Chapter Summary
-THE WEEPING MAN
Ekrem knows where he last saw the Weeping Man… These children have seen things they shouldn't have. So, Freakazoid and I should go find this monster under the bed and quiet him down. For good. - Jack
ELEVEN: DANGER DANGER
Ekrem stayed quiet. No more words could come out of his tiny body. Jack didn't press further; that was all she could get. And she accepted that fact.
"Thank you, Ekrem," she said, giving a tight squeeze on his small hand.
Still, nothing came from his little form. But the air was a tiny bit lighter. A sign to her that it was possible to pull him back. Just not right now. Time could only heal the wounds...as cruel as it had done for hers.
Jack exited the playroom quietly. Lina first told Ekrem that she'd be back later and then bolted after the woman in red. The pause lasted because Jack waited again until Lina looked up to her.
Then Jack asked, "Those children. They've been through a lot, haven't they?"
"They were already here before my father brought me. Ekrem was a 'first-week' kid."
"The time of the outbreak, I take?"
Lina nodded. "They called me 'fourth-week'."
Basically, any 'week' children weren't registered orphans. It probably became lesser and lesser onwards through the months. Until no new child came to the Orphanage.
"Ekrem... Did he lose that arm recently?" Jack had to ask one of the harder questions.
"I dunno. He came without it. Rashid thinks it got eaten. Ozan thinks it got...hacked off… We don't ask anymore." Lina became smaller, squeezing her arms for comfort but averting her gaze out of shame. "He screamed the last time we did. After that, we were put into groups."
Ah. That explained a lot about the inner workings. Children didn't understand such heavy topics, too young to understand the thresholds adults did. And once they were thrown over the same threshold...it got harder to bring them back.
That must have been why it was easiest to separate them. Jack could see it in Lina; she understood why the less active ones had to be put in the playroom, but she also didn't quite understand why they couldn't be themselves again.
"Are his parents here?"
"No… Everyone's parents aren't here anymore."
Which meant they were still all orphans in the end.
Including Lina.
It all spilled out without Jack ever saying anything.
"My father went looking for the Weeping Man..."
That stiffened up the girl. Fingers curled in tightly as her lips trembled, and she had to bite down. The emotional pain was still fresh, hurtful; Jack gently grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a stare that told her to look at her.
Keep her eyes on Jack. It was going to be alright.
Lina swallowed. "Nobody believed us but Papa... He said he'd go look for the Weeping Man. Other men went too, but..." Then the tears hit harder than they should have. "They didn't come back... Nasia said my father dragged them with him-"
"He did no such thing," Jack assured, hoping that would clear away those sorts of nonsense that hag had put in her head. "He went because he really thought someone was in need..."
The young girl glanced up, almost wondering why her glasses had become foggy. She didn't think about the tears.
"...Why did he leave me behind then?"
The question was the most painful. Her pretty face twisted with so much agony and so much yearning. It was clear to Jack—no one in the Orphanage has had the time to sit down and talk to these kids. To answer those hardest questions.
It wasn't like Jack could have asked for a miracle from the adults, but a fine, bloody job they had that heartless English teacher out in charge. Messing the children's heads with false ideas and painful whacks to their wrists for the misbehavior.
No one came to their rescue, not even a hero from their fairytales.
Jack then acted; she dropped her head as if to ponder the answer. The Wild Dog rose back up with the softest smile she could muster.
"What did you do," she first asked kindly, puzzling the girl. "Before he left?"
The question took Lina by surprise, but she thought about it. Long and hard. "I...I told him I wanted to go with him. He said I couldn't… Then he said… 'I love you, baby girl'."
"Why did he say you couldn't go?"
Lina thought again. This time, it sunk in better than before. "...Because he didn't want anything bad happening me."
It wasn't an answer she had wanted or an answer that could bring her father right through the gates of the Orphanage. But it was enough—far better than anything the grown-ups have given.
"...People make the hardest choices. Because they believe it's the right thing to do," Jack explained, standing back up. Part of it seemed understandable to Lina, a bright young girl like herself, but some didn't.
That was ok. Life was always the most difficult to understand, even for Mad Jack.
"...I gave him my good-luck charm. A four-leaf clover. So he could come back. It's stupid-"
"No. It isn't. That's a precious keepsake of you for him to keep."
A nice thought, but a bittersweet one nonetheless. It was clear on Lina's face that Jack should have said it more delicately: that her father had something to remember before he died. But she was somewhat gratified.
"You're...really going after the Weeping Man?" she asked cautiously.
"Of course. How else will you youngsters get enough any sleep?" It was a harmless joke that would hopefully cheer her up. It partially did, but again, Lina was a bright girl.
"You won't come back," she said disappointedly. As if that were the one and only outcome. But she managed to ask, "Will you?"
Jack remained unfazed. "I won't come back until I've taken care of him."
Normally, adults say things that they never promise. Lina had learned that fact for the longest time. She had also learned never to hold her breath for grown-ups.
This time, however, that didn't seem to be the same as with the woman in red. The confidence in front of Lina managed to take away any sort of doubt.
"So," the brunette began. "Don't want my autograph? Or am I still 'old news' to you?"
The spitfire front suddenly appeared right before Jack's very eyes. Lina pursed her lips as she flared her nostrils at the overly-confident ex-kickboxer. There we go, what Jack wanted to see.
"I'd want one from the Scorpion. She's way cooler than you."
Jack chuckled. "And there's the reason."
"What?" she barked, puzzled by why the grown-up gave such a response. "She's the best kickboxer in the country!"
"Not denying that one bit. You went to the tournament last year."
"Yeah. Papa took me there. To the Harran Stadium."
"Front row seats?"
"Of course," she boasted. "The best for us."
"The best for his baby girl, I bet." Jack then ended, "Well. I should go after the Weeping Man before sunset."
"With that special weapon of yours. Right?"
"Of course."
The young girl became curious on the spot: what could this weapon be? Some cool-looking sword? Like how Ekrem once said that his toy sword could keep the bad creepers away? However, she never asked Jack.
"Then you should take this too."
Lina suddenly reached for a drawer close by, pushing it out first with a scuffled huff. The wall behind the furniture surprised Jack as it revealed a large crack that a small child could squeeze through—the tall-tale signs of environmental damage having been the culprit. One of many hiding places Lina boasted about.
She pulled out something wrapped in cloth and dirt. Just like that, her fingers tightened on it for one last time, like a treasured memento, before giving it to Jack for her to unwrap.
A shiny cricket bat. Good quality wood. Barely any scratches that showed it had been behind glass before it was taken out of its box.
"That's an impressive bat you have there."
"It was my father's." That surprised Jack. "I didn't want anyone taking it. So I hid it here."
"Right under their noses... Clever."
The young girl then hurried onto Jack's arm, to point at a carved signature on the wood. "See? It's signed by Jasim. His favorite player… He always wanted to teach me cricket."
"...You sure about this?"
No hesitation. "You've earned it. And you need it more than me… Jack?" Lina suddenly called out. "Don't die out there."
Jack smirked boldly. "Wouldn't dream of it. Sandrine, watch on us all."
The phrase was a common thing Jack had heard in Scanderoon during her last visit—a local expression from the old days. Something even a little girl was familiar with since birth. With a wide beam across her rosy cheeks, Lina hurried down to the first floor to meet up with her friends.
Now the one issue that has been nagging at Jack since leaving the playroom.
