Chapter Summary
- SILENT WITNESS
I met Spike. Timur and Buckshot... But they don't know that I'm alive... They can't. I have to hide myself while Jack stands as my voice. I can't even ask about this 'Incident' at the Tower... Spike has a plan to get everyone to Scanderoon but it went up in smoke because of a breach in a Safe Zone. And there was that infected person with a mask... It knew my name. - Kyle
TWENTY-SIX: BACK TO SQUARE ONE
Stability slowly returned to Terminus.
Spike couldn't believe it as he reached the entrance. He had thought they'd lost the entire depot. Everything had gone to hell.
Yet, not everything in the station was lost. Some were injured and others were grieving, but they still had their lives.
Another day to survive.
The question, could they fully recover? It gnawed at him but Spike pressed on, directing his men to stick to the protocols: keep the Virals out, tend to the fallen, and check the defenses for any holes.
Every second counted—noon was already approaching.
Spike passed the station and moved into the Loading Bay, sifting through the debris. He found one of the lead engineers, leading a few rookies to douse the last of the flames.
"Demir!" he called. "That explosion-"
"It's alright," Demir assured him as he settled his crossbow aside and rubbed his bruised shoulder from the recoils. "That lady and her friend held the line long enough for us to do a patch job."
"Jack?"
"That her name? They couldn't have come at a better time."
"Any injuries?"
"Few scratches. Lost three during that breach… And…"
Demir's glance shifted towards the one thing Spike couldn't ignore even if he tried.
The inferno had died down. But the twisted, scorched remains of a train were a painful sight… All that hard work, gone in an instant.
It would have been D-Day in two days… All they had been missing was getting ready to tear down the Quarantine wall.
Demir sighed, exhausted. "We're not getting out of Harran, Spike."
Spike clenched a fist, fighting off the creeping resignation. That had been the entire goal—getting everyone he managed to save out of Harran. Those from the Slums, and the Border.
They were almost ready…
But Spike steeled himself. If he were to break like he nearly did on top of the rooftop, then he might as well call it quits and leave.
"We'll continue this at the station," Spike said firmly. "…Mark my words, I'll get everyone out."
"Yeah… Sure." Demir was rooted in his spot. But he wasn't one to mourn over a train—Tunc had been lamenting over the burning Hilzi for the last five minutes. So eventually, he headed to the station.
Spike hurried off, searching for the woman in red and her hooded companion.
A minute later, he skidded to a stop once he spotted them by the container.
"Jack."
Spike could have sworn he saw a dark look on her face. But it vanished as she turned gracefully, with her charismatic smile.
"How's everything holding up?"
"Good. Thanks to you both." Spike said, exhaling a mix of relief and exhaustion. "...That offer still on the table?"
"Always," she replied. Her quiet friend didn't object, either.
Crane watched the man waver. No. More like he couldn't be more happy to hear her answer. Spike needed all the help they could get.
"Follow me." And Spike hustled down the tracks, leading them to the Border station.
What was once a place for travelers to relax and wait for departures had been repurposed into a base of operation for the engineers
Among the blue-uniformed workers with soot, sweat, and blood, a few stood out—former station and train staff. While they lacked the experience to understand trains, that didn't mean they couldn't help however they could.
The air was heavy, however. Their numbers had thinned in just an hour, with some shaken and some holding themselves together. Two medics in waterproof jackets worked quickly, patching up the injured. Few dared ask what had gone wrong.
Losing a Safe Zone was one thing. Trying to recover it was another.
Spike led the Runners to the heart of the station: the dispatch room, where Demir had arrived moments earlier and wasn't alone.
Two figures sat near the radio: a stewardess and a radio operator with his hand on the gooseneck microphone, both frazzled. In a corner, a man sat sniffling, his swollen eyes and red nose that Crane wondered if he had lost something precious during the breach.
"Demir," Spike broke the silence, "are there any other trains we can use?"
"You're serious?"
Before Demir could start, the operator exploded from his seat. The chair slammed against the wall with a thud.
"You want to try this again?!" Andrej snapped, voice thick with frustration. "Six weeks! Six weeks of just…waiting."
Marisol, the stewardess, with six years of service, was well-known for her patience under pressure. She had managed her team, stayed organized, and calmed displaced passengers when crises arose. But nothing in her training could have prepared her for the past several months.
"Andrej-" she tried to calm him down.
"We've been living next to a Quarantine Wall, for fuck's sake!" Andrej gestured wildly, unable to contain his anger. How absurd and terrifying the very idea was for six weeks. "Sinan warned us this could happen and look at where he is! Dead! Along with half of the crew!"
The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Everyone in the room had seen the bodies and no one argued back.
To Andrej and Marisol, watching death on a screen had been gnawing with fear and dread. For Demir and Tunc, they couldn't save as many people as they had wished, despite all the best defenses and traps Spike's team had prepared.
The two newcomers were the quietest. Crane glanced at Jack, expecting her to intervene with her magic but she stayed quiet, watching.
Sometimes, some explosions were for the better. Let the fire out and the quarrels end instead of turning them into wildfire. The steam had already left a boiling kettle before they entered the dispatch room—Jack stepping in now would make things worse.
The problem was Spike.
Never had Crane seen him…falter. Not once. But he could see the mask slip a little. Spike wrestled with every ounce of control he had in him, gaze averted.
For the first time, Spike now looked both emotionless…and emotional.
"We've put everything into this harebrained plan when we should be looking for alternatives. Any alternative," Andrej barked.
"If you got ideas, why don't you share them, you prick," the red-nosed man mocked.
"Tunc," Demir warned but the tension hung thick.
The operator's anger still fumed but just like Tunc in his corner, he was too mentally drained to throw a punch back.
But Andrej had his eyes burned into Spike.
"Maybe I will," he muttered. "I'm not wasting another minute in this God-forsaken place."
His cold glance swept the room, expecting anyone to follow. Abandon the train idea. No one moved—not even Marisol.
Seeing that he was alone in this futile protest, Andrej's scowl deepened. He shot one last look at the two Runners—faces he didn't know but faces he couldn't trust.
He couldn't take it anymore. He had to leave the suffocating room.
"We're back to square one. Whether you like it or not."
Bam!
The door shut behind them.
Andrej's outburst left its sting in the room. Square one, the worst kind of news to hear in their whole situation.
The worst thing to be in after putting so much effort into surviving.
And for what…?
The first to break the heavy silence was the stewardess. Unintentionally, with a raspy cough. Shaking her head at how poorly things had gone, Marisol stepped forward, her professional poise intact out of habit.
"I'm sorry," Marisol apologized on Andrej's behalf. "...He didn't mean it-"
"Don't waste your breath, Marisol. He'll come to his senses," Tunc grumbled, fed up in his chair.
Demir, however, heaved a deep sigh and focused on the conversation instead. "...Whatever train we have left isn't gonna cut it. And the ones that already left the Loading Bay… They're out there. Somewhere."
"But they're dangerous."
Jack's voice cracked through the tension in the air. Her rigid demeanor was gone; hands in pockets, wide smile, and taking a casual posture about herself.
"Four months is plenty of time to turn them into Viral breeding grounds," she added.
Tunc frowned. "Sorry, who are you?"
Spike cleared his throat. "Jack Brecken," he introduced, first gesturing to her before motioning to the hooded man next to her. "And…"
Crane flinched, caught off guard by the introduction.
"...Kevin."
An odd moment of hesitation out of him, Jack noted. And for an even shorter moment of sadness after introducing himself.
"They've saved our asses out there, Tunc," Demir vouched.
"Hmph," while Tunc was appreciative, he crossed his arms.
"We can get you a locomotive," Jack continued her pitch. "One of them has to be in working order."
"Lady. We don't even know how bad of a state they're in."
"Oh, but you do," Jack quipped, her eyes scanning the room.
Computers, papers, and scattered notes—schedules.
"Departure times. Where they were last headed. The most recent ones."
Tunc scowled. "Ma'am, we just fix trains. The ones who know that stuff aren't around. And Andrej just left!" He shot a palm to the door in a fierce swing.
