"Ghhk—ZHHH...hht!…"
"Hea...y...ba...up!"
Hu...h...?
His ears rang with a throb rippling through his skull.
"Agh! Wa...ch...it..ard!"
His torso burned, the smell of copper permeated the air with the stench of rotten eggs.
Hands dragged him by the arms, his armpits burning as a blurry face covered his vision.
"Med...tion...hu...up..."
Their mouth moved in ways he could not read, the person moved their hand to the back of his head.
Yells pierced through his foggy mind, muffled at first, then sharpening quickly. His head throbbing with every sound.
The person lifted their gaze, looking past him. Their mouth moved, their features regaining some clarity, a muffled voice hammered against his eardrum.
His ears throbbed with pain, staring towards the person in front of him. A man with a crooked grin lingered in his vision. He tried to move his arm, but all he managed was a silent scream, his eyes darting in their sockets.
"Rela...hit....upp...arm."
Behind the man, his eyes landed on a group scrambling, their arms reaching out to snatch shields and whatever else they could find. A hand waved in front of his face followed by an apologetic look.
SLAP!
His back slammed into the wall, his spine bent at an awkward angle. He lashed out with his foot, ignoring the sting on his cheek, trying to return the pain
The city came back into focus, sound returning with it in a single overwhelming wave.
"Damned...Librei!"
He frowned, staring daggers at the now smug face. The smell of sweat hitting him like a truck.
"You smell like shit, get the fuck off me. Te cagaste o que cabron!" Gutierre looked away with disgust, sounding absolutely done.
Relief filled the mans face when the grin became filthy.
"Its cuz you one fucking ugly pendejo. I'm still surprised you still got a girlfriend."
The man's gaze dragged over him from head to toe. Disgust churned in Gutierre's gut, forcing his eyes to dart around in search of anything else.
"Where's the rest—"
His eyes landing on a face peaking from a corner, instinctively raising his uninjured arm to his left, the bracelet on his wrist flickered before a burst of air shot towards the peeping tom.
The man looked back and spotted the gouge in the wall. A scream quickly followed when a figure was pushed in front of their view, falling on their ass when—
All of a sudden, their head snapped backward. Something jutting from their forehead, and the figure collapsed to the ground.
Another person rushed into view, raising his hand on instinct that was immediately forced down.
"It's Santo, so put your arm down and let me do my job."
His soft furred ears twitched rapidly, remaining stiff.
The newcomer grabbed the object lodged in the corpse's head and yanked it free before pivoting away. The person stepped closer to them, the shape finally revealing itself—a bolt.
A quiver bounced against their hip. A cut ran across the newcomer's dirty cheek. Their voice was full of life, the complete opposite of his own.
"Look at you, still haven't kicked the bucket eh?"
The newcomer clicked their tongue while shaking their head side to side with exaggeration.
"So, what happen—"
"—Ah Fuck!"
He looked to his side and saw their medic looking at the floor where fallen tools were laid upon.
"Well...its a simple matter of things getting out of hand..."
Another member of the group answered, an older man.
"Hold on..."
The person searched their pockets before pulling out a phone, tapping a few times before it was tossed his way.
"Watch the news, it'll be easier to see."
He grabbed the phone while he fumbled around with it, a video already loading.
The medic removed his backpack, forcing it open, and began pulling out a couple tools in rapid succession.
"You two come help me, you provide some cover while the two of us move this car...I'd rather not be in the open."
The old Caprinae of the group said, a roughness to his voice.
The trio moved quickly, each doing their part while the video played. A hissing sound followed, a weak green mist spreading across his torso. The medic spoke around a flashlight clenched between his teeth.
"Y'wont feel a thin' now.."
The news anchor started speaking for a few seconds as he squinted his eyes.
"The fuck is this guy saying, cant understand shit he saying." He jabbed at the screen, the subtitles appearing at the bottom ofthe screen.
「...res have started all around the cit...lates, both on the gro...d and the underside lev—」
KRRSSHH!
The sound of glass shattering caught their attention, people hurled bottles inside a building when a fire flared to life.
"Oi, BACK OFF!"
Tension hung thick in the air while Santo barked, pointing his crossbow at a small, battered group.
A smaller feline darted over to Santo, a gun clenched in her hand. Tapping his shoulder twice, then pulling themselves behind a vehicle, using it's body for cover.
Another figure followed the woman, a shield strapped to one arm and a hatchet gripped in the other.
The horns from their head curved outwards, their length noticeable even from afar, white blending into brown before planting himself between both groups.
A wall of muscle and steel.
Gutierre felt a tap on his leg, the feline medic signaling to him with his head, standing up unsteadily. He handed the phone to Callan—their medic who swiftly disappeared into the darkness.
He slipped one strap off his shoulder and swung the backpack around. Unzipped it quickly, tugging at the object protruding from the top with visible effort. The edge of the pack clung to it, forcing him to tear part of the seam.