"Freakazoid?"
She waited for a response. Nothing.
Another hide n' seek game of his? She rolled her eyes and walked down the stairs. Fine. At least he hasn't found that tracker on him.
For a moody freak, he sure went radio-silent. Something had spooked him alright, kicking Jack to pick up the pace and head outside the Orphanage. The furniture store was just across the street, after all, but there was no sign of a hooded figure on the roof.
"Freakazoid," she called again, her eyes combing the destroyed canopies of the old mid-rise flats.
The sound of something heavy prompted her to wheel around, spotting the beast behind her.
"What?"
"Just miss your lovely voice," she jousted, getting a grunt out of him.
"Hmph," he scoffed. "You just miss having your own pocket zombie around."
"You were rather quiet." Crane glanced at her too fast; she couldn't have suspected anything, right? "Saw something?"
"Yeah," he gradually answered. "Went to check it out."
"Ah. How about sharing what it was?"
Another grimace. So readable, and Freakazoid even showed his resentment at how effortless it was for Jack to read his closed pages. "Probably those jailbirds running around."
"Alexander's men. Would be a problem if we'd come across them."
"Does it matter? They're everywhere," he dodged the question. It was then that he noticed the brunette casually eating away at something. Small enough to be held in one hand—something sweet and nutty, a homemade smell. "What are you eating?"
"Halva. From the lunch lady as thanks for the children," Jack explained. "Kept pestering me to have breakfast."
"Oh."
Actually, one good thought just came to mind as she went tap, tap, tap with her half-eaten bar. Jack had her own metabolism to take care when being chased by speedy Biters and armed men at every corner. The only time she could think of where to find a bite was by scavenging whatever one could find in abandoned fridges or a decent meal from the Ravs' HQ.
Heavens forbid, she would never resort to that.
So it begged the question. What about Freakazoid?
"Have you eaten anything yet?" She offered the second bar from her pocket.
"I'm fine," he lied with a palm out that said 'no need'. He hadn't eaten anything. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had a bite. However, the pit in his stomach wouldn't go away—the shame still stayed even when he stared off into the distance, in the direction of the Orphanage.
The hundred-yard stare was easy for Jack to pick on.
"Heartbreakin, isn't it."
He didn't flinch. Freakazoid actually agreed with her.
"...Those kids have nowhere else to go."
Jack noticed the sincerity in his words had returned. So she obliged to answer out of goodwill too. "At least they're not left out on the streets. This is no different than a warzone."
"A warzone… Sounds about right."
A hint. But Jack didn't tug at it. The door to his closet was still closed, with just her foot stopping him from completely shutting it.
"Would be nice if they could go to the Checkpoint."
"Checkpoint?"
Ah, right. Freakazoid was still getting used to his bearings. New to the landmarks and such. So she might as well keep him up to date.
She pointed to the reinforced walls by a terminal far off in the distance. "The only way out of the Bayside and into the wide world. I've heard the military take uninfected refugees in. And shoot those who are."
Crane frowned displeasingly. He could immediately see the line of thinking Jack had towards the Checkpoint. Just have a heart and take those kids out of here. But it was always the same situation and the same results.
"But what can you do. Nobody has the time to focus on them with everything happening. Unfortunate, really."
"...Yeah. Real...unfortunate..." The remorse was sort of odd and peculiar. She never pegged him to reflect that on those with their whole world taken out of their tiny hands.
"One thing we can do is give them some well-deserved good night's sleep."
The response pulled Crane out of his pity slum. Immediately, on the spot, Jack jumped onto the goal at hand while she brushed her hands clean of the crumbs.
"Let's find this Weeping Man, shall we?" she uttered with her wide beam and a bolt in her feet.
Oh boy.
"If that name has anything to go by, it's going to be a Volatile."
"We won't know until we find him."
"'Find a freak'. First I've ever heard anyone say that."
"Oh, stop your brooding. Faster we get him, the better. We won't have to worry about hunting him at night."
A good point Crane had to agree with. Partly that it would be dangerous to try such an accomplishment at night, mostly because who was to say that he could lose himself again?
"And it's killing two birds with one stone. I can get a blood sample and my boat back."
"Boat?"
"Of course. How else am I going to get to Harran on foot?"
Crane stopped in his tracks. Alarmed. Digesting what he just heard. But the ex-kickboxer didn't pay any heed to his halt as she trailed off down the street.
Why Harran?
No. That was bad.
He hurried after her—too fast of a walk for Jack's liking when he popped himself right in front of her. "Wait. Harran?"
"Yes. Harran. Now that I have a Lifeline." Again, so straightforward, and with no little detail to help him figure this out. "Asem can stop pestering me from going there."
"Wait, wait! W-Why would you want to go there?" he had to ask. "That's where the virus came from."
Jack shrugged her shoulders. "The situation isn't any better here."
Stop spinning him around and give him the damn answers. But Kyle stayed as calm as he could.
"Neither is heading there. Aren't you supposed to be getting those blood vials? Here? In this city."
"I can still get it off those Harran zombies too. Like you, technically." Kyle grimaced at the reminder.
Christ! Could this woman give him a break for once?!
"Besides. You wanted to go to Harran. Find the answers you need."
Of course. Something he said way back was going to bite him in the ass. That annoying smile stretched wider with every second ticked by. Jack purposely closed the gap between them. Like a snake surrounding a trapped mouse.
"What?" she droned. "Changed your mind?"
His gut screamed at him not to say anything. Not a single word. Jack had a cunning way of pulling out all sorts of details from one's mouth. It was a one-sided battle: he was trying to get intel himself about this woman but instead, got spun around to no avail and found himself spilling one or two beans.
All he could do was throw back the ball and guard himself for the next comeback.
"Of course not," he barked. Then, he thought about what to say next. "I'm not in any hurry."
"Hm-hm." She backed off, the catty grin staying firm and shrewd.
"I have more important shit to worry about. And that's me getting cured. You made it a big deal about it."
"I did say that. I didn't say it could be done overnight. Can't rush these sorts of things."
Can't rush. It ushered out a crackle from Crane; he was completely and utterly baffled. Then he shook his head and placed his face in his palms. It was too much. "You're saying that in the middle of all this shit..."
"Well. If you know a faster, better alternative for a cure, by all means. Let me know. I'm open to options, mate," she counterattacked proudly.
Hell, no. He actually knew of an alternative. And he became the result.
The hesitation in Freakazoid was easy to pick on the entire time. So Jack offered, "You can bunker down. Or tag along. I just need a day or two."
"A day or two?" Crane almost muttered out those words vocally. He was drawing blanks from this woman's folded cards this entire time. This wasn't some vacation trip she could go back and forth. Had she forgotten about this outbreak? "What reason do you have to go there?"
"...My cousin." Not the answer Crane anticipated coming out of her mouth. But that was good enough of a reason. "The one I was mighty close to."
"Was?"
"Eh…" For once, Jack couldn't give a straight answer. It was enough to make the overzealous woman scratch her head sheepishly. "Things got a little...strained the last time we talked over the radio... This outbreak brings out the worst in us."
That was the short story of it, with the clear label that told Crane not to pry any further. He could easily see whatever happened between them; it left Jack in a fit—her scowl was altogether subtle, aggravated, and torn.
But she wasn't wrong about the outbreak bringing out the worst in people. Kyle had met, fought, and killed the worst kinds of men.