"I-I…" The frail-looking lady thought she had made a mistake as she spoke up, catching all eyes on her. She clenched her hands nervously and held her herself together. "I can read the schedules… They should be in the manager's office downstairs."
Jack's grin widened. "That's a start."
With such infectious optimism, Marisol hurried out of the dispatch room in her worn pumps.
Demir's tone then turned serious. "Hiliz already ate up a lot of resources."
"We can comb the Docks for scrap metal," Spike added, "as for the Quarantine wall… Gino's team is still searching."
"We'll worry about that later." Demir said, then turned to Tunc, silent and contemplative. Was his coworker not sold? "Tunc?"
"...It can't be just any train," Tunc spoke out, austere. "We need something meaner than a commuter."
"You know the trains better than anyone," Jack encouraged.
Tunc nodded and stood up from his seat, looking more determined than before. "I'll help Marisol out. She's only gotten over that cold."
"I'll let the others know the plan's still on," Demir said.
Both engineers headed off on their tasks, leaving three in the dispatch room.
"So," Spike started, leaning against a table. "Those missing people you're looking into. Got names?"
"Won't that stretch your crew too thin?" Jack asked out of courtesy.
Spike shook his head, his demeanor more serious now. "Anyone who's worked with me knows a promise goes a long way... I'm a man of my word, miss."
"Then I'll hold you to that," she droned. "I'm looking for a nurse named Eva."
Spike's head jerked back, taking a second. "You don't have to look too far. She's downstairs, tending the wounded."
Both Runners exchanged a stunned look. They expected a long search for one of the names on Jack's list—or worse, bad news.
"Well, that was easy," the man who called himself 'Kevin' uttered, to which Jack agreed. One name off the list.
"We're also looking for Umit Solak," Jack continued.
Spike blinked. "The archaeologist from the news? What about him?"
"He was in Scanderoon with other survivors until the GRE raided their base and brought him here."
Spike's face contorted. There were many questions he had from that one sentence Jack gave. As short and straightforward an answer she gave, there was surely a lot to unpack.
That did tell him one thing: how bad Scanderoon was right now.
"Any idea why?" he asked, wary. Hearing GRE was always a bad sign.
Jack shrugged. "Does the GRE need a reason?"
"Hmph," Spike gave a dry laugh, sharing her cynicism. "Whatever it is, it can't be good for anyone else. I'll put out a team and ask around."
"Much obliged, mate."
Silence crept back again; this time a little unanticipated to make Spike realize something was off.
"...That's all?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"At the moment."
Spike narrowed his gaze, confused. Two names but no mention of her cousin? Not even to ask how he was doing? He wasn't even the first person from that list.
And he wasn't alone—Crane had also expected her to ask about Brecken.
But…nothing. Just Jack's usual catty smile.
"...You're not gonna ask about your cousin?"
"I reckon I can talk to him myself. If you're here, he has to be close by." A shift in Spike's posture—nothing could escape Jack's eyes, now sharp with her serious glint. "...But you know exactly where he's been."
Spike straightened with a stern look. Caught in the act, despite his best efforts to deflect. Much like Crane when he first met Jack, Spike quickly realized he'd need to tread carefully around her.
Regardless, he gave some leeway.
"…He's searching for someone right now. A friend of ours has gone missing."
Crane stiffened beneath his disguise, guilt concealed behind his scarf.
Spike's words cut deeper than Volatile claws. Four months of Kyle's absence—he had learned a lot and still not enough, only to come to some terrible conclusions himself.
This 'Incident' was the key… But…
"Must be a very good friend to just up and leave like that," Jack remarked.
Spike's faint, bittersweet smile told its own story. "The kind you can count on when things get ugly."
Please, stop. Crane clenched his teeth. It felt like balancing on a tightrope—one slip, and Spike might see through the thin disguise of a 'normal survivor' standing in the same room.
Jack's expression softened, her concern subtle yet clear. She knew better than to push further, not without opening up something delicate.
"As long as he's safe, that's fine by me," she caved. "Keep me in the loop, please."
A genuine request.
Spike nodded, his tone shifting. "You both need a place to stay."
Oooh, a change in his tone. And here, Jack thought it'd take another day or two to soften the man's tough exterior.
"Your Refuge wasn't exactly rolling out the welcome mat back there," she said bluntly. She hadn't forgotten the cold treatment from that one bloke, Timur.
"They're scared. Not cruel," Spike spoke on everyone's behalf. "We have a quarantine section for those infected. It's just... stricter."
"We'll be on our best behavior," Jack assured him.
"Eva will help you settle in. In the meantime, I'll ask the Refuge to keep things civil during your stay." He hesitated for a moment. "...I just need you to promise me something."
The old "You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours". However, Jack could see the man looking uncertain. Whatever he had in mind? It was a heavy and dangerous one.
"…Don't mention Scanderoon," he finally admitted. "They can't handle something like that...not now."
Jack's grin softened, understanding the gravity behind his request.
"That's fair. But they'll know sooner or later, mate," Jack stated that fact. "Even if you get them out of Harran."
A nod of the head that started slow but grew furiously. Keeping it secret would only cause more problems down the line. But what other option was there?
If Scanderoon had fallen, then everywhere was infested too.
"...You plan to tell them?" Spike asked, his voice sounding…almost defeated.
Jack shook her head. "I've walked this road one too many times, Spike… It's your call."
Spike's brow furrowed, his hands fidgeting—a first Crane had ever seen him do. But he understood. Brecken wasn't around. Spike had become the anchor for the survivors from the Slums, the people from the Tower and whoever was left in the Border.
One man, dozens of lives depending on him for leadership.
Spike's responsibilities had undeniably increased to the point it was overwhelming, the stress only chipping into his stern demeanor.
The recent train explosion and the Terminus's breach? Tip of the iceberg.
"...Give me some time," Spike sighed. "I'll…tell everyone about Scanderoon."
It was an answer that Jack neither liked nor disliked. It was a hard choice that she wouldn't want herself to bear either.
But it had to be done.
"Just don't wait too long," she said softly.
Spike agreed with a solemn glance. But regardless of when, adding more tinder to the flames? He could only imagine the blow back and he was not alone on that thought.
Jack left first. Crane, however, was halfway through the door before he stopped and looked back.
In the dim dispatch room, Spike was contemplating. Deciding how he had to handle being the bearer of bad news. Sleepless nights and endless worries had taken their toll—he rubbed his temple, trying to ward off the fatigue.
It was only then that Spike noticed his presence.
"Something wrong?" he asked the hooded man.
Crane froze. He could say something.
Just drop the disguise and tell Spike. That Kyle was back and he could help him. And Brecken could come back. If not, then say anything else, rather than standing around like an idiot!
Even a "it'll be alright" or "hang in there" could go a long way.
"...Nothing," Crane muttered before slipping out and closing the door behind him.
Coward.
Crane thought he was prepared. No, he was an idiot to think that. And worse? The whole experience unearthed the bad memories in him.
It was never easy in the past, to keep up a facade. He hid his GRE status; he kept so many secrets from everyone, all because he had been told he had a job to do. For the greater good bullshit.
And despite ditching that guise, he never dared to admit who he was before Harran.
Because he thought he could make things right…
Crane bit down on his guilt and steeled himself, before strolling down the corridor to where Jack had gone. He made up his mind, like he had done in the past.
He had to make things right.
And he would need Jack more than ever. If he couldn't interact with anyone as…mutant Kyle, then hopefully, she could continue covering him as his front.
Easy said than done. One wrong word, and Jack might uncover the truth he wasn't ready to share…
"People might think you're at a proper send-off," Jack chimed from the mezzanine, glancing at the crowd below.
Her timing was always impeccable—prying just when Crane felt like hell. Thoughtful, yet frustrating. But this time, he was ready. Ditched the emotions aside before facing Jack.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he shot back. "My life's a horror movie. But without the costume."
"I don't know," she teased back. "The tragic tale of a reformed zombie who won't stop playing hero for the humans? Sounds like a blockbuster to me."