He yanked hard while forcing the bag down. Once it came free, he grabbed the collapsed stock and pulled it toward himself—a reverse crossbow.
"ell...kano...he..."
He looked up, glancing over a few faces in the small group.
Fear mixed with hatred in their expressions, strong enough that he could almost taste it. He wedged the crossbow between his legs and dug into his bag for a magazine, slamming it in with a hard bash.
He seized the cable and hauled on it, using his forearms and shoulders until it latched into place.
Gutierre hauled his backpack over his arms and brought up his crossbow, moving fast toward his group. Across the street, the presumed leader's words came with spit flying from his mouth.
! It hurts so bad man! He could've used more!
The fire inside the building flared hotter. He slipped past Santo and Julie, the quiet redhead of the group before flanking the other side of the vehicle.
"...ve with your life, its hard already as is it no? Living like dogs."
His words seemed to fuel their anguish.
The canine leader who had been spitting only moments ago, was trembling while panting loudly. Disgust, fear, and anger was written over his face yet the same could be said for the rest of the people around of them, coughing while covering their mouths.
Canines bared, ears flat against their heads, his arm moving as if he meant to throw something.
"What...could you...know of our pain!"
Gutierre looked at the rest of the malnourished group with skin clinging to bone, they looked like they'd die if he so much as breathed on them.
Poor fools will never make past a few more weeks.
He placed his finger on the trigger and disengaging the safety.
Exhaling through his mouth, his eyes starting to burn from the ash.
"Your...just...a demon."
Gutierre's eyes narrowed, a surge of anger hitting him all at once.
None of them know how to hold onto their weapons...
"Then."
The old raised his head with pity in his eyes, taking a steady stance.
Several people looked uncertain. The leader stood firm, wrapping their fist tighter around an old knife stained with blood.
TCHHK!
He squeezed the trigger the moment someone moved. The short metal bolt struck an older man square in the chest. A sudden gust of wind tore past him, tugging at his body, planting his feet harder.
GRAAAH—!
The man stumbled backward, three fresh bloodstains spreading across his clothes. A wall of steel suddenly blocked his vision when, all of a sudden, someone shoved through the crowd and sprinted toward him.
THMP—!
The second bolt did nothing.
He jammed the crossbow up in time, the knife wedged between it. His arms screaming under the strain. All he could see was anger and desperation staring back at him.
Damn...fool!
He pivoted the crossbow to his right and the attacker stumbled to the side. A flicker ran through the bracelet, and his figure broke apart into nothing.
He then kicked the infected feline in the head as it attempted to stand up, stomping on their head before letting his crossbow go, pulling another knife from his backpack and grabbing a fistful of hair.
Yanking down, their screams—a backdrop.
The sounds of fighting echoed around him. He drove the knife into the center of their neck, pushing deep before twisting hard.
Gutierre shoved the becoming corpse away with force, disgust and disregard.
The pathetic sounds meaning nothing to him.
Two to one is not a good number at all!
He turned to see Julie force someone down onto the pavement. Santo stood beside her, cracking an attacker across the nose with his crossbow's buttstock.
Julie grabbed the back of Santo's attacker's head and drove her knee into their throat. The infected started gasping for air, tears spilling from their eyes. Jamming her weapon against their head.
BANG!
A disgusting noise followed quickly as the now deceased infected head feature two new air vents.
He spun toward Iván, who had already thrown a few infected aside with his shield, his hatchet biting deep into a librei.
A few more looked stressed, clearly unsure of what to do, clutching their weapons with uncertainty.
He cocked the cable back before aiming and squeezing the trigger—TCHHK!—the shot grazing the shoulder of the one clinging and clawing at Iván's shield with reckless abandon.
An infected feline's ear twitched, then it turned toward him. He hauled the cable back with force with another bolt sliding up into place.
TCHHK!
The bolt struck deep into the attacker's shoulder. The feline faltering, her assault breaking when Iván pushed someone over her, pinning her beneath the weight.
PFFSSHHHH!
Flames erupted, the feline shrieked when her tail ignited into flames.
The stench of burning flesh rolled out, thick and sickening. The attacker thrashing to the ground, screaming. Gutierre flickered back into existence.
At the same time, he dragged the cable back again.
The infected recoiled almost immediately, a few stumbling backward. In front of them, Santo drove a small librei into the concrete with force. The smell of burning skin lingered, ash choking the air before fading—the small one pulling a fast one.
Their expressions hardened into something ugly. Adrenaline surged through Gutierre, forcing him to draw deep breaths.
The poor infected kept burning, screaming for the fire to be put out. They clawed at the ground, the sharp bite of copper in the air.
Both flames illuminating the cold and dark street.