"That doesn't mean I've stopped caring. He and a good few people standing by him."
She had a longing in her expression, staring off to the cityscape. Another rare moment Kyle saw out of her—Jack was capable of more emotions than the usual façade she put upfront.
He had forgotten several times because he labelled her as a madwoman. That she was human. She probably had friends and family before this outbreak spread, just like anyone else. Fitting...it was inhuman of Kyle to think that Jack didn't have connections.
"...You're dead set on going to Harran?"
It was a stupid question. A repetitive one that Jack had probably been asked before.
She was calm. Impassive.
"Family's family," was her answer. A straightforward, honest response surrounded by death, despair and burning flesh. "That's it, really... Do you have anyone close you care about?"
Crane kept silent.
"Right," she droned. "You wouldn't remember... But if you did...would you leave them behind?"
"...No." He wouldn't. The easiest but most difficult answer to give. No brainer, of course.
Crane did have family. Back home. Parents, relatives—he came from a typical middle-class American household. He never stopped to settle down, though. A freelancer like him couldn't commit fully to such a lifestyle with his under-the-table job. He couldn't make the choice to abandon his work.
Not when he was pretty knee-deep into the kind of shit he did...
In some way, he could relate to Jack. When he left Chicago, LA, for his own life, he also left behind unwanted arguments, spiteful words, and regret.
He never returned to the family house for the longest time. And he never would, would he?
"I have to find him. Even if it'll kill me." Jack then swung back to her cheery self. "But I'll come back to Scanderoon. Got some promises to keep here."
It put the icing on the cake.
Was he just a sucker for that kind of speech? A softie. To feel sorry for a person's blight and be motivated to help them somehow?
He heaved a sigh… Well. Hopefully, he wouldn't regret this trip to Harran.
"Fine... Let's find this boat." He got a spin out of Jack. What, did she really think he was that much of a prick to say no to her?
"Really? I thought you weren't in a rush."
It got a chuckle out of her. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.
"Just don't go introducing me to your cousin. I'm not going out of my way to make friends."
"You are such a buzzkill. My cousin would have loved meeting you in person," she droned exhaustedly and strolled on.
Sure, he would. He shrugged off her sarcasm-
"His name is Harris," she then said out of the blues and strolled off. "Harris Brecken. He's in charge of the Tower."
That stopped Crane before he'd even started to walk.
"What…"
His mutter from his own voice box was too soft for Jack to hear, several steps ahead of him. The chill down his spine prevented him from reacting. From asking.
A coincidence? He had chalked it out before, but now... That name. The entire name. And the job title.
Now Crane understood. Some of the questions he had tucked in his head had been answered, but not in the way he'd hoped for. Especially when he remembered those dreams.
The puzzle pieces were falling so neatly into place. But Crane couldn't help but feel apprehensive about what the outcome could be.
He was scared.
"You've gotten bloody quiet again. It's actually scary."
Crane didn't say anything; he only silently followed Jack down an alley behind the Orphanage with heavy feet. He was still reeling from the previous conversation.
What were the odds... No, he should have picked up on the signs much earlier. All because he thought it was ridiculous—no way could this woman be related to the level-headed leader of the Tower. They were completely the opposite!
Although they did have similar accents...
"Penny for your thoughts?" she put out the bait.
Didn't matter. Crane could think more about this revelation another time. The longer he delayed his silence, the more Jack would tear down his layers and find out the truth.
So think. Work out the conversation, and he could understand how this group knew about the tower—other than because two people were blood-related.
"Just...thinking," was all he could muster, enough for him to get the train in his head going. To plan carefully on what to say. "How are you getting to Harran from here. The military closed off all the roads. And you got the Navy bombing anything out at sea."
The stalling game. Fine, Jack had all the time in the world. "Most routes are blocked off. Even the way between the Outskirts and the Slums isn't ideal for travel."
"But you knew a way in?"
She nodded. "Nobody looks at the Coastline. Not even the channels. As long as I'm not outside the coastal threshold, I can travel safely by boat… I was supposed to be in Harran days ago. But I got forced to make a detour into the Coast."
"Geez."
"Could have been worse. Sinking to the bottom of the ocean wasn't on my to-do list either."
"How...did your group come to know about this other group?" he carefully asked. "You're both on either side of Harran."
"It wasn't by coincidence. The Ravs had been trying to find a way out of the Outskirts halfway through the pandemic. A few members ended up in the Old City but...all of them were killed. Thanks to a ruthless warlord over there."
Rais. Crane almost said his name aloud.
"One of them, he managed to make it to the Tower. The nurse there tried... She really did try. But the poor bloke didn't make it."
Lena, if he had to guess. This had to be before Crane arrived in Harran the first day.
"They had his comms when our radio lady was still on. And that pretty much did it. The Tower got in touch with us ever since," Jack continued, this time just a little cheery, kept to a minimum out of respect for the dead Rav members. "Imagine my surprise when I found my cousin was alive and well in the Slums."
"Brecken never mentioned about you-"
"I'm sorry?"
It was barely a small whisper in his head, but somehow she was able to pick that?! "Just...never took you one to care about family."
"Because I'm a shrewd person?"
He took a step back, hands up. "I didn't say that."
"Doesn't mean you didn't think that," she sarcastically corrected him. "I'm not too worried. Harris' fast on his feet, faster than me. And he's not alone... He's fine."
Fine. Not a word Crane would pick for that man. A parkour instructor unfortunate enough to be appointed as the leader for a group of survivors was overwhelming for one man when the world around him was crashing down a bit every day. It didn't help that Jack said that last line out of reassuring herself.
The last time he had heard from Brecken, he told Crane he had a plan. The Tower's last-ditch effort.
Hopefully, it all went through without Crane.
"It's that boy I'm more worried about."
"Boy?"
"One of his old students," Jack explained. "Cheeky youngster." Out ushered a sigh as she put her hands on her hips. "...Doesn't know when to sit still and gets himself into all sorts of trouble."
Crane's feet were cemented. The heavy anxiety had crept right back on him. It hadn't been obvious from Jack but he didn't need clarification to be right—if she knew Harris, then it wasn't all that hard to figure out which people from the Tower she meant as more than acquaintances.
Jack just shrugged her shoulders. "But Champ's always there to keep him in check. Or else that lad gets an earful from his sister." She laughed to herself but not as boastful as her usual ones. Jack seemed to trail off, walking down a narrow side street. "They all should fine."
A part of him wanted to ask. Just to be sure. Just to be told, it wasn't the same person he was thinking.
But he bit his tongue.
You're a damn coward.
If those dreams weren't dreams, if they really somehow showed a part of Jack's life, then he couldn't keep running away. He no longer could accept the belief that his fragmented imagination built up a scene where both she and Rahim met.
She knew Rahim, even if she never said the name.
How much did she know?
How much did Harris talk to his cousin before the Tower went silent? Did she learn...about everything that had happened in Harran?
Most of all, did she know about Rahim's death?
Crane couldn't tell if she was in the dark. All the things she said... Those alone carved deeper into his guilt.
"Hey. Jack." This time, he spoke. All too softly, though. Should he ask the hard questions? He swallowed.
"Have you ever heard of a Volatile weep before?"
The conversation steered off course when the brunette stopped in her tracks. The area they now walked to was at the back of the Orphanage, Jack spotting the closed manhole as one point of interest and the second-floor window over the fortress' walls as another.
