving Crane exasperated at being left in the dark.
What? What else did he have?
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 woman twirled air circles with a hand, searching for the right phrasing. "'Talk' to one another?"
"Talk?" the radio guy asked, not expecting an answer. "...I mean, we've never established if they have some kind of vocal connection. They groan, yeah. Show dominance, maybe. And you got Virals."
Vocal. Crane did find that suggestion...well, a little interesting, but the context told him one thing—these two weren't normal civilians.
This wasn't just idle chatter. From the guy's tone on the line, he seemed like someone who'd been studying the infected since the outbreak began, much like Zere or Camden. But his voice carried a youthful edge, suggesting inexperience. Early twenties, maybe. Someone still learning the ropes.
The woman, however, was a different story. She wasn't just some random survivor. She was sharp. Observant. She followed the thread of the discussion with precision, asking the right questions and probing for the information that mattered.
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?"
The woman in red didn't answer right away. Crane could see her hesitation even from his perch, the stiffness in her posture.
"Jack?"
She shook her head abruptly. "Forget it. I'm not even sure what I heard."
"Uh...sure," her friend said, 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 he was some newly discovered animal species or a piece of data in a lab report.
And he didn't like it. Not one bit.
There were too many gaps in the conversation, too much left unsaid. It left him with more questions than answers—and none of them comforting.
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."
"So what now?"
"What else? I'm going to go find and retrieve Freakazoid."
There was so much whimsical certainty, so much overconfidence in her words...that it sounded like a load of bull to Crane! For all the supernatural sharpness of his hearing, he swore he needed his ears checked.
And he wasn't alone on that either.
"Wha - hold on, Jack! You can't just go after 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 all of them."
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 think twice about coming 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, an infected that can think more than just eating people? That's something to look into," she tried to sell the idea. "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 struggled this time. He rammed his brain for alternatives, anything to avoid the obvious. Frankly, Crane hoped he'd suggest giving up on the whole "special" Special infected—himself—and call it a day.
But the radio guy did in fact give up.
"Everyone is going to hate you for this," he hissed.
"On the contrary, I think half of them will like my idea."
"I don't," Crane huffed. Instead of worrying about when the woman 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 with a tracker. Gyeong'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 was sharp enough to make the woman in red yank her earpiece out. The accent wasn't native but much heavier than the woman's. Scottish? Irish? Crane wasn't sure—all UK accents sounded kind of the same to him.
After a quick massage to her aching ear, she dared to put the device back in.
"Good to hear from you too, Lenny," she greeted. "And taking is such a strong word. I was simply borrowing your boat."
"When you get back here, I'll string you up and leave your corpse out for the walkers! Now bring her back!"
"And I will. As soon as I'm done with Bones' pet project."
"What-?! You-!" The older man's fury boiled over into incoherent shouting. Crane could hear the younger man, Bones, yelling in the background, "Hey! Stop!" while the Lenny guy screamed heatedly, "You tell her to bring Caroline back! Right now!"
"I'm burning daylight here," the brunette said, uncaring.
Another loud thud and the seething 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 from a mutant would only fall on deaf ears. With violence.
"You don't get to make that call! You need an expert for this doaty bone fetish freak's project!"
"Hey!" the young voice hollered somewhere in the back. "It's not a bone fetish! Osteology is a study, you crazy gunman!"
"Boys, boys," the woman cut in, her tone calm but commanding. Of the three, she was the only one maintaining order. "I'd like to remind you both that Asem can hear you all the way from her ivory watchtower."
That shut them up—mostly. The grumbles continued in the background.
"Lenny. Scanderoon isn't like the Outskirts," the brunette explained. "The new types here would have killed you in minutes. And I'm the best the Ravs got. If you hate the idea, then you can take it up to Asem."
A long, dramatic groan followed, punctuated by what Crane could only assume were a string of rude Scottish words he couldn't make out.
"How about a compromise?" she offered smoothly. "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 in one piece, Brecken. Or I'm gutting you open."
"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 that Crane couldn't believe it—it was that he didn't want to. Hearing a name or acknowledging it would make him feel… responsible. The more attached he became to another person, the heavier the guilt when he inevitably put their life in danger. Indirectly or not.
That was why he shoved away the names he'd heard over the comms. It was easier to think of 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 moves during the day. Hits harder than a Goon, faster than a Volatile, and clever enough to understand risks. Regular traps or weapons won't 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 discretion, Lenny."