Gutierre aimed at the burning person—THWIP!—the bolt impaled itself to the side of their head, the screams of agony ceased and so did the life.
His gaze snapped back to the child hiding behind someone. Dragging the cable back for his final bolt.
Iván remained silent, digging his fingers deeper into the shield's grip and taking a step.
Gutierre and the rest of their team slowly backed off from the infected folks, he could see distortions in the air coming from the flames.
The infected recoiled, backing away with some haphazardly slapping at their shoulders and clothes as if they were on fire.
HWWUUFF!
The surge hit, hot and sudden.
Sweat seeped from their pores, the air searing against their skin at every moment. Gutierre gritted his teeth, pressing back until his he couldn't feel the car any longer. He used one arm to feel the car before sliding along it, pulling cover between himself and the crowd.
The distortion thickened to a noticeable degree, rippling waves turning the street unsteady. Their vision swimming while Iván edged back with his shield blocking the heat—absorbing it until its surface began to smoke.
His sweat trickling from his face and onto his gear, his shirt and from his arms.
Julie moved closer to the car and pressed herself against the front driver-side fender, right over the engine.
Santo on the other hand didn't retreat—moving deeper into the street, his crossbow locked onto the group, his ears twitching with the furnace's air pressing in.
"Ya Vamonos! Me quero dar un baño!"
Santo's voice rang out from behind them, Gutierre and the rest held their line, providing cover for Iván who was retreating.
The infected hurled scraps, bottles, anything they could throw. Each projectile hit the shimmer and shot upward, spinning uselessly into the night.
The moment Iván got close enough, Julie rushed him, yanking his arm and dragging him toward cover. The wall of steel held firm, keeping them safe.
The distortion blended the infected into a blurry mess, light bending until his eyes burned. Gutierre blinked again and again, but the haze never faded.
The crowd on the other side could no longer be heard, only the movement of the warped air blasting their ears was left.
He waited for a few moments before feeling a tap on his shoulder, his crossbow remained steady—walking backwards before turning around after a few steps.
"Apúrale!"
It was Santo, jogging along with his crossbow held at low ready. Their footsteps echoing off the walls, the cold night amplifying every sound.
They speed walked for a few minutes, until they were far enough where the group wouldn't come looking for them.
Bzzzt!....Bzzzt!...
The phone cut through the quiet, buzzing flat against the night.
Santo pulled out his phone—only for Julie to snatch it right out of his hand, she turned it on with her thumb tapping on the message
The screen it up, an image of a street—along with a line of text under it.
「2nd floor. A few rummaging down stairs, inside the cafe with the broken glass :)」
"Tsk."
Julie clicked her teeth, showing the message to the rest of the group. Giving the phone back to Santo who pulled up the address.
"Its a left and then straight ahead for a couple minutes. Why'd he have to go up and run off! Hahh..."
He sighed and pocketed his phone, picking up the pace. The rest followed, keeping quiet about what they'd left behind.
"It will keep them busy for a few minute or so." Iván said. "After we catch up to Callan—we're going under."
Gutierre walked beside them, lost in thought before breaking the silence. "So… qué pasó? I'm out for one minute and next thing I know I'm being dragged by Callan?"
He broke the awkward silence, sparing them from the atmosphere.
Santo coughed before answering. "What's there to say? Los perros se pusieron de bronca near where we found you—" He paused as they turned the corner left. "—They were messing about without realizing they were being recorded. I think one of 'em was pretty short, though."
Gutierre scanned the quiet street while they hugged the wall, trying to keep as quiet as possible.
"Pero, it exploded into whatever and I guess someone found out what happened to you and that whole little blocked off area you were near."
"De que se le pasaron when the street was all fucked up, and, well since infected are kinda pushed to the side....and boom!"
Santo glanced back with pride, all he got back were blank stares.
"Mi manito speaks better than you," Gutierre muttered. "Never explain anything ever again. Please."
Julie stifled a snicker, her lips twisting into a squiggly line.
They kept up a brisk pace for a few minutes, the awkwardness dissolving into silence.
"Right there...on the right, by the intersection."
They slowed again.
Iván took point, splitting into two groups for each side of the wall
Gutierre worked his fingers around the foregrip, grounding himself through the familiar feel. The group creeping closer to the corner.
The point men on each side sliced the street.
Julie and Iván edged closer, getting closer to cover either side of street, Santo aimed towards their building—a two story corner café—towards the second floor after tracing his eyes from the shattered glass below.
Gutierre scanned the other two street on the other side—glancing around for anything that moved or made noise, even a shadow. He and Santo broke off, each taking cover behind separate cars by instinct.
"FWHEEE~"[1]
Gutierre rose from his crouch and passed Santo, tapping his shoulder. He shuffled his feet quickly toward the others.
"Clear...I'll tell you when to cross..." Iván muttered, Santo pressed up next to him before taking cover behind anything he could find.