"I've only heard them howl at night. Never crying."
"Because of what those kids said?" He joined her in whatever caught her attention. At least the job could take his mind off the real questions and give him time to recollect first.
"The guy in charge of the Orphanage also said he heard crying," she explained, strolling closer to the wall. "They all could distinctly tell it was someone bawling their eyes out."
A good key point that showed those children weren't imagining things.
Jack then kneeled down and pulled away at some vines clutched to the wall, revealing traces of crayon markings in various colors. Perhaps a spot the orphans loved to go to before the outbreak hit.
"Ok. So we have a creep that can't shut up. What's the problem?"
"We might be looking for an zombie who can draw."
"Draw?"
Crane narrowed his eyes, but Jack was already at work, ripping off the overgrowth with one good tug. Underneath showed the crude, distorted images of happy stickmen next to the children's drawings—an image of a 'happy' family: one father, a mother and two children. They could have been mistaken as another child's drawing.
If it wasn't for the fact that it wasn't done with crayon but by something brushing the walls with an awfully dark red pigment.
"That's...downright disturbing," Crane admitted. A cruel, twisted idea to despoil innocent images with blood.
"Not recent." Jack had run her fingers across the hardened paint. It was a bit of a struggle for her to stand back up, a hand on the wall for support. "Maybe last night…"
Her thought process surprised him. Really? No way a Volatile could do those clumsy, blood-red drawings. "This could be a prank." It wouldn't be the first time—Crane had been lured by a bunch of brats to a Demolisher in the Countryside.
"Someone took the time to paint the walls red? Here, surrounded by Virals?" Jack asked, making his assumption sound less plausible by the second. It'd be a death sentence.
"And you're saying a monster did this. That's crazy, even from you."
"Well, let's think for a minute. We're looking for a candidate like you."
"Ok," he said warily. Where was this going?
"That can think like a human, talk like a human, walk like-"
"Alright. I get your point."
"Here's the thing. Do you remember how to write?"
It finally clicked in Crane. In fact, what Jack was proposing was the wildest idea.
Kyle was a clear representation of a sentient zombie. Yes, he could still use his hands; he still knew how to spell his own name in his head. So the idea that there was another like him? It snaked uncomfortably onto him like a bad taste in his mouth.
No. It couldn't be possible...
"You said you're the only one, right?"
That snapped him out of his growing doubt. It sounded like a dumb question coming from Jack.
"Yeah. As far as I know."
"Here's the thing. Are you really sure you're the only one?"
He bit his charred lip. Hard.
The idea of more sentient zombies… It made him anxious. The only one that fit the bill was the Mother. And he had killed her.
It wasn't possible for someone without a head to come back to life.
"I'm certain," he voiced out. "...I'm the one who killed her."
Jack took that with a bit of surprise and a bit of relief. Clearly, she didn't like the idea of more than one Freakazoid—just as much as he didn't. It did make her ponder…
"Then there's another angle we've never thought of. This is something else. Bones could be right about this whole viral evolution."
"What do you mean?"
"That one of these infected turned into something like you. They've 'evolved'."
That was...more reasonable to Crane. That it wasn't connected to the Countryside. It couldn't be. But it didn't sit well with him either.
"Super. Another 'me' out there is already dangerous enough."
"Aren't you also dangerous?"
"I don't have anything to say to that," he grumbled, and glanced back at the drawings. "You really think an infected did this?"
"No. But if there is another Freakazoid out there, I'd say that's a far worse zombie than you."
"Agreed."
"Well, then. Since that we're on the same page," she chided and pointed to the manhole.
Where Ekrem last saw the Weeping Man creep out.
"Let's go hunting."
Crane couldn't believe it. How nonchalantly Jack was from the wall to the manhole, no stopping or planning. She had a goal, and she was going to it headstrong.
"This is a bad idea."
"Ideas are meant to be tested if they're good or bad."
"You really don't give anyone a break, do you?" he grumbled. Always have to turn every little thing around on its head. But he obliged—he still had a bone in him to be courteous. Jack pulled open the cover, just a bit first before Freakazoid crouched down and helped her take it off completely.
He peeked down. Dark, gloomy, absolutely filled with horrors down there.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked. Any second thoughts and they could call it quits.
"Fortune favours the bold," she said with a smirk. And without any hesitation, Mad Jack jumped down the manhole with a splash.
"Eyuk!" he heard her mutter below.
Jack had no sense of perseverance or caution. At all. Not even to check if there were any nearby Biters in those tunnels. How in the world has this woman survived this long? If it had been his old self, he wouldn't willingly go down to the sewage system without a good reason. And last time he was in the sewers in Harran, Crane got backstabbed.
But he sighed. What choice did he have now? A monster had nothing better to do except jump into the fray like the animal he was. He did just that, stepping into the cold, ankle-deep water.
The man-made tunnels were musky, with a hint of saltwater and iron. But what hit Crane first and foremost like a brutal force was the eerie sense of familiarity. Like he was 'home'. Not Kyle Crane, the infected side of him. It was 'comfortable' to that side, which he tried to push dead into his conscience.
But he knew. This was another means for the infected to zoom around, undetected by humans and free from the sun. And if it wasn't the common 'folk', it was the mutated ones. The Special ones.
Just like him. And that didn't make it any better for Crane.
"Freakazoid."
He snapped around, realizing he had gone into a sort of trance. It was like a daydream into something dark and terrifying. Do zombies...daydream? His eyes were on the ground, but he lifted his head up to see the tough fighter in her usual patient pose.
Again, Jack pulled him out of it by breaking the 'normality'.
"Yeah. I'm fine," he assured her. "...This place feels...weird."
"Weird how?"
"Like...it's familiar."
"You've been down here before?"
"No. I don't think so." He grumbled to himself. "I can't explain it."
Her face said it all: What kind of answer was that? It sounded like a bloody riddle. But it wasn't like he could expect her to figure it out.
"If you can't explain it, then it's not worth worrying right now."
"Yeah..." Keep his head focused. He needed that more than ever.
Jack kept her glance on him, far too unnoticeable for Freakazoid to notice. Admittedly, it was a little concerning—was it dangerous that he was obedient on sticking to a life-threatening task or dangerous that he 'felt familiar in the tunnels'? Men would turn back, the bells ringing loudly in their heads. But he was a bit of a pushover. It made Jack wonder if he was that easy as a human.
"We can always come back if it's too much for you-"
Then he stopped her, quickly lashing a claw on her shoulder.
Crane immediately noticed it around the bend. All thanks to his new eyesight. It was just like how he could see humans behind walls, how he could read off the pace of Jack's highlighted heart. How he could detect an enemy infected in his territory—ahem, wrong thinking—an infected coming at him.
His senses amplified the evidence clear as day, highlighted like the orange skeletons of humans: the claw marks on the wall and the faint tracks on the stone floor. Shoeprints and distorted footprints. Despite being in a place with water, the evidence still lingered. It told him a story that something like him had gone through here. And then many people came down here as well.
It all reeked. Or was it because of the sewage?
"Tracks. Heading that direction."
Jack kneeled down. She couldn't see the tracks, no matter how hard she tried—except for the clear claw indentations in the walls. She could have easily missed it if Freakazoid hadn't called out.
"Impressive. You're like a bloodhound."
Crane scorned, but this time he didn't complain. Because he had to keep his head in the game, like Jack.