More grumbling followed, punctuated by the scrape of a chair being pushed back. "I'm not over that, you damn lunatic!"
"You're thick-skinned. Shrug it off."
"Boys," the woman interrupted, keeping the chaos in check. "I know you two don't play well together. But I need you to hold it together for just today."
"Fine. You two click like two peas in a rotten pod," Bones mumbled. 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 live on your phone," the radio guy said.
"You Grads really need to come up with better names."
"Agree with yer on that," the Scottish man added.
"Just click on it," Bones groaned.
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 returned to 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 it!" 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. We can be your bird's eye 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 awful 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 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 interjected smoothly. 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 Gyeong 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—whatever result popped up wiped the 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.
No way they could track him so easily.
He 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 Crane's mouth. "Isn't that right across from you?"
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 plant 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's the damn tracker?!
"You'd be wise to take this one slow, Brecken. Don't give him enough space to pounce on ye."
The woman absorbed the information as she sauntered toward the edge of the Junction's roofs. At Crane's direction.
His first thought; there was no way she could make it across the twenty-metre gap. The problem: he wasn't dealing with normal folks.
The brunette wasn't normal and she was coming for him one way or another.
Time to go, Kyle!
"Uh, Jack. He's running!"
Crane bolted, fast as a Bolter in daylight. He was not going to give these people the luxury!
Besides! She was a street across. She'd never catch up-
"On it!"
A sharp metallic shriek echoed behind him, one he vaguely recognized. A quick glance over the shoulder and he caught a flash of red zipping across the gap above him.
Right. Grappling hook. Of course, she has one!
"This really can't get any better!" Crane hollered.
"He's heading west!"
"You can cut him off at the first block."
Never in Crane's life—wait, scratch that—his entire human life had he ever been on the receiving end of a chase like this. He'd been the one doing the chasing 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, and the Volatiles came out. He remembered the tunnels beneath Rais' tower. And that nest when he fought his way through to reach Old Town.
Now he, an infected creature with his brain intact, was being hunted by a human.
And not just any human—the very woman he was supposed to kill.
A ridiculous oxymoron at that!
To make matters worse, she had bird's eyes in her ear, guiding her every move.
They could keep this up as long as that tracker stayed on him. If not for his heightened hearing, she might have had the upper hand already—her footsteps echoed too close behind him.
But it wasn't all in his favor. The blazing sunlight, his growing lethargy, and his dulled vision were grinding him down.
He risked a glance back. The faint orange glow was still there, gaining steadily. She wasn't as fast as the best runners from the Tower, but she was no slouch. Every leap over obstacles, every tight turn—it was precise, calculated.
She wasn't just fast. She was efficient.
And she wasn't wasting a drop of stamina to keep up.
"Call it quits, lady!" Crane slipped out of a boarded-up 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, scaling up to the second floor. It wasn't empty—angry, walking residents shuffled inside. Suddenly, her footsteps sounded above him.
"He can still get an opening if ye don't watch yourself!"
"I got this!"
The next thing he saw was a blur of red plummeting down—a wrestler diving in for the final slam.
Freakazoid sidestepped.
"YOU BLOODY TWAT!"
CRASH!
In his place, a lone Biter had wandered into his spot. The brunette collided onto that infected, both crashing through the boards and descending to the ground floor.
The only saving grace was the hapless Biter being her cushion for the fall at the cost of its spine breaking. Dead again from the impact.
She forced herself up, teeth grounded that she had been given the slip. She! And by 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!" she hissed, stomping after him.
"Maybe we shouldn't go after this Hunter."
"Naw. Keep goin'. Ye've got him on the fly."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Lenny?!" Jack snapped at the deadpan tone. A shambling resident staggered toward her, its yellowed teeth bared, but she twisted its head sharply, dropping it before it could lunge.
"Whose fault was it to steal my boat, Síle?"
"Let it go, you oaf!" She broke back into a sprint as more homeowners lurched toward her.
The brief setback cost her a minute—a minute Crane desperately used to widen the gap. By the time she bolted out of the building, he'd already passed three blocks.
Crane stopped at a parking lot to frantically search through his ragged clothes.
"Where the hell is that tracker?!" he hissed. Was it somewhere he couldn't reach? Something he ate?!
There were few options Kyle could think of—ditching his clothes was an option, but the thought of running through the city with even less dignity made him rethink.