"...Yeah, well, I'd prefer a comedy. At least, you get a happy ending."
"That's what any of us wants, really," Jack replied, understanding too well of his underlying message. "Doesn't mean the monster has to shy away again."
But a monster's a monster. He could play the 'reformed zombie' like Jack said but there were times that he was staying on the edge again.
That other self in him was softer than usual, maybe docile… All the more deceiving.
"And we've made so much progress too," she continued with her playful ton.
"The Junction was one thing. But this…" His gaze dropped to the people downstairs, going on with their disastrous day as best as they could.
All while oblivious that the 'reformed zombie' was in the same building as them.
"Everyone is barely hanging by a thread."
"It's no different anywhere else, mate. If they find out and come screaming, well, I have a backup or two in mind."
"I'm serious, Jack." Crane's tone sharpened. "They've been in this outbreak just as long as you and your people have, right?"
Jack didn't reply, eyes averted. All the more that told him how similar the experiences between her faction and the Refuge were.
She had her moments, as well. Tired, scared, and believing the end would come for her.
"...I don't want to be the reason they go through hell all over again."
Again, Jack studied him, but not with her usual scrutiny. This time, she absorbed his words, feeling the weight they carried. It wasn't often Freakazoid showed vulnerability.
"You're pretty hung up about this," she observed. "More so than ever."
Crane exhaled. The door to his closet of skeletons had cracked open. He could stop there— no. He would be running away again.
"I've seen this city fall apart, Jack. Watched people lose hope…"
Brecken.
Everyone from the Tower.
And now Spike.
"Lost good people."
Dr. Zere.
Rahim.
And Jade.
"I'm back in Harran… I'm not gonna stand by and watch everything fall apart… I won't."
There. He said it. Not everything. And it wasn't news to Jack that he originally came from Harran. That he had been in the Harran outbreak, bitten and infected.
"...Then let's get started."
Jack's wide smile spread across her face, warm and infectious.
"Once we talk to Eva, get ourselves comfortable, we head out and help these good folks."
The weight on Crane's shoulders lifted slightly—she pushed the right buttons without taking something in return. Moreover, seeing that confidence in her made him believe in himself a little more.
The amount of trust she has in him, a sentient infected, was immense.
He'd still call her crazy for that.
"Thank you."
"Where's that coming from?" Jack jested, heading for the stairs. "Anyone can give a pep talk."
Maybe, but they'd be screaming at his ugly, mutated face.
Kyle chuckled softly, shaking his head. It was then that his gaze dropped to the item he'd been holding in his claw.
"Jack," he called, stopping the brunette and holding up the broken necklace.
Surprised, she patted her neck to feel it empty before giving a huff of relief.
"Bloody hell… If those two found out, they'd blabber to the Ravens, hold a funeral, and be halfway through a eulogy before I can stop them."
So it had some significance.
"Who exactly?" he asked.
"Who else. Ender and Riza." she replied, inspecting the damage on the necklace string. "Many thanks, Freakazoid."
"They'd blow a gasket over a pretty necklace?"
"It's really a dog tag. In case a Raven ends up dead or missing."
"Huh." Not a bad idea, Crane thought, and it did show to him how much military discipline the Ravens followed. "Any reason for the white string?"
"String?" She glanced at it again. "That's a small detail to take note."
"Stands out a lot," he uttered in a feign of 'it's so obvious'.
"That it does... Asem would know. She had these made."
Asem again.
Crane had long since decided to keep his distance from anyone, old or new. And that included the Ravens, regardless of how knitted they were with the Tower. He learned enough from Jack's blabbering mouth and that was all he needed to know. An arm's distance with any group so that he couldn't feel attached or soft.
That said…the Outskirts wasn't far from the Countryside.
Those thoughts were dismissed once Kyle saw Jack trying to tie the necklace.
"Here."
Crane was still a gentleman through and through—he offered a claw to take the necklace and help her.
Jack blinked in surprise. What, was he really seen as incapable of showing kindness?
But with a grateful smile, she handed the trinket over, turned around and pulled her braid down, exposing her neck. Crane did what he could with the challenge of using sharp talons to tie at where the snap.
Crane couldn't help but notice the little details about the petite woman. For one, her whole braid had smaller braids with a few silver beads hidden in the tangles.
Then there were the scars, what he could only see around the neck, like the bite mark by Lina. One ear with a cut from a pulled earring, maybe. And the few small cuts and scratches hidden by the grey scarf, down her neck...
Stop it, Crane scolded himself for staring and quickly finished the job.
"Done." He then stepped back, claws down. "...Not my finest work."
Jack gave the coin emblem a firm tug to feel the necklace secured. "Good enough for me."
And there was a wry glance back at him, the corners of her mouth curling upwards.
Jack went on ahead.
Crane blinked, processing what had just happened. Or if it really did happen?
He coughed, then followed her down the stairs—get his head back to work.
Downstairs, the waiting area had been turned into an impromptu medical bay. Wounded survivors filled the benches turned into emergency cots, their faces pale.
"Need more gauze over here." A wiry man with gray streaks in his hair worked on stopping the bleeding of an engineer's leg. Shredded by a Volatile's claws before he was pulled to safety.
The woman hurried from a nearly empty supply pack, giving him what he requested. "We only have a few rolls left, Harun."
His frown already deepened as it was. Medical supplies were already running slim at both the Terminus and the Refuge.
"...We'll just have to make them count then," he murmured. Once the current patient he tended was done, they'd be past the crucial point. "Do a quick vital check on the next one."
"Sure." As the woman moved on to asset another patient, three benches down, she noticed two strangers approaching the medbay.
"Eva, yes?" Jack called out.
"If you have something wrong, you'll have to wait like everyone else," Eva replied curtly, all too preoccupied with her task at hand.
"Actually, someone asked me to find you."
"Really? Who?"
The medic was clearly tired with a bit of a short fuse, seemingly ready to entertain Jack if she didn't like the answer.
Now Jack knew where Siv got her attitude from.
"A young girl named Siv."
A miss. But something slowly clicked in the woman's head.
Understandably so. It wasn't unusual for a parent to be unaware of every nickname their child had, let alone their social life outside family.
Jack continued, "Dyed blond, brown eyes, bit of a tomboy. Very passionate about parkouring that I can only imagine you, as her mother, have mixed feelings about."
Eva's blue eyes widened. First, disbelief. Then shock swelled up inside her: a mother's instinct in the middle of their circumstances. Not a medic on duty.
"…Silvia?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Jack smiled warmly. It must have been very personal for Siv that she never told anyone at the Junction her real name. Teenagers were like that, however.
"She's been waiting to see her mother."
Eva's lips trembled—ecstasy and exhaustion mingling. For more than four months, she hadn't heard from her little girl. So to hear her name from a stranger… She was all too overwhelmed to ask any questions that she desperately reached out to Jack.
She needed to know!
Eva barely registered the tall hooded man stopping her from tripping, nearly knocking Jack down with her. But she couldn't care about herself. Silvia! Her daughter, Silvia!
"Is she safe?" Eva demanded, her stern facade cracking. "Tell me she's okay!"
"She's safe, hon," Jack reassured her as she helped the distressed mother steady herself. "We can talk more after you're finished with work."
Eva's mind raced with a thousand questions, but then she noticed the entire medbay was watching.
Harun was greatly alarmed, nearly taking his hands off the gauze. A few conscious onlookers seemed to think that something had happened to rile Eva up but Freakazoid waved them off, that she was alright.
"Y-Yes." Eva nodded fiercely, wiping her eyes. "...Five minutes."
"We're not going anywhere," Freakazoid assured her—his hoarse voice didn't deter her with fright.
With a deep breath, Eva regained her composure. Both medics resumed their work, restoring calm to the medbay while the two Runners waited patiently on the side.
Unbeknownst to everyone downstairs, the commotion had been picked up in the dispatch room.
Spike wasn't planning to watch the security monitor, lost in his thoughts first but the sight of a visibly shaken woman in the waiting area would catch anyone's attention. But the discord was handled swiftly, thanks to the newcomers.