She was a human with venomous blood. Infected with the Harran Virus and changed differently in a bizarre twist. And what did she do? She took on a mission to go test her blood on Specials. A suicide mission. Jack embraced it because she had an advantage.
Crane had been on near-death missions. He had run through treacherous streets in the dead of night. Adrenaline pumping into his legs to keep going—run, boy, run. All done as a human with whatever tool he could scramble with. And like Jack turning a bad situation around with everything she got, he might as well do the same with his new body.
So, fine. Time to be a bloodhound after the infected.
They were on the hunt; Freakazoid taking the lead and Jack watching the rear. The tunnels weaved far and wide, maybe as large as the city. It was about as complicated as the sewage system in Harran. However, the difference was visible when Crane compared both on the go.
It should have been packed with all sorts of zombies escaping the sun. A few stragglers stood aloof. But it was too deadly quiet. Like something had put them in line.
That was what Crane felt about these tunnels. He couldn't explain it, even if he tried. What he did understand was that the stragglers down there didn't entirely care about him. The first thing they wanted was to sink their teeth into the wandering human behind him. Her presence simply enticed their frenzy.
They had two outcomes. The clever ones would stop and back off because of the bigger threat right next to Jack. The unlucky met Freakazoid's silent twist of their necks or the Wild Dog's blood-soaked stab.
Clever was probably too strong a word to use, Jack thought. They had a carrot dangling in front of them, right in their lair, and some 'decided' not to tempt fate. All because they ended up snarling at Freakazoid before wandering off down the tunnels to who knew where.
Like a bunch of small dogs barking at a larger mutant before deciding that it was useless.
Perhaps it was because the competition was too much of a hassle for the undead normies. It was equivalent to a lion walking with an antelope while a clan of hyenas snarled close but didn't attempt to chow on the herbivore. But even then, hyenas were atrocious at winning their meals most of the time. The infected that did backed off without putting up a fight just turned around and got their faces smacked.
On the plus side, the two of them hadn't run into any Volatile.
"They really don't like you," Jack pointed as they traversed carefully along the pipes, above the murky water. It was odd to see the alienation; she would have thought of them trying to be jolly pals with Freakazoid-
A hand stopped her instead of getting a response. She followed his gaze to an opened gateway, down to a large chamber while above was lit up by sunlight through faraway grates.
Humans had gone through here. Humans had died down there too. The closer the two stepped towards the crime scene, the clearer it was about the story. A group of five men had been slaughtered and ripped apart. But their bodies weren't scattered and left mangled; they were placed down in sleeping positions with hands over their chests.
Anyone with a brain could read the mercy in the scenery. Even the dead men's eyes were closed shut, blood painted over their eyelids. Someone took the time to give them a proper burial.
Even more time to write his confession on the walls in blood.
To Jack, the grim state of the circumstances barely scratched her. Death had become part of her daily life, married to the hip. But Crane… The whole scene hit him pretty hard after he found himself sniffing the air.
The flesh had gone bad, but the smell of blood was wafting. Then Kyle quickly brushed those thoughts out. How could he think like that?!
What are you doing, he asked himself. You need to focus.
Jack kneeled down to one corpse; it wasn't as brutally mangled as the others. His hand was clutched into a fist by rigor mortis, stirring a gut feeling in Jack. She forced it open and couldn't help but sigh softly.
"Four-leaf clover." Jack brought the corpse's hand up to the light—the little bottle bracelet with a bowtie around the rim. While Crane looked at it with puzzlement, she continued, "This was the rescue group the Orphanage sent out."
Crane grimaced defeatedly. It wasn't old news to come across poor souls dead by the ravaging virus in one form or another. But every unfortunate death made it more depressing for him—a scratch and another scratch into the deeply dented hole in him.
So he did what he had always done: Crane pushed away the sadness and concentrated on the main attraction of the scene. It wasn't the bodies.
He glanced at the blood-soaked walls. As eerie as what Jack had proposed before—the idea of an infected capable of not just talking and walking but also writing—he partly still didn't buy it. But seeing actual letters drawn out into coherent words on a wall sent a shiver down his spine.
Then he felt anger when he read the blood-red letters aloud.
"'I'm sorry'." Sorry? A zombie was sorry? Crane shook his fist. "A zombie with a conscience... Too late for apologies now."
Jack held down the statement, "says the one who has a conscience," because the sudden noise immediately alarmed them. Weapon and claws up high.
It was faint. Soft, but it was there. Fifty feet away, maybe. Bouncing around the walls, they couldn't tell which direction it came from. Finally, Jack could make out what it was.
A man's pitiful sobbing.
That urban legend the children made? Now, it made the hair on the back of her neck stand.
"There's our Weeping Man," she broke the silence. Then she made a reality check: she was in a den full of the walking dead, one freak of nature and a crying zombie.
No one would believe Mad Jack if she had told them that.
They followed the sobbing, but it was more like Jack followed Freakazoid after the noise. A true bloodhound indeed, he listened hard for the source, perking up his head and moving around for his ears to catch the sound. Without a word, he went down one bend and into another as if hot on the track.
She did make one note. The deeper they ventured into the sewers, the less infected there were. Which was strange. She'd expected the place to be packed like sardines the deeper they went.
What got them spooked?
"What the-"
Freakazoid's actual voice prompted Jack to look over his shoulder. Tall zombie, almost blocked her line of sight in the tunnels. But she looked anyway and felt just as bewildered as he was.
The sewers were scary; no questions asked. Like every other sewer Jack had seen in the movies. The driest part of the tunnels they cautiously walked into, however, was uncannily foreboding.
The first thought was that it was junk, dumped in the watercourse. If only the furniture weren't placed specifically. A sofa, a coffee table, a dying potted plant were placed at one side, over a wet rug. Not too far away, were a table and four chairs.
Four plates, four pairs of culinary, three dolls—each sitting at one chair—and a pile of gutted organs dumped in the middle.
Someone made themselves riiiight at home down in the bellows of the city. Jack could only guess they took whatever they could find from the streets, maybe even the furniture store nearby, and set up down there. But something about the arrangement blended chaos with purpose.
Crane couldn't ignore it either, as much as he believed the guy was outright creepy. Trinkets, rusted tools, stolen bags, and empty bottles decorated the place with no rhyme or reason. And yet, actual toys and brightly colored kid furniture were carefully jumbled around a mattress without a frame. The deceiving replication of a child's room. And it wasn't just that; magazines, music CDs, broken cosmetic cases, and even a radio told him the person couldn't make up his mind on the age.
One thing was clear: the 'bedroom' was meant for a girl.
Did the culprit climb into the Orphanage, and steal the kids' toys or did he simply find this stuff lying around elsewhere? Even a grimmer thought…was the culprit a human?
What made it all the more unsettling were two things. One was more of the crude drawings. The deranged mind of their homeowner trying to brighten up the place with pictures of the sun, flowers, smiley faces—anything a kid would draw. Again, blood was their medium.
And there were the candles. It astonished Crane that these things littering on the floor and shelves hadn't gone out by the dampness or burned the furniture yet. But they were intentionally placed down to give light—odd as that sounded.
On a dresser, however, three candles stood out. And this wasn't the first time they had been placed there, as evidenced by the amount of stiff wax down the legs and onto the stone.
It was all an attempt to keep three important things alive. Each time with a fresh candle once the last one sizzled out.