What was his conclusion? Endure the pursuit until that lady would give up!
Even if it would take the whole damn 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 each level, they sleepily snarled at Crane to leave, their ferocity dulled by daytime. They were more irritated on the upper floors because of more unwanted guests Crane would only notice upon reaching there.
Three faint orange glows appeared ahead. Their pulses were steady, their pacing calm and deliberate.
More humans.
"Perimeter One, we've located another refugee site down the coast. Used to be an Orphanage."
"That's three so far."
"Any sign of Umit Solak?"
Crane stopped. Nearly skidding on his own feet.
Something about that conversation sounded familiar. It almost struck an old nerve in him.
"That voice," he muffled to himself.
Why?
"No sign of him, ma'am. Want us to breach and search the premises?"
Carefully, as silently as his new body allowed, Crane crept closer. He peeked around the corner, needing confirmation for what his gut already knew.
In the center of the car park, near the stairwell door, was a small tactical setup: ammo crates, neatly stacked weapons, and mobile surveillance equipment. Everything was arranged for a temporary post rather than a long-term operation.
Fresh bloodstains and a small pile of bodies off to the side painted a clear picture of what had just happened.
Three men, tough and disciplined. Armed to the teeth.
Crane didn't just recognize them—he had been one of them before. He worked for that company.
"GRE."
The very organization that had hired him.
The same people who'd fed him a lie about saving lives to cover their tracks. The people who sought the Harran Virus for their own interests—the nightmare that destroyed everything.
And now they were in Scanderoon. Why?
A dumb question but Crane immediately dismissed it. 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.
The last time he heard, the Ministry of Defense had disbanded them after Harran. So what was this? A rogue operation? An attempt to clean up their reputation?
Whatever the reason was, it couldn't be good.
"Negative," the female voice cut through his thoughts, calm yet commanding. "There's enough red tape from Harran to put a noose over this company. We can't be the enemy here."
Hearing that voice again struck that name again, deeper this time, with a swell of anger in his chest.
"I know that voice," he growled. 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 tougher than him, maybe, with thicker skulls but thinner spines. They didn't care about the fallout; they took the job for the paycheck . And unfortunately, the thrills.
And people would get caught in their crossfire. Again.
The dark whispers swirled in Crane's mind, coaxing him to act. To pounce. To sink his teeth into the problem before it spread further.
Don't let them hurt anyone again.
He readied himself, using a car as cover-
"Alright, you bloody mongrel! Come out and fight me!"
And everything stopped like a drop of the needle. Crane's instinct to strike evaporated as the heavy accent of that woman echoed across the floor. His brain nearly short-circuited. Wide eyes at the very person running into danger, he was almost inclined to facepalm himself.
What the fuck?!
"What the actual fuck, lady!" he hissed. Of all times, why now?! And why here?! The woman in red had unwittingly walked right onto the same floor as three GRE freelance contractors!
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 hop and a skip.
She was in trouble. Deep trouble.
"Boys. I'm gonna have to call you back."
"Jack-?"
She'd apologize to Bones later for cutting off but right now, she needed full focus. Her sharp gaze scanned the scene, counting down the risks. One assault rifle in plain sight, barrel lowered but ready. The other two had their hands ready on police batons.
They weren't here to fire—they wanted this quiet.
"I'm not supposed to be here, am 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?"
Another shook his head.
"I figured as much."
The distance between the ex-kickboxer and the troopers closed fast. The two men snapped open their batons with a flick of the wrist. No shooting. No loud noises regardless if she had a say in it.
"Perimeter One, we've got a survivor," one GRE soldier reported, his radio crackling as he spoke into the device clipped to his 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 rude demand and the rough push on the shoulder didn't sway Jack off her feet. Not even the firearm pointed dead at her.
Crane nearly galloped up from his spot. Three on one wasn't fair—no matter how skilled the woman was. He couldn't stand by while someone was outnumbered.
But her patience eventually drew thin before he stepped out of the shadows.
"I said move-"
BOP!
The jab to the masked grunt's face caught him off guard. Before he could recover, Jack seized his arm and spun him around, using him as a human shield. The gunner wouldn't shoot at his own ally, hell, he couldn't risk stirring up the infected mod outside.
Jack acted fast. One boot on her captive and Jack sent him tumbling into the gunman, throwing them both off balance—snatching a baton during the kick. The third soldier charged at her with his own, swung high.
