The screams had gone quiet.
But silence wasn't peace — it was warning.
Arthur waited a minute longer, then two. The only sound was Rory's shallow breathing and the faint creak of the building settling. Dust drifted through cracks in the boarded windows, glowing faintly from the dying fires outside.
Arthur leaned to the side, peering through the gap. The street was painted in carnage. Bodies — Fireflies and clickers both — littered the asphalt, twisted in grotesque shapes. The bloater was gone, but the air still trembled from its roar somewhere deeper in the city.
"We move. Quiet and slow."
Rory nodded.
They crept out the back of the building, boots whispering against broken tile and glass. The alleys were tight, lined with old dumpsters and overgrown vines that snaked across cracked brick. Somewhere far off, something howled — not quite human.
Arthur raised a hand to stop Rory, crouching low as they reached the mouth of the alley. Across the street, behind a toppled bus, his horse waited — nervous, stomping at the ground, ears twitching.
"Easy, girl," Arthur murmured under his breath, even though she was too far to hear him. "Just hold steady."
They darted across, one shadow after another, sticking close to the wrecks for cover. The smell of rot clung thick in the air. Rory slipped on a patch of blood-slick asphalt, barely catching himself. Arthur gripped his shoulder, steadying him with a glare.
"Quiet," he hissed. "Every step counts."
They made it to the horse. Arthur ran a hand along her neck, calming her shaking muscles, then helped Rory up first before swinging into the saddle behind him.
The horse's hooves clacked against the broken road — too loud in the dead stillness. Each step echoed through the hollow streets, bouncing off the glass and concrete. Arthur clicked his tongue softly, urging the horse to move quicker but stay steady.
Then — the first shriek.
It came from somewhere high above, inside one of the gutted towers. Then another, closer.The sound multiplied, layering until it became a chorus of nightmare voices — clickers, runners, and something else, something big.
Rory's head snapped around, eyes wide. "Arthur—"
"I hear it. Hold tight."
Arthur dug his boots into the stirrups and the horse surged forward. The rhythm of hooves thundered down the street, joined by the rising cacophony of shrieks and screeches that poured from every broken window.
Shapes spilled out from the dark — runners vaulting off cars, slamming into the ground behind them. The horse leapt over debris, the wind whipping Arthur's coat as he fired a shot back to drop one that got too close.
The city roared awake.
They tore through the streets, dodging the wrecks, the infected's claws scraping inches behind them. Arthur could see the end of the block — open road beyond the last row of cars.
He yanked the reins, turning sharp, sparks flying from the horse's hooves as they skidded around a corner — and then, finally, distance. The shrieks faded behind them, swallowed by the chaos they'd left.
Arthur slowed only when the city skyline began to fall behind them, the sun dipping through a haze of smoke and dust. He finally exhaled, the sound rough and low.
Rory clung to the reins, breathing fast, eyes wide and pale. Arthur looked at him — the kid was shaken to the core, but alive.
"You did good back there," Arthur muttered, patting the horse's neck. "We're still breathin', and that's all that matters."
The horse whinnied softly. The wind carried faint echoes from the city — distant screams, and somewhere, the deep guttural bellow of the bloater still hunting.
Arthur looked back once more. "World's changin' faster than any man can keep up with."Then he turned forward, spurring the horse westward, into the dying light.