The whole place felt like a memorial.
"This is downright creepy," Crane couldn't help but think that aloud. "This can't be our guy."
The moment he said that, he realized it could be. Jack's silence as she absorbed all of it reinforced that notion. A mind tortured just like him?
Maybe Jack was right. Maybe there was another Freakazoid down in the sewers.
That made the unsettling feeling inside him all the worse.
"-to the Path."
Both pairs of eyes turned to the soft sobbing. The sound was louder. Clearer. The Weeping Man returned to his adobe.
Jack had picked up one of the three dolls from the dining table. The moisture and humidity ruined the pretty dress the doll girl wore. In her haste, she put the doll back down, the movement disrupting the mother doll and the brother doll with a missing arm off their placements. She didn't notice a fourth one, a father, thrown under the table and out of sight from the family of three.
Freakazoid took back the lead again, but this time, his nose got overwhelmed with something other than the blood and gunky water. And other minor scents mixed together that he actually could sort out in his head. The horrible wonders of a zombie's scene of smell.
The culprit who built up his home had to also burn incense down there. Kinda pointless with where Jack and Crane were!
But the incense smelled familiar to him.
Then Freakazoid stopped. His sudden claw to Jack, in an attempt to stop her, nearly made her stagger back so much that she had to grab onto his arm for stability—the Beastly forgetting his own strength.
He put a talon on his lips.
Stay quiet.
He directed that talon to another big chamber. More furniture but less organized than the 'hospitable' rooms they walked through.
There, in the center, was the Weeping Man. On his knees.
From the back, she had the basic description. It was a normal, lean man in his forties to fifties. Bald. Wearing a buttoned-up, weathered-down shirt. The one important thing that stood out for the chap was the three red-colored ribbons, strapped on his right arm for some reason.
She didn't recognize a new trend in Scanderoon.
In the darkness, though, it was harder to see what he was holding in his arms. Big enough for a young teen. Long black hair. Most definitely dead if they had been pulled down below.
She shot a glance at Freakazoid. Just silence between them, but a wordless conversation was exchanged. So she shone out to one of the syringes for him to see.
It was clear in her body language that Jack would sneak right behind and test her blood on the beast.
Crane hesitated—that was a dumb idea. The sternness in her face, however, said she ignored his caution and told him this had to be discreet, so get ready to pull her out. It would be a lie to say they hadn't encountered anything like this before. What could this Special possible do?
Jack counted on another infected to help her fight an infected. Crazy. But Crane didn't refuse.
Alright. He stayed on standby, a hand out and ready to send the tendrils onto the Weeping Man. Kyle's silver-blue eyes watched tightly on both Jack and the man as she slowly crept forward.
A sordid moment of regret on her part; that she had voluntarily taken the lead on this one. For every step she carefully took, a line of muffled words slipped out of the Weeping Man.
"I-It's ok now."
A mumbled, hoarse voice, covering over the actual voice that no one could hear the human anymore. Just as Jack had heard the first time from Freakazoid. And she still wasn't used to the idea of an infected saying more than two words.
But she stayed focused on her job. Choice of weapon, a short knife she found lying around. Any blade, whether modified or not, as long as it was a clean one, she could run her fingers on the sharp edge and tattoo it in with a red streak. The amount didn't matter, as long as she'd stab the blade into her test subject.
The brunette bit down on her hiss as hard as possible, feeling her fingers deliberately sliced along the sharpness.
Half of her hoped for the outcome of the Weeping Man foaming at the mouth. The other half didn't, just so she could get her blood sample.
"Safe. It's safe down here," the bald man muttered with bated breath. To the young woman in his arms. "I'Il protect you this time."
Good, get distracted with his own delusions. It'd all be over. By Jack's venom or by their hands altogether.
Jack twirled the knife in her fingers, the blade pointing down. One thrust. The back had to be the weakest spot.
Then she finally managed to see the corpse in the Weeping Man's arm. Thanks to the faraway light above, she noted how stiff it had gotten, but in a pose too exaggerated to be rigor mortis. The skin shone in a white plastic glimmer, and the face was devoid of any facial features. No eyes or mouth. Not even nostrils.
In fact, there were also more 'corpses' a good five feet away from the Weeping Man. Another catalogued pile of junk, obviously stolen from a clothing store.
Wait, what-?
The Weeping Man's head suddenly rose up in a sharp lift. An aggressive sniff of the air.
Jack froze up. And Freakazoid stopped her too, with a grasp on her hand, ready to pull her to safety.
There was no need for her to look back and see his face. To be told to bail. They were in the clutches of a dangerous trap.
The trigger had gone off like a suppressed bang.
It was slow. Methodical. The Weeping Man glanced over his shoulder, showing yellow animalistic eyes, and the nearly-split jaw mandible.
Jack couldn't move. Couldn't speak. She even had to hold her breath. Her eyes just couldn't peel away from the sight. The crouched man was almost similar to Freakazoid in build and mutation.
A different kind of Volatile was the first thought anyone would have. But it wasn't. The body shape wasn't the same. The arms were too long. Boils had ruptured through the pale, white skin from his head and down to his shoulders, exposing the red flesh beneath the ragged shirt.
It was bewildering. From the back, he could have been picked as a normal man. But the front was where the truth lied. The weeping was what made it sellable for anyone who'd cross paths with the monster in the sewers.
An angry growl escaped out of the creature as he rose up threateningly. Jack couldn't read anything off his hideous face other than one word.
She was a threat to the Weeping Man.
"Get out!" he bellowed. "GET OUT!"
The outburst seemed to shake the whole chamber, echoing loudly through the tunnels. Like a snap of a twig, the Weeping Man charged towards Jack.
"Get back!" Crane hollered, the tendrils fired.
The Weeping Man gave a yelp, finding his feet bound and himself being pulled back. With a turn on his heels, Crane hurled the monster like a slingshot, watching him smash right into a wall.
That didn't do it, however. It only made the Special angrier as he climbed back onto his feet. He howled out a war cry and boosted his chest to show dominance!
This was his domain.
"GET OUT!"
The Weeping Man's eyes locked on Crane. He was the biggest danger. Like all the other infected that saw something was off about him, this Special also somehow knew.
And like any infected, its attack pattern was similar. Feral. Uncontrollable. Only with deadlier ways of attack.
Crane parried the attacks with his arm, brute strength dampened by his hardened skin. That nearly pushed him back a bit, but he held his ground. One nimble reversal bulldozed the freak to reel back—a shove and a palm to the chest.
Thank god he could recall his Judo techniques. All the moves and he wasn't rusty even after his 'zombification'. The benefits of still having one's mind, he supposed.
"Garh!" the Weeping Man snarled from a surprise attack at the back. Jack had circled around and swung the knife a few times skillfully, stepsiding away from the monster's flailing arms. Now distracted by her, the freak of nature didn't see Freakazoid tackle him down, distancing the space away from the human.
The beast cowered back. A sign that either the blood was working or that he was overwhelmed. Still, he did not go down.
"Jack!" Crane leapt in between the Weeping Man and her, his own body as a shield against any pounce. No telling what he could do in that state; when scared Virals saying "please, don't hurt me!" could lunge out.
"There are two of us and one of him. Just rope him-!"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" the infected man roared. Both vocally and through thought.
It was only a blink. Then all of a sudden, a ghastly figure phased into existence at the corner of his eyes. An infected friend came to the Weeping Man's aid. To Crane's left.