A timed swing with the stolen baton, Jack parried the attack. She followed up with a vicious kick to his shin, forcing him to drop to one knee.
Barely a second, and the merc already felt arms wrapped around his head, one slender hand grabbing his baton. A knee pressed against his back to keep him from rising.
Size didn't matter and yet, he somehow had the tables turned on him; his allies taking too long to rise back up. He tried to stand up, to shake her off him as his breathing grew thin. But the brunette held tighter.
How can one woman-?!
SNAP!
That question didn't get a chance to finish as his body slumped to the floor.
Both grunts looked at their dead friend, baffled. Next, bewildered at the woman, twirling the stolen batons in both hands with practiced ease. Showing off her ambidexterity while warning them.
Then they quickly gathered their composure. It was still two against one. They still had a gun.
The gun aimed straight, done as a scare, but Jack closed the distance in a blink. With a sharp cross of her batons, she shoved the barrel skyward. The second man lunged, concealed dagger out at the opening, only to collide with his incoming friend.
Sent off by a hard kick to the gut. Jack spun with the momentum, yanking the rifle clean out of his hands.
Now there was only one left standing; in a panic, thinking he could have stabbed the other grunt.
And Jack danced right up to him, batons swinging like that of a drummer's beat. One across the face, the other struck the ribs. His skull was Jack's drum and she gave the best performance without a single pause in rhythm.
Christ, this woman!
Crane had been wrong earlier—she didn't need help. The woman knew a bit of arnis, leaving the grunt no chance to recover.
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 try to help, she would probably hit him too.
The final act came swift. Jack raised both batons high and brought them down on her opponent's back. Down for the count.
He had enough of the beating.
"Heh." Jack observed her work on the floor, twirling the batons one last time. "You boys should have called it a day."
However, she missed one. The gunman climbed back up, his hands reaching to grab her from behind-
"Garph!" -his world spun violently as something slammed into him.
Jack whipped around, batons raised, but halted at the unexpected 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 spooked the brunette to no end.
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 the 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.
She had already known there was something wrong with this Special.
Anyone could tell! The Day 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 her next move harder was those silver-blue eyes on her. First of all: were they always that color? Second: why could she read them?
Emotions. Concern, worry, even fear—human emotions were bundled in the Hunter's gaze. It wasn't right. It shouldn't have been possible.
Then those eyes widened, not at her, but at something behind her.
"Behind you!"
If Crane had still been human, she might have listened. She might have turned in time to see the jump coming. But the woman in red was petrified, backing away from him.
Two words—actual 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 gunfire shattered the moment, its deafening roar forcing Jack to duck instinctively and run. Bullets tore through the air, striking walls and shattering crates as Freakazoid bolted for cover. Splinters of wood and chunks of concrete sprayed across the floor.
Jack scrambled to an ammo crate, hearing the disarray explode.
From the floors below, shrill shrieks pierced through the noise—the damned were coming. The gunfire wasn't just scattering her thoughts; it was an open invitation to every Viral in the area.
"Get the woman!"
Amid the madness, one glaring absence from her growing list of problems stood out: Freakazoid. Horrified, she found him ducking behind a van, right in her line of sight! Eyes on her!
Because he was so persistent to have her as a meal? He had other choices!
Weirdest thing was that he didn't come after her right away. It was the emotion in those silver-blue eyes—concern.
At her?
The Hunter then made his stand, leaping out of cover and howling loudly. Telling the gunmen to come after him. Not Jack. Worry about the monster instead!
The squad fired at him.
But Freakazoid was faster. He zigzagged through the hail of bullets, using the claustrophobic space to his advantage. His movements blurred as he vaulted off walls, darting between cars and pillars, turning the parking lot into his own battleground.
"GAH!" One human was off his feet by a tendril, flung screaming over the edge of the floor. His cry was cut short with a sickening gurgle as the horde below claimed him.
"Shit!"
"Shoot it!"
Their guns swung to the beast, but it was too late—Freakazoid pounced into their midst. He ripped a combat knife from a soldier's belt and, with terrifying precision, hurled it into another's exposed throat.
One man turned his rifle, but suddenly, that weapon was gone out of his hands. In return, a powerful dropkick slammed him into the side of a car.
CRASH!
The impact nearly shook the vehicle, shattered the window and left him crumpled against the door, ribs broken and air wheezing from his lungs.