Letting two infected strangers into the survivors' refuge was unconventional, but it brought a much-needed break to the stagnant tension everyone had been feeling. It gave Spike an ease of mind and a sliver of hope.
Just a little, though…
It would be nice if Crane was-
Spike frowned at himself, cutting off the thought.
Nothing has happened to Crane. It'd be foolish to think otherwise, after everything that man had done for everyone in Harran.
At a time like this, Spike wished he heard anything from Brecken. Any good news.
Anything about Crane…
His gaze lingered on one of the figures in the monitor: Jack, calm and unreadable as ever.
Tap, tap, tap, tapping his finger on the dashboard. With a small, almost resigned nod, he turned to the radio.
He adjusted the channel, bringing the mic closer. Hoping.
"Brecken, do you copy?"
White noise.
It has been like that for days . Maybe they had reached the Countryside.
No. On foot, even the best Runners could take a week or so through the Border, assuming they had enough supplies.
"There's someone looking for you," he said into the static. "Her name's Jack Brecken."
Despite months spent surviving together, personal stories were rare luxuries. Sure, one or two rumors had a way of spreading around. Everyone had heard about the past champion—Mad Jack, the Wild Dog.
Meeting her in person was another story. Something didn't sit right with him.
The way she asked questions, specific ones , and the way that she observed people … Including Spike himself. She was quick-witted enough to defuse the chaos when Timur exposed her bite marks to the public.
There was more than just a 'professional ex-kickboxer'.
And then there was her quiet friend.
"Says she's your cousin," Spike continued, his voice tinged with doubt. "Harris, do you copy?"
The white noise persisted…
"You said you knew my daughter. How is Silvia? Is she okay?"
It was natural for a single mother to ask a barrage of questions, trying to stay calm and composed despite the worry in her voice—concerned, judging or prying ones.
They had plenty of time to talk down the Halcyon River, after all.
But Eva was up against Jack.
"She's fine. A real tough cookie, like her mother," Jack answered a half-truth—Siv had gone through just as much hell as anyone else has in Scanderoon. But Eva shouldn't know that.
"That's good… But how exactly did you two meet?" Eva's faintly stern look wasn't aimed at Jack but more so assuming whatever mischief her daughter had gotten into.
"She and her friends got me out of a nasty pickle when we first met."
Another half-truth. If Siv hadn't spotted her on the first day crashing into the Bayside, Jack would have been eaten by the horde.
"I do stand out like a sore thumb, if you catch my drift," she added. Even Eva knew she was talking to the former Champion.
"And here I thought she had gotten herself into trouble again."
"Other than a habit of calling me Granny, she's been well-mannered. In fact, she's been so helpful during my time at the Bayside."
Three strikes. If Eva knew her daughter had the Harran Virus, it would crush the poor mother completely.
"Silvia, really…" So it hadn't been the first time Siv called others names because she started off on the wrong foot with someone new. Eva sighed, rubbing her temple. "I'm sorry about her."
"I find that spirit of hers endearing. Keeps this crone on her toes."
The list went on. Siv had almost lost the will to live before Jack had that one-to-one talk with her.
Jack kept the details vague in the entire conversation, offering enough that a mother would feel greatly satisfied at hearing news—selective bits.
If not for their grim reality, Crane could have taken the whole conversation as if Eva was talking to one of Siv's teachers. That, despite some small issues, she was a bright, straight-A student.
The best spiel he had ever seen.
"That's good to hear..." Eva's shoulders sunk with relief. "She was against leaving Harran without me."
"The first week here was terrifying, but you were only looking out for her," Jack replied.
"Any mother would. And any mother would go with their daughter… But knowing she's safe with her relatives takes a weight off my mind."
As much as Jack held up her award-winning smirk, Crane, sitting opposite the two women, could see it more restrained. A subtle tightness in her body language.
If he had to guess, Siv never mentioned her relatives to her. And a young girl all alone in the Junction…meant her family was gone before she was rescued.
"At the very least, she'll be thrilled to know you're alive," Jack exclaimed. "She misses you a great deal."
"Sylvia asked you to find me?" Eva's gaze sharpened, processing Jack's words carefully. "And you both came from Scanderoon?"
"In a manner of speaking," Jack answered cautiously.
"I saw what happened at the Refuge earlier," Eva began, her tone wary yet direct, straight to the point. Much like Siv. "Exactly how did you get infected?"
Jack's smirk faltered briefly. The question was inevitable, and the longer she avoided it, the more concerned Eva became.
No matter what, the truth about Scanderoon had to be kept under wraps.
"Unfortunately, I'm a stubborn woman," Jack admitted. "Got jumped by a Biter on the way here."
Eva's face twisted with worry, her thoughts jumping to an unspoken conclusion: her daughter might have unwittingly sent two people to their deaths.
Her sharp gaze flicked to Crane before returning to Jack. "D-Did Silvia-?"
"I had my own reasons to come to Harran before I met your daughter," Jack corrected her. "She knew the risks and only asked about you afterward."
Eva's mind reeled. They came here willingly? Knowing the state of this city? What could drive someone to throw themselves into this nightmare?
It was borderline insane!
But the words stuck in her throat as she took in the Wild Dog's calm, unshakable presence.
"So finding you safe and sound? That makes us even for all her help," Jack chimed.
Eva wanted to ask more but stopped herself. She would come across as a nagging mother; something she hated herself. Some things were better left unsaid.
Jack had done so much for her daughter and in return, risked her life to tell a single mother. For that, Eva owed her.
"...Thank you. For everything, Miss Brecken."
"Please. Call me Jack."
Finally, Eva felt a sense of calm, sinking in her seat—something she hadn't felt in a long time.
That feeling of dread had spiked when she and Harun had to hurry to the Terminus. It would have been a dangerous escort for two medics and emergency supplies to reach there. On foot. But parking an ambulance boat from the ferry terminal two roads from the Terminus had made all the difference.
That fear was no more. When everyone could finally go to Scanderoon, she would hug her dear Silvia tightly.
Thus, a peaceful trip back to the Refuge for the three passengers, free from infected or thugs. But that was the beauty of being close to Halcyon River.
Crane had heard about the river's name once before dropping into Harran—one of the largest in the region. It slithered from the ocean and cut through the Border, a wide barrier against the zombies. And like the Red Rill in Scanderoon, its banks were overgrown with the same red overgrown foliage.
"Is your friend alright?" Eva asked, bringing Jack's attention to her stuffed-up partner.
He had been sniffling nonstop, doing his best to contain any mounting sneeze trying to escape.
"I'm good," Crane reassured her before lying, "...Sinuses."
"Pollen season's gotten out of control lately," Eva explained, eyeing the red hyssop lining the river.
Never did he think he would hate a plant more than ever. All thanks to his body.
"We might have something at the Refuge to help relieve that sneeze."
"No. It'll pass."
"If you say so."
True to his word, the discomfort ebbed as the boat cruised out of the the river. The fresh salt air surprisingly did wonders clearing his sinuses and washing away the lingering stench of decay.
Soon after, the familiar sight of the Refuge came into view.
"Here we are," Harun called from the helm, slowing their approach to the terminal with practiced precision.
The boat gave a gentle lurch as its side bumped against the dock. A Refuge bystander quickly secured it with a rope, and moments later, everyone on board was ready to disembark.
The ferry terminal's atmosphere remained tense but functional—a few were shaken from the minor quake earlier. But people had work to do in the Safe Zone. The cracks, small and far between, had been present long before Crane and Jack arrived so it was only a matter of time.
All it could take was a domino to fall onto the next.
Nearby, Caroline had been retrieved and brought in, with a mechanic looking over the busted engine.
Eva took the lead into the terminal's spot-check area. "Let's get you both sorted out."
"There wouldn't be any needles, yes?" It might have come across as a joke but Crane could hear that faint unease in her voice.
And frankly, a medical checkup would spell disaster for him.
"It's just a quick ledger update," The medic glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing with a knowing look. "Unless there are health issues I should know about?"