No! He also came from the right!
One swing of his arm-blade dematerialized the ghostly figure—just a puff of smoke. The second figure nearly put Jack into a spin as she gave a right hook to nothing but air.
Then the figures came back, almost guarding the Weeping Man. Their shapeless forms were given life, shaped almost like their creator.
"Three of them?!" Jack hollered.
So it wasn't just Crane!
"What the-"
"You're seeing this shit, right?"
"Yeah. I'm seeing this shit!"
"Lovely," Jack chided angrily. "First invisibility, now bloody clones!"
One shadow struck. Jack ignored that, diving after the 'real one'. The Weeping Man had stood in the middle-!
Then he suddenly vanished from his spot when she looked. Then he reappeared, huddling at her right.
"Omph!" A physical smack came at her with the strength of a punch. So swift that her block barely stopped the kinetic energy and swifter for the next attack, without giving Jack a chance.
Parry, Jackie. Parry!
She had no choice but to evade. It became a game of three cups. What she thought was the real one ghosted away from her right hook and during her spin, another Weeping Man came barreling for her side. All while the third one fought against Freakazoid. One clone trading places with another, the ball shuffling and swindling so fast in this shell game of a fight.
In a desperate attempt, Crane swung a claw at his ghastly opponent, only to slash the air again. Solid for one second and then nothing the next.
Without warning, the shadow in front of him dispersed out. As if something came out from the fog, the Weeping Man appeared, darting towards Kyle. Canines flashed out and talons were armed high up.
"Shit!" He sidestepped away. A second longer and he would have had his neck bitten off.
Moreover, he had gone through this fight before. Something so familiar and so intense, defying all sense of logic that Cane had thought he had lost his mind, other than hearing the Mother speak without an intact jaw mandible.
It was the same spooky ability he witnessed at the Countyside dam, downgraded, however. One second, the Mother loomed after him with the intent to kill as feral as a Volatile, the next second, clones of herself spilt towards him
It was confusing back then and even now with the Weeping Man. Just like Crane's strange spontaneous invisibility—how some people couldn't see him and how some did—he wanted them not to see him.
Something in certain people made it possible. It also worked on Jack. Following that line of logic, the Weeping Man's stunt could affect both him and Jack.
The Weeping Man wanted them to leave him alone.
"It's a trick of the eyes!" he exclaimed. "He's using them to hide himself!"
"Doesn't help me much!"
Kyle couldn't disagree. It wasn't helping him either. The new Volatile type had a mix of methodical and unpredictable movements, shifting quickly into one of the clones to conceal his ambush. Which shadow had the real infected?
"Screw this!"
Crane fired the tendrils, the left to the first and the right to the second. The tentacles snaked around three clones and when two faded off into nothingness, the momentum of his right kept going, wrapping around the infected's waist.
It was solid! The spell was broken.
Crane pulled with everything he got.
The ground was gone underneath the Weeping Man. He desperately tried to get back down, only to see the wall coming close to him.
THUD!
"Ragrh!" roared the Weeping Man. Like a jumping spider, he stuck his feet onto the wall to dull down the impact—talons digging into stone for an easy grip before he landed carefully to the floor.
Crane's eyes widened. Wait, that wasn't fair!
Neither was the monster turning the table around by pulling on his tendrils.
"Whoa!" he yelled, face first on the puddle-covered floor. Splash! He spat out whatever went into his mouth. " Blagh!"
A shriek prompted him to focus! Just as a Volatile leaping onto its prey, the Weeping Man plunged down. A claw hung up high and bored into the ground Crane quickly rolled away from.
Get back onto your feet, he thought. And swiftly, he dodged left and right from the swinging attacks and snaps. When did this freak get a sudden burst of adrenaline?! It seemed like he was getting faster the more frustrated he was becoming-
Crane didn't see the swinging right hook.
Pow!
"Gah!" Crane staggered back, feeling that side of his face sore. Was his jawbone cracked? He clutched his teeth down to hear a click inside. "Ow..."
He had just forgotten he wasn't fighting against something below his own level. They were against something with inhuman strength, unpredictable among Specials. Another strike would knock his jaw right off and Kyle could go on without his somewhat coherent ability to vocally talk.
Dammit! The Weeping Man wasn't slowing down-
"Gragh!" Out came the battle cry, and suddenly, the brunette jumped onto the monster's back. The blade thrust at his side while Jack held on to the saddle with an insane plan in mind.
Or maybe it was more out of impulse, a replication of the fight Crane had in his feral state the first time he met Jack. The Weeping Man desperately tried to pull the pest off him, howling in sheer agony from the stab. It was the wild thrusting was like a bull—the brunette had no choice but to hold on for dear life, lassoing her legs around the beast's chest.
"Jack!"
She couldn't hear Freakazoid under the horrible wailing or the thick concentration she put forth. It was another rodeo for her and like the last 'candidate' she faced, this one would retaliate. This time, she was well prepared, thanks to her fistfight with Freakazoid.
Her pearly whites sank down on his shoulder. Pus and blood hit her tastebuds, her mind urging at her to spit it out. But she held down and pulled a streak of flesh.
Go down!
The next cry was animalistic out of the Weeping Man. Terrifying. The shaking grew worse. Jack didn't let go, except for a spit of the meat out her mouth.
The more aggravated the Weeping Man became, the faster the venom pumped through his bloodstream.
So go down. Already!
Crane thought. He thought as much as he could, as fast as he could. How could he save Jack from this predicament? The ex-kickboxer held on for the ride of her life, and any second, she'd be flung right off. He rushed over and seized the bald zombie, judo technique style.
It was a wrestle between two monsters: which one would bring the other down first? A hard, monstrous kick at the knee forced the Weeping Man to fall on it.
The sudden change in force nearly shook Jack. But she didn't fall off. She hooked her arm well around the monster's neck for dear life.
The other arm was free too. A good hook right to the abdomen, where the wound was. Hit him where it hurt. She gave another and another. Five hard jabs should be good enough for Freakazoid to have an advantage in this brawl, taking the stance of a judo master going on the defense. Crane grappled his opponent by the shoulder—he didn't have to be delicate or hold back when Jack had already proven to him that she wasn't fragile.
It was just this; how strong was this damn zombie?!
Even with the pulls to make him yield, the Weeping Man didn't go down completely.
"Go down, already!" Jack snapped, preparing the sixth one. "Go down!"
" GET OFF! "
It was a loud explosion out of the Weeping Man. A sudden rush of adrenaline was enough for him to push both fighters off him—nearly sending Jack across the chamber floor.
The Weeping Man had enough! With that new menace and his prey bothering him, there was now a disgusting taste that urged him to gawk. The moment he tasted the blood, he tried to spit it out. It wasn't like the delectable flesh he had been feasting on. The woman in red was horrible!
The taste lingered horribly in his mouth, no matter how hard he tried. The burning sensation circulated throughout his body like a feverish wave.
The Weeping Man 'felt' wrong. Everything about this was wrong! With a couple more forceful gasps, the new mutant hurriedly turned tail and ran deeper into the tunnels.
Good riddance! Crane took a moment to breathe and regain his stamina. That thing wasn't normal! It was far worse than anything he had faced. Even his new form? That monster was on the same playing field as he was, and still, it took a run for his money.