This thing wasn't just a mindless predator—it could distinguish threats. Every move it made was calculated: disarming weapons, delivering precise blows, all without a hint of primal rage.
Almost like a military mutant.
This was very much out of the Wild Dog's league!
Jack had to get out-
"Your left!"
That voice again. A human-sounding voice.
But it didn't come out 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.
And now she knew that she had gone magnificently insane.
But left, she looked and spotted a sneaky grunt coming at her. Her body reacted instinctively with an elbow swing. Bam! Right between the eyes.
She saw a blade flash but she still kept to the pattern.
One grab arrested his wrist, redirecting the blade away, and she shoved his arm hard against a nearby pillar. The clang echoed, but the weapon didn't fall.
That left her with a six-foot, professionally trained mercenary behind her—all muscle and quick reflexes—and another one closing in fast.
The first lunged to wrap an arm around her neck but Jack ducked low, pivoting on her heel, and delivered a sharp back-kick to his knee. His body fell forward as she tossed him over the shoulder, grabbing something on the go.
He quickly recovered, getting up on his feet while his partner continued the charge, throwing himself over the woman.
All of a sudden, his friend limped to the floor, hands clutching his gut. Blood gurging out.
The brunette flung that something at him with a flick of the wrist.
Gleaming in the light.
Splut!
He didn't see the bloodstained combat knife coming, plunged deep into his eye.
His knife was in his eye.
Two men down. But how many more were still standing?
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!
Glancing out from her cover, she searched for a way out—any escape. As if the universe was answering her prayer, Jack spotted a zipline stretched out of the parking lot and to the roof of a bank. Twenty feet away.
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 her!"
Jack ignored the shouts and bolted, fear replaced with pure adrenaline. The railing approached fast, but she didn't hesitate. With a daring leap into the open air, she clipped the ascender onto the wire.
The wind howled past her ears as she wooshed down the line, the ground below a dizzying blur. Safety was seconds away-
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Klack-thuh! Her stomach lurched as the sound of snapping metal reached her ears. The zipline jolted violently in her grip, torn by stray bullets.
"No! NO! NO!" Jack screamed. Her whole world spun in all directions. She had only one way, and that was down. Gravity said so.
This time, her luck had truly run out.
She wasn't going to be miraculously saved. Unless she somehow did the saving herself; Jack flailed, trying to grab the snapped zipline-
"Got you!"
The wind was knocked right out of her as something—or someone—caught her midair. Arms wrapped around her tightly, breaking her fall as they hurtled toward the looming window ahead.
CRASH!
They barreled through the glass, landing on linoleum floor inside. The person cradled her protectively, her head down as they rolled to a stop. A bloody hero jumping in at the last possible second, like out of a movie.
If she wasn't so disoriented, she'd be thanking the bloke who saved her.
Then she looked up at her savior.
At the Hunter looming over her. With canines clicking together and blue haunting eyes at her.
"Aaaah!" Instinct took over. Jack lashed out with a fierce kick.
"Urgh!" Crane stumbled back, clutching his face. He should have expected that—and man, did it terror-stricken woman crawled away from him, getting to see his ugly face up close in all of its glory.
She wasn't out of the woods yet.
Before the panicking brunette, Freakazoid suddenly looked out the broken window. Attentively. Sound picked up by his terrifyingly sharp hearing and quick movement caught by his peripheral field.
"Dammit. Another squad's coming."
"Shit! Shit! You really talk!"
Crane jerked back, startled. Her reaction was pure disbelief—she couldn't believe anything about him. And Crane himself couldn't believe it either—at the revolution that the woman heard him.
Not through her ears.
Inside her head.
Like how he had heard the Mother speak to him before. Crane could imagine her astonishment going into overdrive from the number of alarms going off in her head.
"What the fuck-?! Why do I hear you inside my head?! What the bloody hell is going on?!"
The same questions he had asked the Mother. Crane would like answers, too—or maybe he wouldn't. The longer this one-sided conversation dragged on, the closer the GRE squad crept toward them.
Jack remained frozen, her shock too overwhelming. But the faint whistle of something cutting through the air snapped her back.
THUK! THUK!
Metal arrows pierced right through the concrete wall, making the Hunter jump. Jack scrambled to her feet as five GRE agents were ascending to the office floor.
GRE had zipline guns! What was this, a spy movie?!