"Other than the virus? Nope. Can't think of anything," Jack jested.
"Then we won't have any trouble. Timur and his friends used to handle this back in the Slums."
"The bloke who blew a gasket earlier."
Eva glanced back apologetically before continuing forward. "A lot's happened to him and his friends."
"You were there too?"
"I was, for a while. A few of us medics volunteered during the first week, and eventually Harun and I ended up here." Her face cast a glum look. "You know the rest. The Border was overrun a month in."
They moved along the deck, where the arrival and departure areas were located: left and right respectively. Eva led them to the right, towards the furthest part of the terminal.
The departure area had been converted into both a sick bay and isolation ward. Faint groans and coughing echoed through the air, with rows of cots separated by curtains for privacy. Medical supplies were neatly stacked in converted luggage carts along one wall.
Such a setup was by design, with a security checkpoint at the entrance to enforce a lockdown if necessary.
What was intended for shoplifters, was turned into a case of if someone were to turn infected and slaughter the patients. The docks and the arrival area were purposefully cordoned off for their own safety.
But lumping anyone who hadn't been visibly bitten together felt wrong… Not as if anyone with the loudest voice would dare challenge that.
"I want to go home."
It wasn't a child's voice but it was strikingly familiar. Crane's head snapped up, recognition striking like a bolt.
The man sat at one of the benches, furthest from the cots—rocking back and forth in his seat, his hands gripping together and his shoulders hunched. is vacant stare was fixed ahead, visibly more shaken than everyone else in the ward.
That was Gazi.
Crane couldn't believe it. Gazi was the last person he expected to see again, let alone outside his apartment. The man had never left his sheltered world, cozy in his living room, watching "Charly" with his mother …
But seeing him here—of all places—hammered home how desolate and bleak the Slums had become in Crane's absence.
"Mama is still waiting for me," Gazi mumbled. "She won't be happy."
"We can't, Gazi." A woman in a blue top sat beside him, her voice soft but steady as she tried to comfort him. "I'm sure your mother would want you to be safe-"
"No," he cut her off, his eyes still fixed on nothing. "She's all alone."
The woman sighed; it had been a broken record. "...Just wait a little longer, okay? Eva should be back soon."
It wasn't the answer Gazi wanted. But there was no way he would ever be brought back home.
Home wasn't there anymore.
"Kate," Eva called out.
Crane flinched at the name, his stomach knotting as he instinctively looked away, hiding his face.
The woman—Kate—offered a few parting words to Gazi before walking over to the group.
It was indeed her; one of the few who'd taken it upon herself to care for the children at the Tower. Crane remembered the poster she put up on the request board in the Tower: crayons for the little ones.
So he hoped on the spot…that those same children were somewhere in the terminal.
Ared, Beste and Naji. Maybe Jamil and Yasmina.
And even Sammy. That boy struggled so much after losing his father.
"Thanks for covering for me," Eva said in both a grateful and apologetic tone.
"Happy to help," Kate replied, forcing a smile. "I think Gazi's making some good progress… He's more responsive than last week."
Eva also managed a smile at the news, though her eyes betrayed a deeper worry. True progress for Gazi seemed like a far-off dream, but even a small step forward was still a step in the right direction.
"Still, I pulled you away from the children."
Kate waved her off. "Seth's keeping an eye on them as always so it's fine."
"Then I won't keep you any longer," Eva exclaimed.
"Take care, Eva."
Crane pressed himself against the wall, his hood low as Kate walked past. Never to know that she passed by someone she knew from the Tower.
So Seth was alive too.
Relief spread through him like a quiet balm, though it carried an ache—another name crossed off his mental list of people he knew.
"You've got your work cut out for yourself," Jack said, breaking the moment.
"I'm used to it. Did overtime when a semi-truck lost control on the overpass. Half the ER was flooded with patients that evening."
"Is…" Crane hesitated, tensing up when both both ladies turned towards him. "...Is he alright?"
"Oh. Don't mind Gazi," Eva assured him, as if choosing her words carefully. Perhaps guessing that Gazi's behavior might come off as unusual to outsiders. "He's not infected, just still…acclimating with everything. Takes a little longer than most people."
Crane's chest loosened slightly. Good, Gazi hadn't been bitten since leaving his old apartment.
"If he's clean, shouldn't he be somewhere more comfortable?" Jack asked.
Eva sighed but offered a small, empathetic smile. "Not everyone has the time and patience for someone like Gazi, especially with all that's been happening… So they decided he'd be safer here."
Safer for him or easier for everyone else? Crane kept the thought to himself, biting back any judgment.
"Give him time to adjust," Eva added. "And don't bring up his mother's death."
"Our lips are sealed," Jack said, miming a zipper over her mouth.
Crane barely registered the conversation between the ladies, lost in his thoughts.
He had told himself that he was prepared. And yet, the more he learned about the people from the Tower. Or the Refuge. Or anything in Harran.
Like a punch to the gut, leaving him winded.
Crane's gaze drifted astray to a small storage nook outside the baggage claim. From the looks of it, a lost-and-found.
The door was ajar, letting in just enough light to reveal a large cardboard box brimming with odds and ends. A globe. An action figure. A teddy bear wearing a helmet. Rolled-up posters. A wizard's hat. Random knick-knacks that seemed like a frantic collection of memories—things someone grabbed in a panic, thinking they mattered, before ending up here.
…Hang on.
Crane walked closer to the door, spying something leaning against the box.
Was that his guitar-
BAM!
The door slammed shut with a loud thud, startling everyone in the vicinity. Jack and Eva spun toward the noise, eyes wide with alarm—the last thing anyone wanted here was a sudden, loud noise.
Crane stumbled a step backward and nearly froze up at the culprit.
Timur stood there, jaw tight, forcing himself not to lose his composure right next to the sickbay. But that didn't mean he would tolerate it.
To see someone daring to peek inside the lost-and-found, Timur beat him to the punch, positioning himself in front of the nook like a guard dog.
"Didn't anyone tell you to mind your own business?" he snapped at his calmest.
"Tim-" Crane stopped himself, almost letting that slip.
"I don't know who you think you are, but you don't get free rein to poke through people's belongings."
"Timur!" Eva uttered, putting herself in between the two men. "What are you doing?"
"Doing my job," he countered without taking his eyes off Crane.
"Yes. There's a difference between watching out for trouble and making trouble," Eva rebuked.
"Can't be too careful."
Timur's glare particularly drilled holes into the hooded man. As if that would make Crane take the hint and leave.
However, that brought a frustrated, angry brow to Eva.
"Excuse us for just a second," she started—directed to the two Runners—and wrapped her hands around his arm. "Timur. A word."
At first, the leader guard wouldn't budge on the spot but he conceded to Eva's request. His scowl lingered on Crane until Eva's firm tug pulled his focus.
"This is the sickbay, Timur. My rules, not yours," Eva's frustration was faintly audible though her words were careful.
"So I should let them walk around like they own the place This isn't a free-for-all."
Although Crane could only see her back, Eva's stance shifted, her body language commanding. Like a disciplining mother.
"Did you see him take something from the storage?"
"Well, no," Timur hesitated, "but that doesn't excuse him for being nosy-"
"So you jumped the gun." Eva's accusation made him flinch, though he remained silent. "You can't treat anyone sick like they're monsters, Timur."
"Eva, you know better than anyone how things can go sideways."
Her stern demeanor softened—especially with Timur's gentle hand reaching to her arm in small, awkward gesture of apology and reassurance.
"So does everyone," Eva's voice was gentler now, but firm. "But we can't put up walls so high we stop being human."
"Ahhh. The boyfriend."
Jack's sudden remark completely took Crane by surprise, he he had to take a moment. There was context missing there and she did nothing to explain, standing next to him.
"Sorry, what?" he whispered to her.
Jack leaned to his ear, lowering her voice. "Siv mentioned her mother's significant other some time ago… In a less than flattering tone."
That still didn't explain much but enough to catch Crane off guard.
Hang on. Timur was dating before the outbreak?