There was no reason to chase after the Weeping Man—a lost cause at this point. He turned back to Jack and immediately examined the bite on her arm. The ex-kicker looked like she had gotten the wind punched out of her, her eyes frozen to the tunnel the monster had run down.
"That's it. This is getting out of hand." He took the bleeding arm and went to work bandaging it up.
Still nothing from her. Shit, did that fight really take a lot out of her? Or was the blood loss making her light-headed?
"C'mon. Let's get you out of here-"
"He didn't go down."
Crane raised an eyebrow at that sudden statement. Or whatever expression a zombie like him could even give. And only up close did he realize Jack wasn't tired—her eyes filleted as wide as dinner plates.
"He didn't go down," Jack gasped again. Her shoulders sunk low at the growing disbelief and her mouth was so wide open a fly could go in.
Again, she repeated the words.
"He didn't go down!"
Those words finally hit Crane. He understood.
The Weeping Man didn't drop dead. He took as much poisonous blood as Jack could give. And he still stood on both feet and ran.
That meant antibodies.
They had found their candidate.
"How can an infected still run when he's been poisoned?!"
"Didn't slow you down the first time around!" Jack uttered way back as she paced herself down the swaying tunnels. It was impossible for one human to catch up after two Specials—one chasing after the other.
She couldn't tire herself too fast either. The sewers wouldn't make a final resting place for Mad Jack the Wild Dog. The only thing was to see how this chase would finish once she'd meet Freakazoid to the end. But to where? The Weeping Man ran over pipes and through broken bars, better than any athlete at the Global Athletic Games from last year.
These Specials...they were truly on a whole different scale.
But not to Crane.
He was on their level—he could now outrun any runner by miles. If Rocket was alive—the runner who deserted Rais's faction and challenged Crane to a series of agility courses in the Old City—well, he'd have his jaw dropped at the sight of an infected zooming through those courses. Faster than past Kyle's timings.
It was nothing but tunnel vision. The further he sprinted, the softer Jack's footprints across the shallow water grew softer. If he was any second late, he would miss which path the monster would scramble in the labyrinth.
They couldn't let this chance go.
If it wasn't for the fact the freak of nature had more than just a common zombie's brain cell! At a chokepoint, the monster threw shut a gateway behind him. Enough for three seconds to slow Crane down as he vaulted across the ceiling grates.
"Get back here! " Never had he thought the day would come for him yelling at a zombie.
The tunnels became bigger with an uphill harder, the end being a large pit and an emergency ladder leading upwards. A good amount of space for Crane to web his way up and pick up the seconds he lost but his exerted undead heart shot up to his throat once he reached the end and leapt to the ladder.
"What-?!"
"GAH!"
The shouts came first before he saw the four orange skeletons two rooms away from the top. Then came the panicked utters about one of theirs fallen.
People! What were they doing down here?!
"Don't shoot! You'll bring the horde here!"
"He needs first aid…" Click went a walkie talkie. "Perimeter One-"
"Forget it."
His worry dispersed once he reached the top and peered around the corner. In fact, it was replaced by caution. Shit! It had to be mercenaries. And the elite kind. Listed and hired by GRE.
Near the maintenance exit, the three heavily-armed soldiers surrounded one bleeding teammate. No sign of the Weeping Man, other than the exit door wide open. Despite the man's gargling pleas, his own companion kneeled and grabbed the side of his head.
Snap!
It was never a joke—Crane had once listened to one elite brag about being 'supreme' over a cowardly rookie. They weren't like the usual black-attired thugs he had faced on the rooftops back in Harran or the ones at the parking lot. They did the dirtiest work that Crane wouldn't do.
"Shit."
"Call it in. Captain's already infected. No room for errors."
Sure, label that as a mercy kill. Because their man down would only be deadweight if kept alive and with Antizin. There was no shred of remorse on the mercenary's stern face.
Regardless, this was bad. Forget about the Weeping Man. He had to go back and find Jack-
THUD!
"Ugh!" He didn't see the hilt of a suppressed rifle. Nor the fifth GRE grunt. Where did he come from? One of the halls?
"There's another freak here!"
"Would you shut up?!" one of his men whispered harshly from afar. Correction, a woman's voice hissed that. "All of you want to wake up the damn dead!"
What a predicament Crane was in! It took a moment for his head to stop spinning. Even longer for him to get back up.
He was indeed spent again. Crane just needed a second to catch his breath. Moreover, all this bad luck stacking together has annoyed him to the max.
They had lost their candidate, and GRE had to be down in the sewers with him. What was more...
He was hungry.
Tired, beaten, wet, cold and ravenous.
A hunger that he had been keeping down for the longest time, his patience had run out.
"There's something weird about this one." He could barely register what his attacker was saying to the other men.
"Weird how?"
Something was wrong.
Stay calm, whispered the savage voice, scratching at the back of his skull. He needed sustenance.
They needed it to regain their strength.
No. He had to go back to Jack.
"Sedate him or kill him. Just hurry up so we can leave this place."
Let me out the door.
The sharp shing of a combat knife eventually resounded to Crane's ears. Step by step, the distance closed in.
Or else you'll die.
Crane lifted his head, canines tightening—clicking—together behind the slipping scarf. His silver, boorish, dilated eyes reflected on the grunt's goggles. Behind them, the soldier's eyes widened like dinner plates.
The Hunter lashed out with a howl.
A/N: 12/8/2020 Hello again all and yup, a new chapter which frankly, I didn't expect to get this fast or the direction it actually took.
Granted, this is a chapter with familiar parts from older chapters but thanks to the planning and brainstorming (and many helping hands from friends and the Dying Light discord) it will work in a way that will also help with future pacing down the line and development on Crane's...adaptation with his circumstances. I had always felt like I've missed out on opportunities or could have written back in my original version with him in a lot of ways but never was able to change them because of how previous story elements locked the story into one path.
Thankfully, revamping this entirely has shaped how I originally wanted to write for some cases and get out new ideas. So it was a fun chapter to write. Even fun to think of the fight scene for this new type (or old one for some of you older readers btw) as it makes me wonder how far can this virus do in my writing, especially with some common traits seen in the game and DLC (or hallucinations). There's a sort of level that the virus isn't giving infected superpowers but more of it's tricking people into thinking, if that's the best way I can describe. But that's all future writing, too far ahead for me to think on yet.
Also, the proudest moment I have with writing this is entire and the last chapter too, the Orphanage and Lina. I've never was able to write what happened to her father in the original except assumptions and as horrible as it sounds but this is a story, it came out better than I had thought it would. I'm hoping that more 'human' moments do reflect down the storyline, not with just Jack but every character Crane meets - good, neutral and bad. And so far, I've actually encouraged myself that I'm doing those moments the further I go.
Anyhow, enough talking. It may take a bit more time for the next chapter so please be patient. I apologise for the cliffhanger but then again, it was how it had to end and the next chapter will, fortunately, be a moment of respite. Moreover do expect there may be original parts or rewritten old lines but they'd only be dependant on how the story goes. I am trying my best to change those up so it's not something you've already read twice.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter and are on the edge of your seat and please review. Any constructive criticism or creative DL-related ideas are welcomed.
9/2/21 - Added new lines, fixed mistakes and edited parts according to new timestamp from pilot.
25/2/22 - Went over a full chapter edit with some fixes, retwists, deletes and adjustments. Reworked the intro to the Weeping Man
9/1/23 - Final fixes and changes, I hope