"Now!" Freakazoid roared.
Ok, ok! Listen to the talking zombie! Jack bolted.
Crane watched her take to the fire stairs. With one less thing to worry about, he grabbed one of the zipline cords with an unnatural strength, yanking it free.
"Who-AAAAAAAH!" Two agents screamed as they plummeted to the lower floors. Three left.
"Holy shit!"
The sight of a firearm out of a holster made Crane leap back for cover, diving behind a row of cubicles as the rest climbed through the window.
"What is that thing?!"
"I'm not a thing, you assholes!"
But they either couldn't hear him—or didn't care.
He howled. He needed the heat on him.
"Shoot it!"
And quickly, he ducked behind cover from the fire.
"Holy shit!" Crane couldn't risk a frontal assault with the stakes so high and the space even tighter. His only option was to retreat, taking the same path as the woman. He grabbed a pry r from the floor, jamming it against the door to buy himself a minute.
That only bought him a minute. By the time the GRE agents burst through, Crane was long gone, sprinting toward the second-floor corridor overlooking the bank's foyer.
Crane scanned for that one orange glow heading down to the first floor of the bank.
Four more shapes followed closely behind it.
"Target on sight!"
Crane rarely improvised, but desperation made for creativity.
The woman in red slid behind a receptionist's desk and four GRE goons aimed dead at her position. All too focused to look up and see Freakazoid leap off the railing and lift 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 of them hit the ground hard. It all happened too fast for him to proceed horrifying tendrils roping around his legs. Like the whipping of a bolas. A whipping motion sent him hurtling into his comrades like a human wrecking ball.
"There! Shoot it!"
The shout came from above. Crane's head snapped upward to see three rifles aimed at him from the second floor—the assholes from earlier had caught up.
He dodged the initial gunfire, snatching a discarded rifle from the floor. It had to be a terrifying sight—even for Crane himself—to witness a Hunter wielding a weapon.
That brief hesitation from the soldiers was all he needed.
Crane spidered his way along the foyer's pillars and stuck to the heights. His mutation, sharp instincts, and fighter's expertise made him more than just agile—he was lethal. Five rounds into one grunt and six into another, all while Crane moved midair like a deadly shadow.
The last agent had the courtesy of a tendril wrapped around his torso, and his body pulled over the edge. Right to the first floor, with the soldier's body breaking Crane's fall.
Please tell me that's the last of you!
Because the pot was boiling hot inside the bank. The gunfire by the soldiers and him had drawn in more Virals, their shrieks echoing through the bank.
Click!
Something landed at his feet. Crane glanced down just in time to see the small, narrow object, pin pulled.
Flashbang!
"Shit!" He jumped-
BANG!
White light consumed his vision, and an ear-splitting ring drowned out the world. Dammit! He needed to see!
Through the haze, he sensed movement. The soldier he used as his buffer earlier, battered and clutching his chest, was back on his feet and for vengeance. Bruised determination burning as he closed in after the Hunter.
The blurry gun pointed at Crane.
Crane braced for the first shot, certain it would hit, but instinct—or something deeper—jerked his body out of the line of fire. The second shot missed entirely. 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.
Finally, his vision crept back to see the barrel of a German 9mm inches from his face.
The trigger tightened-
THUD!
Bone and brain matter splattered from one good batter of a crowbar and the mercenary dropped like a rock. Crane's savior? Someone he least expected, one he never thought would come rescue him after seeing the beast.
But the woman in red stood there, crowbar in hand—she had picked it up somewhere during her entire retreat.
Her expression was a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. Every breath screamed, Why the hell am I doing this?!
She could have killed him—should have killed him with that same crowbar. But both sides were too baffled: how was anyone in their situation supposed to react? To Crane, a terrified human showing empathy to an infected. To the brunette, a monster that wasn't going for her throat.
Nothing made sense.
Then came the shrieks. Both turned to see hands pounding against the windows, the horde closing in fast. Cracks spider-webbed across the glass, each bang pushing it closer to its breaking point.
The brunette staggered away, remembering that she was in a grimmer situation than with Freakazoid.
CRACK!
Brrrrrring!
The bank's alarm blared at the shattered glass, an irresistible lure for more Virals. What did help was the first distraction. The bodies of the GRE troops—unconscious or dead—served as the perfect 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 insane offer to team up but neither side decided to change their mind and kill the other on the spot.