"Why are you so quick to trust them?" Timur persisted. "You don't know them."
"No, I don't," Eva admitted, almost letting her voice crack. "But Silvia does."
At first, Timur looked surprised. The name, Silvia—why wouldn't he not know about Eva's daughter? However, his expression darkened. Why would two random strangers know about her daughter?
He didn't like it. But Eva's steady gaze held him in check.
"So please. Give them a chance... Okay?"
His shoulders relaxed slightly but the tension didn't leave his furrowed brow. There were questions he wanted answered, doubts he couldn't shake. Still, Timur gave a faint nod—enough to signal he'd let it go, for now.
Jack could tell he wasn't convinced just yet. He might have thought no one, not even the medic, had seen the little side-eye shot at her and Freakazoid.
Was he going to be a problem down the line, she wondered.
"Thank you," Eva said softly, thinking the matter had settled amicably before turning back to the Runners. Timur, however, stayed in his spot. "Sorry about that. We've held you back long enough."
"I'd say it's the other way around," Jack jested, her easygoing tone assuring Eva there were no hard feelings.
"Then I should get you out of my hair. First, the log and then your rooms-"
"No need," Timur cut in abruptly from behind. "I've already put their names down."
Eva looked back at him, half surprised and half irked. "Ok. They still need their rooms-"
"All the beds are taken," Timur interjected, too quickly for comfort and leaving little room for rebuttal. "They have their boat out back."
The poor medic sighed, her embarrassment barely masked. Never had she seen him act like that. Ironic, it reminded her too much of the times she'd had to scold Silvia for being out of line. Timur was a grown man, for goodness' sake.
But he wasn't done. Timur turned his attention to Jack, clearly itching to say more.
"That's fine with you, right, 38?"
Jack hunched her brow tightly at the bizarre and condescending comment. "Is that a ranking or...?"
"It's your number," Timur muttered.
Then he turned to Crane, knowing exactly what was coming.
"And that makes you 39. Welcome aboard."
Without waiting for a response, Timur marched off, brushing Crane with a deliberate shove. Eva opened her mouth to respond but she knew enough that nothing would reach his ears once Timur was too stubborn to listen.
"That's…" Crane tried to stop him. Then quickly stopped himself. "...Not necessary."
His words fell on deaf ears.
"I'm sorry… He didn't mean it," he heard Eva apologize.
Kyle forced himself to shake his lingering guilt off—a minute longer and Jack would notice. And he was right, he caught her glancing at him from behind those shades.
Why such a strong reaction out of Freakazoid? That was certainly the question on her mind-
"He's just looking out for everyone," Jack told Eva, catching Crane off guard.
Or was it intentional?
A wave of relief passed over Eva—it was nice to meet someone as patient and understanding as Jack in such circumstances. But Crane knew better. Hell, the entire time, Jack had been steering the conversation in her favor without Eva even noticing.
"Yes. That's the kind of man he is…" Eva pointed, letting that trace of affection slip out. "Make yourselves at home."
Jack offered a grateful nod as Eva returned to her station. Back to work, the first being calming Gazi's nerves down.
"Now that that's done." Jack stepped forward, her cheery cheery tone drawing Crane's attention. "Let's go catch a train."
Crane huffed, a small smile breaking through at her jest. "You sure you're up for this?"
"Retrieving a train is a first for me…but I've done bigger jobs before."
Her grin widened, a playful glint in her eye, before strolling toward the main entrance.
Crane stayed silent with a furrowed brow—it took a second for him to digest her cryptic words. Another little puzzle that shady woman liked to give him. And it needed so much more context!
"...What could be bigger than a damn train?" he muttered back at her, knowing he would never get a straight answer.
Only a chuckle right back at him.
"Marisol, we're heading out," Jack said into the comms as she and Freakazoid stepped through the ticket booths and out of the Refuge.
They had their objective: find a train.
Sounded simple enough. But Crane wasn't about to turn down any intel.
"Did you find those schedules?" she asked.
"Yes," Marisol's voice came through, muffled by the rustling of papers. " The first one - sorry, the last one to leave the Terminus…was the Red Kite."
"Does it matter which one left last? Most of them headed west," Tunc cut in, his voice closer to their comms. " Just follow the tracks. You're bound to find one of them. "
"Anything specific we should look for?" Jack asked.
"You tell us the name. I'll tell you if it's worth bringing back. We're not taking in a steam engine here."
The call then ended. Straightforward.
"You know we could've just skipped the whole song and dance," Crane pointed. Was there really a need for the schedules?
"I know." Crane's head jerked back at the nonchalant response—that everything she had asked from them back at the Terminus was pointless. Until Jack added, "But it gives them something to do instead of sitting around in misery."
So she'd conned them. Had she not, they might've given up on the train idea, just like Andrej had.
Better than the alternative, the more he thought on it.
"So, how much do you remember your way around Harran?" Jack then asked.
"The Border's new to me," Crane admitted.
"Shame you weren't here before the pandemic. Best food in the city. And there's the Promenade Wheel."
She gestured to the horizon, where the silhouette of a massive Ferris wheel loomed against the backdrop of the ocean. The gondolas hung silent and still from its steel, skeletal frame stood; another place long abandoned months ago.
"You could see the whole Coastline from up there. Even the Harran Stadium."
"I'll take your word for it."
The two runners set off. First backtracking to the Terminus before heading towards the tracks.
And as Tunc said, 'just follow the tracks'. On foot, the average Joe would take an hour but for two seasoned runners, maybe twenty minutes or less if parkouring.
The Border was eerily similar to the Outskirts, though less forested and more urban; cracked pavement, abandoned vehicles, and overgrown weeds. With a scattered urban landscape, traversing past hungry Biters and keeping at a fast momentum was a test of strategy and endurance.
A Freakazoid could cover the distance in no time. Jack watched him take off like a shot—tendrils extending and snapping him from building to building with an eerie grace. He'd obliterate every competition at the Harran Games without breaking a sweat.
Sometimes, Jack nearly forgot that her partner wasn't exactly human anymore—that he moved with the speed and ferocity of a Volatile at night.
However, her little pit of caution was always unwarranted whenever he stopped and looked back, waiting for Jack to catch up. Perched on his latest landing, Freakazoid extended a clawed hand to her
"You don't have to slow down on my account," she said as she took his hand. Logically, he could find that train much faster without her lagging behind.
"Somebody's gotta keep you out of trouble."
She chuckled at his little tease.
Onward they went, racing against the clock and Harran's endless dangers. Eventually, they spotted it—the rear end of a locomotive, the caboose still intact.
Unfortunately, the rest of the train hadn't fared as well.
Somehow, each and every one of them had been off the tracks, crashing into a crumbled retaining wall. The destruction painted a grim story—whether it was panic in the early days, mechanical failure, or a rampaging Demolisher later on, something had forced this train off its tracks.
The Runners followed the chaos, weaving around overturned cars and debris. In the back of Crane's mind, a faint hope lingered, a quiet plea: Please let the engine be on the tracks.
By some miracle, the engine hadn't derailed. Crane sped to the front, needing to see it for himself. On the side of the cab, the red paint scraped but still legible, was the name:
"We found Red Kite," Jack spoke over the comms. "Everything but the front's been derailed."
"We don't need the whole thing. How's the engine?"
Climbing into the front cab, Crane immediately noticed the problem. The control panel hadn't fared well and not just from the wreckage. Broken gauges, exposed wires, and worse—essential components had been stripped out, likely by scavengers or bandits.
He shook his head grimly.
"No dice," Jack relayed.
Tunc groaned audibly over the comms.
"What about Scanderoon Express?" Marisol cut in. "Left an hour after the Red Kite."
"A DMU… That could work," Tunc mused thoughtfully.
"If it stayed on schedule, then it might not be too far from where you are."
"You got that?" Tunc's voice sharpened, all business. " Get moving."
A please would be nice, Crane bit back the urge to say that aloud. He was used to it.
"If that's the case," Jack glanced around, her gaze searching high, "We could probably see it from a high place."