Gutierre glanced at a few nearby light posts when his bracelet flickered, his head throbbing for a moment when the lamps dimmed unevenly.
The night turning even darker, scare of most people.
"FHWWIIT~"
Gutierre bolted at the sound of the elongated whistle, doing his best to keep it quiet. He slid in behind a set of stairs and leveled his crossbow toward the café interior.
"FWHEEW~"
Santo was next, speed walking across the street, Gutierre signaled him once he was close to walk closer towards the cafe—towards a tree to use a cover.
They waited a few moments longer. The last two crossed—Iván and Julie moving quickly. Gutierre's bracelet flickered again, their figures distorting into faint blurs.
Iván took position and whistled again. Gutierre crossed the street and slipped into the still-lit café. His eyes darted for the light switch, giving the fixture a brief glance while it flickered like a faulty bulb. His bracelet flickered in response.
He found the switch and flipped it down, the lights cutting out and leaving only the dimly lit street glow leaking through the windows.
Behind him, the rest of the group crossed in one go, blurs gliding through the doorframe.
Their outlines shimmered into focus, each of them glancing toward the street. Their heartbeats thudding—the cold night grasping at their hearts. They all swept the room, searching for anything that could lead them upstairs.
"Over here..."
Santo whispered, breaking the brief silence of their search. He gestured toward a narrow wall lined with pictures, some fresh, others faded. A stairwell sat hidden behind it.
They moved into position, their shoes leaving soft thuds on the floor. Sweat rolled down their temples, each step up groaned beneath them.
THDMM-THDMM—THDMM-THDMM.
They crept forward step by step. Iván kept the shield centered and checked the edge of the floor above, scanning what little he could see. He continued on. Julie followed closely, taking hold of Iván for support.
Santo raised his crossbow, watching the open space above their heads. Gutierre stayed back, covering their rear.
Iván and Julie sliced through the open room, Santo mirroring their sweep. Gutierre's eyes caught a restroom sign, leveling his crossbow towards it. The rest of the room was clear—
PSSHHHT~
Their weapons turned toward the sound—the restroom door, barely lit by the lights outside.
The handle twitched once.
The door eased open with a low creak—
Callan. It was Callan.
He stood in the doorway, halfway through opening it, his dumb face frozen mid-blink.
Gutierre exhaled through his nose.
"Um...wassup?"
Gutierre raised a hand to silence Callan. His bracelet flickering again. Something appeared on the ground, then dissipated just as quickly.
A ripple passed through the air, subtle like heat off the concrete in a summer day.
"Ya ahora sí—" Gutierre muttered. "—Now you can talk."
"Oh! When'd ya learn that one?" Callan's ear flopped to the other side.
"Ah…this morning…before this thing—" Lifting his wrist, glancing at the bracelet. "—decided to update at the worst time."
Iván moved towards the window, drawing the curtains shut and leaving a narrow gap to watch the street.
Santo set up shop near the railing, aiming his crossbow toward the floor below and flipping a table for cover.
"Here...eat or you'll feel the effects later in the day" Callan walked towards a corner desk cluttered with a small pile of supplies
He tossed Gutierre a small container— a few bread slices, dried meat, and a strip of fruit jerky.
Gutierre squinted his eyes while opening the container, grabbing the pack of dried meat then ripping the packaging off. Callan walked up to him before taking a knee at his side, Gutierre looking confused as Callan signed.
"Lift up your shirt, Need to see if it didn't come off."
He let him do his thing as the group checked their gear and one another to make sure no one got hurt, the wind barely audible.
Gutierre with his mouth full of food spoke, the medic hard at work—who nodded after a few moments before scurrying to Santo. "Hard to....believe it hasn't exploded until now."
He swallowed a large bite.
Julie sat nearby, idly spinning her weapon on a finger. A thin cable linked it to her phone while she waited for the screen to load.
Ten minutes of calm passed by in no time.
"Hey, look at this."
Iván placed his phone on a table at the center of the room. The screen glowed faint with a playing video. The others gathered close while Santo held watch.
The feed showed someone stepping onto a balcony, a few seconds after staying still in the living room—then the city below. Flashing lights cut through the smoke, sirens blaring, and distant screams carried to the highrise.
"What's happening?" Santo muttered.
"It's like a stove, you know…" Callan scratched at his neck, his tail flicking faster. "Except…"—he gave a small, humorless nod—"we're the ones baking in the furnace."
Gutierre frowned, his canine ears drooping. "What?" He looked at the still playing video, his eyes thoughtful before looking towards Iván.
"We're still going under…right?"
IThe light from the screen flickering across his face—exhaustion carved deep, from the stress of life, the events unfolding at the moments or even both.
He kept watching the burning city in silence.
His lips pressed, his mouth opening for a split second.
"Yeah..."
[1] Uhhh...whistling?