Jack bolted into a maintenance hall, her breath ragged and her grip on the crowbar firm.
She didn't realize she was being followed, however, until a loud thud behind her forced a glance back. Freakazoid had blocked the maintenance door, sealing their path, 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 ahead was already claimed by four Biters, shuffling aimlessly until the noise and movement snapped their heads toward the new prey.
Before the crowbar could go up, a blur of motion swept past Jack.
Freakazoid was already upon the Biters. Tendrils lashed out, snaring one by the legs, and with a violent yank, the infected toppled. A clawed hand seized its head and smashed it into the floor, splattering brain matter across the tiles.
"Gaaaargh-!" THUD!
One infected gnashed its teeth, distracted by the rebellion. The crowbar came down with a sickening crack, and the infected crumpled.
Jack wasn't stopping in the same hallway as Freakazoid. She wasn't in any mood to question why this Hunter was like a watchful guardian. Just count her blessings that he was taking care of the small fry.
"Wait!"
"Not listening!" Jack muttered to herself.
Get out of her head! This was all too eerie, even for the Wild Dog! She shoved open the exit door with her shoulder and burst into the blinding daylight. Freedom.
"Freeze!"
Another roadblock was laid before Jack. Standing between her and escape was the last surviving squad of GRE soldiers, their nerves frayed from the blaring alarm and the growing horde clawing at the fences.
The pay wasn't enough for this shit. And neither was having to deal with some random refugee popping out of nowhere.
"Seriously?" she wheezed. "How many of you are there?"
"Get down!"
Jack barely registered the warning before tendrils shot past her, latching onto a car. But instincts kicked in—years of training reacting before her mind could—and she dropped to the ground.
"Rraaagh!"
"Oh, fu-!"
Freakazoid bulldozed into the fireteam like a wrecking ball, primal determination overpowering any hesitation from the blistering sun. The soldiers barely had time to aim before they were swept away—a bowling ball to the last standing pins.
"Run!"
Jack hesitated, unable to look away from Freakazoid's takedown moves. How could anyone not stop to watch a fight like that in the middle of an outbreak?
But the thrashing at the wire fence snapped her out of her daze. Scrambling onto a row of armored trucks, she climbed to a fire escape on the next building and disappeared over the edge.
Every second under the sun drained Crane's stamina like a slow bleed. He couldn't stay any longer, and the GRE grunts could see that, closing in. Time to think fast.
He fired his tendrils at the bending wire fence and pulled with everything he had—pain and all.
THUNK!
The link mesh swung 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. His skin seared, but he forced himself forward, leaping into the blissful dark interior of the next building.
He didn't stop until he was five blocks away, panting heavily in the safety of the shadows. Leaning against a crumbling wall, Crane listened intently. The alarm wailed faintly in the distance, the gunfire silenced, and the undead howls faded to a dull hum.
"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. 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 the laughter left his system, Crane shifted his focus. He had a job to do—find the woman.
It didn't take long. One orange glow stood out six blocks away from his location.
Alone. But for some reason, it stayed still.
Oh shit.
Crane's pace slowed, unease creeping into his steps. Did the woman get hurt along the way?
Or could the seizures be starting?
He nearly forgot about her condition.
Dread settled in as he neared. Beat, beat, beat, her pulse beat loudly in his ears—faster and with no change in tempo. His earlier triumph was completely gone by the grim reminder.
Right, Crane had a job. One critical job. As much as he didn't want to do it...
He turned the corner cautiously and spotted her. The woman in red stood with her back to him, head hanging low, every breath slow and labored. She was unaware of the infected standing inches from her.
And that was fine by Crane. He didn't want her looking at her killer... It would make things easier.
"...I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible, as he reached out a claw.
He didn't notice the tightening grip on the crowbar. Or the brunette's sudden turn, her fierce expression and her piercing war cry.
Or the swing of iron.
"Arghhh!"
All Crane got was pain in a flash.
THUD!
"Gak!" Excruciating, blinding, god-forbid pain. Enough for Crane to shrink back and grab the sides of his head as stars danced in his vision. He half-expected his head to split open. But no. He wasn't human anymore.
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. Instinct won over reason, and she swung the crowbar again.
THUD!
This second strike was a lot harder than the first, forcing Crane to his knees.
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
13/1/25 - Reedted some parts to be more streamlined and removed some unwanted text.