Crane followed her line of sight to a distant antenna tower in the distance, standing tall.
"That'll do," he said.
Jack's mild groan couldn't escape his superhearing from behind, but it did surprise him.
"Problem?"
"Oh, no. Don't mind me," Jack replied, waving it off. She took a deep breath, as though steeling herself, before starting toward the tower.
Crane raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Well, if it wasn't a problem…
The path to the tower was anything but direct—at times, the Runners had to descend to ground level, cutting through small groups of infected that lingered across the uneven terrain.
When they finally reached the radio mast, Jack took in the looming structure… higher than the drop she and Siv had to jump across on Day One.
Or maybe it just felt taller now, standing directly beneath it.
She could let Freakazoid climb first.
"Still not a problem?" Freakazoid asked, catching her brief pause.
"Nope." Jack forced the word out. "Just go straight up and hope the ladder doesn't...break."
"If it does, I'll catch you," Freakazoid said without much thought. Was he accidentally the suave type or purposefully laying it thick to get a reaction out of her? "Ladies first."
Her jaw tightened. Now that was deliberate, she was sure of it. But as stubborn as Freakazoid was, Jack jumped onto the first platform, her pride forcing her to lead the climb.
She heard the metal frame rumble, loud and low.
Don't look down. Eyes up.
Rung by rung, she focused on the ascent. They didn't need to go all the way to the top. Just high enough to scan the horizon for the express.
The faster they found it, the faster Jack would back on solid ground.
Any minute now.
They could see beyond the trees.
How much higher did they have to go?!
"I see it," Freakazoid called out once they reached the top.
Jack was all too tense now, way up high, but she forced herself to follow his gaze with her binoculars.
There it was; Scanderoon Express lodged into the crook of a rail bridge—another ten minutes down the winding tracks and they would have found it.
"Jack." It was clear that Freakazoid noted her stiff vertigo, with how pale white her knuckles were and her glance firm.
"I'm fine," Jack lied, doing everything in her power to ignore the nauseating sway of the structure beneath her boots. "Not everyday you get this high up."
"I've been higher," he casually said, like this was a usual hobby to him.
"Really? Did some skydiving in the past?" she pried. Threw that small bait out and see what she could hook back.
"Maybe," Freakazoid replied and nonchalantly headed to one corner of the tower, with a zipline attached. "See you at the bottom."
And just like that, he was off, zipping down with barely a wince as the friction hissed against his claws.
"...Ugggh," Jack groaned to herself.
She had no choice but to look down anyway.
"No go."
While the second train was more intact than the first, the front cab wasn't any better, submerged in stagnant water left by the rain.
Crane crouched by the side, running a claw along the corroded diesel lines. One tap from a talon and the rusty pipe could crumble.
"Diesel lines are shot. Water's gotten into everything."
"You got that?" Jack relayed over the comms.
A heavy sigh crackled through the static.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Tunc muttered, his frustration bubbling up. "Might as well be scrap."
"Wait, wait." More papers shuffling in the background but Marisol was on a mission, desperate and determined. "The Eastward. I know it personally."
"Eastward's pretty old…" Tunc, however, pointed in mild disagreement. " Hasn't gone through its monthly maintenance yet. "
"Beggars can't be choosers," Jack interjected.
"It should have left the Slums before the lockdown," Marisol continued. "But I heard the government quarantined it at Customs. Near Bright Mountain Tunnel."
Bright Mountain Tunnel.
The name struck Crane, dredging up memories.
Once a bottleneck of chaos in the Slums, it was closed down after a derailed transport spilled chemical waste. That metal door with the yellow warning tape? Crane randomly passed by it one day and went in for the untouched GRE supplies.
And the relentless infected waiting inside.
To think he would be on the other side of that tunnel, only to find the Border just as unforgiving as the Slums…
"We'll head over there," Jack replied.
"T-Then… Do you think…" Marisol's voice trailed off. " No, never mind… I'm overthinking it."
"If it's on your mind, it's worth talking," Jack pressed, intrigued. However, they heard footsteps walk away in a hurry. "...Marisol?"
"Sorry," Tunc stepped to the mic. "She stepped out for a moment…"
"You know what's bothering her?"
"It's not my place... All I can say Eastward was her train as a stewardess."
No one pried any further.
"Bright Mountain Tunnel," Jack murmured, focused back on the task.
Crane watched her spin on her heel slowly while searching about before she pointed in a direction. Further east.
"Customs should be close to the highway."
"Lead the way," Crane replied.
And she did—just as she'd promised when she jokingly called herself his tour guide. She knew her way around as well as a seasoned local would, in both Scanderoon and Harran. All too well.
Crane decided it was his turn to start a conversation during the route across roofs.
"So, you've lived here long?"
"Six years. But I've visited even before that."
"Work-related?"
"In a way," she replied, her tone carefully neutral. "Used to travel often for my old job, but Harran was always just a stopover."
"For the food or the view?" Crane teased.
That brought a chuckle out of the brunette.
"Those are good reasons anyone can have. But it was more out of... obligation." She hesitated. "...An old colleague of mine always loved this place."
So not Jade or Rahim from the sound of it. Still, he couldn't ignore that little moment of hesitation, though.
"What made you stay?"
"A number of reasons," she explained. "One thing led to another. Then, one day, Mert told me to give kickboxing a shot. The rest is history for Mad Jack."
"That's a career change."
"I've earned enough to start fresh." She smiled wider than usual. "Life has a funny way of shaking up plans."
"That it does," Crane agreed, laughing at his own irony. "With a wrench or two."
"You should've visited earlier, mate," Jack teased. "Did your travel agent run out of bookings?"
"I just got the wrong package."
"I've been there." She paused. "...We're here."
The moment Crane spotted the yellow tape and the "Caution. Quarantine Zone" posters wrapped around the location like a Christmas present, he held back a grumble.
Customs loomed like another forgotten monolith, much like the other Quarantine Zones Crane had ventured in before. The building had the same story: a place closed down but things got out of control and it was abandoned, letting the Biters overrun the area.
There could be ways to get inside. Side doors, the main entrance, a broken window. But their focus was on the rail tracks, leading to a gate big enough for a locomotive, adjacent to the main building.
Crane flared his nostrils in exchange for the grumble.
"This isn't your first rodeo in a Quarantine Zone," Jack remarked, standing close.
"Same for you?" he shot back.
"We had a few - left too long to the elements that they turned into Hot Spots. No Raven's brave enough to explore them."
But still ripe with resources. A pity; he could imagine that would help Jack's community a lot in the long run.
"So…how do you wanna do this?" Jack asked, just as cautious as he was.
Omph, where to start?
"The place will be crawling with infected," Crane said.
"Hm-hm."
"And a train isn't exactly the quietest vehicle in the world."
"We'll attract more infected inside and out. That's if we know how to drive that thing..."
"I know how to start it."
Jack blinked, dumbfounded. "You do?"
Crane shrugged confidently so. "I've worked around all kinds of vehicles before. It was…partly required for my work."
"Next you'll tell me you were some kind of government agent."
Omph, too close. Really, too close.
"What can I say?" He struggled, holding his cool. "You pick up things… And I like trains."
Once more, Jack looked at him in amused surprise. And once again, he knew how to be charming.
She broke into a chuckle.
"You're sure full of surprises, Freakazoid," Jack chimed.
He shrugged proudly. "I don't disappoint… Let's hope Eastward can even make the trip back."
"Aye, mate."
Carefully, stealthily, they stepped inside the building. Pitch black, save for the faint streams of light filtering through the glazing windows.
Inside the building, pitch black. The only source of light streamed from the glazing windows.
Jack was almost blind as a bat, walking in with her flashlight. But she could hear them, scratching, scuttling about, and hissing at each other. She hugged the walls, making her way toward the shutter.
Crane, on the other hand, made a beeline for the Eastward.
As Tunc had said, it was old. Faded green paint, and the gray streaks were ruined by the rust. But the diesel-electric locomotive had withstood the test of time, especially after being cooped up inside the building for months.
First thing on the list: check the engine.
He bolted into the front cab, jumping on the defense at seeing a standing body inside. When it didn't move like a Biter, he approached it to find a dead conductor slumped at the controls.
One silent apology and he pulled the corpse aside.
At a glance, everything seemed fine—dusty, stale air aside. Crane popped open a service hatch.
Cables, check. Pipes, check. Components, check. The important stuff looked intact.
Best of all, the diesel tank wasn't dry.
"We got a train," he muttered as soft as he could over the comms.
He searched for the familiar orange glow of Jack's skeleton in the dark, her hands reaching for the lever in the shadows. The place had no power but getting everything running again inside a Quarantine Zone was a death sentence. So manual was the only option.
If Crane, a sentient zombie, could spot Jack in the dark, it wouldn't be long before the infected did too.
"Found the crank," Jack radioed back, marking the second task off the list.
Crane quickly moved through the front cab, the auxiliary, and past the first coach car. He crouched low to the coupling and braced himself.
"Get ready for some noise," he warned over the comms and took the soft sound of something turning from the other end as a go.
With a steady grip, Crane yanked the pin.
From the moment they stepped in, the infected were quiet, stammering about, oblivious of the two Runners. The horrendous sound of the chains clanking sent a shockwave through them.
Crane could sense them—every one of them shifting toward the disturbance.
That was fine. Jack was already ahead, working on slowing them down. With the shutters slowly opening, sunlight spilled into the dark interior. Crane watched as the light stretched, decorated by ember-like sparks cast from a few infected.
It wouldn't keep the small fry off them, but-
Thud! Clank!
Something broke—a grinding metallic noise followed by a sudden bang over the agitated snarls.
The rectangular beam vanished, just like that. Everything was enveloped in darkness once more.
Crane stiffened in horror, watching those golden eyes gleam with fury.
"Crank's broken!"
"Jack!" Crane hollered.
"Get that thing started!" she snapped back, her orange highlight moving further from the lever.
What was she planning?! But Crane rushed back to the front cab anyway.
He immediately grabbed the brake system, releasing the manual lock. The diesel engine sputtered to life as he slammed the power handle forward.
Beneath his feet, the train rose to life—slow, but promising.
"Gaargh!"
A Biter hurtled toward Crane, jaws wide open for his face. He stopped the pounce midway with a quick brace of his arm, shoving his opponent out the cab.
The creature hit the floor with a wet crunch.
Around and around, the train wheels turned against months of stillness behind him. Forward with no driver.
Two more infected lunged after Crane.
Meanwhile, Jack struggled with the steel door. The crank was a lost cause, but nothing said she couldn't open it manually. With gritted teeth and feet dug into the floor, she pushed.
Inch by inch. The rusted metal protested loudly, mingling with the chaos around her.
Stubborn piece of metal!
She pressed her shoulder against the shutter's edge, as if that would make any difference. She could hear the train's engine stuttering louder and the annoying crowd behind her.
Barreling towards Freakazoid.
Hunting for her.
Out of the corner of her eye, a Viral lunged from behind. She was prepared to take the attack, her free arm swinging up—
The Viral gasped from being suddenly whipped away by tendrils, slamming into some barrels.
"Keep going!" Freakazoid's voice boomed, his towering presence looming over her petite body. His claws latched onto the stubborn panel, and together, they heaved it open with their combined strength.
Until finally, the Eastward rolled out into the light.
Inside and outside the building, the horde gathered as relentless as a storm. A flood of the undead, drawn to the noisy train, to the prey, to the outcast.
Reaching the train was like a treacherous swim.
Jack fought her way forward through the chaos, batting down the infected clawing for her throat. Ahead, Freakazoid launched himself into the cab door with a whip of his tendrils. He extended a claw to her, and she seized it without hesitation.
With a sharp pull, he hauled her inside, just as a Biter's snapping jaws missed her leg by inches.
They weren't out of the woods just yet. Crane scrambled to the controls while Jack cleared the front cab of any hijacking Viral.
He shoved the throttle into its final notch and the engine roared.
Faster and faster the wheels spun. The brainless sobs scurried into them—limbs caught and bodies pulled under, painting the tracks red and gore.
The horde scattered. There was no stopping the metal beast from devouring their brethren.
Eastward's nose rammed into the quarantine-labeled barriers left outside on the tracks; barely an obstacle to a machine.
The howls of the horde faded behind them, leaving a temporary peace—a peace they welcomed in the front cab.
"We're on our way back, Tunc," Jack radioed back, her voice light despite her gasps.
"You got Eastward?"
"Purring like a kitten."
"I'll be the judge of that," Tunc muttered. His voice wavered between cautious hope and guarded skepticism. Understandable after everything.
He wasn't ready to believe things would go smoothly—not until he saw it for himself.
"Bring her back in one piece."
Jack smirked; they'd do just that. Once the call ended, she noticed Freakazoid wat the conductor's seat, eyes forward, claws on the panel. Again, genuinely impressed at the fact that he knew about trains.
The brunette plopped into the other seat, tired. She took her sunglasses off and nested them snugly atop her hair before leaning her head against the window.
A quiet Jack became all too noticeable that Crane couldn't help but glance at her briefly.
Outside her window, the Border was a bleak scene. The orange sky stretching over the landscape was another hellscape as anywhere else in Harran. Yet, Jack seemed almost mesmerized by the bittersweet and beautiful view.
Or maybe it was just that way she filled his view.
"Must be tough," he said cautiously. "Watching it all go."
Surprisingly, Jack wasn't bothered by the remark.
"It's not my first time," she replied, her tone nonchalant. "Never stayed long enough to call a place home. Except here."
"Past troubles?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she sang, dodging the question.
Ok, he'd let her slide.
"That's not to say I wasn't emotional when it happened. Lost my apartment, Mert's gym and my favorite cafe."
The specificity of her words made Crane wonder if it was her way of coping. Sarcastically.
"...The memories stay, though." She glanced back, her smile more perkier than before. A facade, and yet the weight behind her words lingered. "Funny how that works."
Crane nodded quietly, thinking back to his brief time in Harran. "Yeah… I've only been here for a short while but…hard to move on from those memories."
"Six years. Six months." Jack shrugged.
There was no difference in the length of time; the outbreak was merciless to anyone.
"We've all been there, one way or another," she continued. "And sometimes…you can't forgive and forget."
The last part held a hint of sadness, directed more at herself than at him, before she looked back at the window. Jack left the door to her closet of secrets ajar.
But she neither pushed that door open nor locked it shut.
Crane let the topic drop, returning his gaze to the front. A pointless thing without a wheel but it was the little things that mattered.
It was going to be a long and quiet ride down the railway tracks.
A/N: 19/12/2024
Hello everyone! Here's the next chapter and with some heavy hitters!
Jokes aside, as I said last chapter's author note, there was a lot of brainstorming - from reflecting the events of Dying Light to the NPC characters Crane met in the past. And there's gonna be more hitters in both the main arc and side quests/intermission chapters.
Now will anyone know Jack's companion has been Crane the entire time? Eh...bit too early for that. But this gives me the opportunity to just twist that knife bit by bit as we all go along on this arc. :) That's not to say I'll be able to cover everything since Dying Light offers so much lore that it's quite possible I can miss something, despite my best exploring and writing concepts into this fanfic.
Additionally, with the Beast trailer coming next year summer...it's really pushing my motivation and inspiration a lot in the storytelling (not too confident I'll be able to finish Descent by then when it can...take a month per chapter. So it might well take longer to finish, hence this has become my prison cough). I had been asked questions about my thoughts on it and it has made me excited for what's to come and what delish concepts I can do, whether for the Descent onwards and hopefully, a Descent sequel.
That said, long time more to go. Gotta finish this Harran Arc and cover the other two important story plots; Scanderoon's circumstances and the Ravens from the Outskirts.
Yup.
Loooong time more, indeed...
Regardless, hope you enjoy this chapter and happy holidays! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
19/12/2024 - Initial upload
17/3/25 - Changed Train Depot to Terminus because it sounds cooler. Minor fixes.