"CHMP-CHMP—CHMP-CHMP"
"No sta mal, this some good bread."
Gutierre stuffed the last two bread slices into his mouth, savoring the flavor with gusto.
His hand reached for another container—he blinked, and it was gone. Julie had it in her hands, munching quietly while playing with her phone.
Callan grabbed a small bag from the table, producing a sandwich—unwrapping it before taking a bite, a bottle in his other hand.
"And how are you gonna do that?"
He asked with a mouthful of meat, swallowing then twisting the cap off with his teeth—taking a long sip.
"We're lucky it was only a couple of nobodies, if they knew how to fight. We'd be as good as dead." Callan took another sip before speaking again. "Didn't you say this is a common occurrence from where your from." He looked toward Iván who stared him straight in the eyes.
Iván met his stare. "Mmm… you might as well killed yourself if you were infected."
He sat on a chair—leaving a black mark on the floor, he grabbed his phone from the table before pulling up a map.
"It's not completely hollow —" Gutierre added, scrolling through his own screen. "—but some areas are closed off—old buildings and places that no longer exist ."
"Huh?" Callan responded. "About what?"
He kept reading, his eyes flicking down the text as he absorbed the text. "Underside, though you'd find most are like towns for infected."
"It could get worse by the time we find an entrance or we could be mistaken for someone on the way home."
Callan stayed silent for a moment, putting the sandwich in his mouth, grabbing a bag from the table this time and tossing it to Santo.
"Im sure they'd set up barricades by know so how would we even get home." Callan paused, taking another bite of his sandwich.
"We don't even live in the same street. Julie here—" He pointed to Julie who looked up, holding a little pouch full of juice between her lips.
"She lives close to the center of the city itself, its not like the movies where we can drive straight in."
Callan was expressive, using his hands to illustrate his view. "The only way to reach another section is if its literally connected."
"Hah?" Julie stood up, finally speaking as she walked up to him, backing up just a bit. "Tienes vergüenza o que? Who was the one who helped you get that dress mmm~?"
Her eyes shimmered, a grin spreading across her face.
"I can t—"
Julie mouth was quickly covered by Callan, she tried to get away but to no avail, muffled words spilled through his fingers. "We dont have to bring her into this okay?" His brow twitched, shaking her head lightly to stop her from saying anything else.
"—!"
He felt a sharp sting on his hand, her teeth biting into his hand while he tried to pull his hand away like a mad dog.
"Let go of me you bitch!"
Her eyes shone brightly, placing one leg between his and twisting hard. With a loud thud, they fell to the floor as Julie wormed herself behind him. Wrapping herself around him like a worm.
Iván sighed at the squirming mass before him, standing up and his hands finding both of their heads—
BAM!
He collided both heads together, forcing both dumbasses to let go, rubbing their heads while complaining.
Callan turned around and pushed her, falling on her back.
"Stop fooling around like children and get ready. We leave in thirty minutes." Iván said flatly.
"We already got paid, and they're satisfied with what we gave them."
"There's an entrance a few minutes away." He once again grabbed his phone, sitting back down and dragging his thumb across the screen.
"We'll get home by morning...probably..." Callan added, pulling his phone from his pocket.
He flicked it on, checking the time and for any new notifications. "It's past midnight, though." He sighed, patting his jacket down. "So… what's the plan?"
"We also need a car, we're not walking for kilometers."
Gutierre walked towards Santo, who was now sitting on a chair—his crossbow at his side, still keeping an eye on the stairs.
"Did you bring any of my stuff?"
Santo pointed at the backpack leaning against the wall. Gutierre picked it up while spinning it around it around. Two black containers were tied to it; he untied them and set them on a chair.
Gutierre lifted his crossbow, being careful to not squeeze the trigger. He pressed the release lever and slid the magazine down with a click.
Setting it aside—he reached to the side of the backpack before yanking off a small cube and tossing it to the floor.
He yanked a worn down blue bolt from the nearly spent magazine that was held by a rubber band and switching the bolt in the crossbow with care. Around him, the others muttered softly—the low talk of plans, news drifting through the air.
When everything was ready, he aimed at the cube. "Clear."
He heard four distinct voice as he discharged the bolt.
TCHHK—FWUP!
The bolt hit true. He loosened his grip, lowering the crossbow until the stirrup rested on the floor. Planting his boot on it, he drew the cable back with his arms and shoulders, locking it back into place.
He tilted it slightly before grabbing a magazine and shoving it in, fumbling once before giving it a solid smack.
He picked up the small cube and worn bolt, tossing them to Santo.
Gutierre took a few steps towards the wall as he sat on the ground, resting his weary soul. The phone's glow lit his face as he scrolled through the misery outside the cafe—waiting, and waiting some more.
In no time, the thirty minutes was almost done—
"Alright, here's the plan."
Gutierre felt a tap on his shoulder, opening his hazy eyes. He exhaled audibly as he swallowed nothing in particular.
When he stood, his phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor, a random video playing along. His ears twitched, his tail wagging once before stopping all together.
"We'll be staying under for the most part, and stay out of trouble...I hope."
The rest of the group talked and argued about the plans to be.
He picked up his phone, putting it away while grabbing his crossbow.
"I doubt that."
Santo's voice cut through, he set his phone on a table—Julie seemingly taken over the duty of watching over the stairs.
"It already moved under, so we'll have go up and down."
Santo said, fastening the strap of his gear. Julie coughed twice—catching their attention.
"Ya'll can crash at my place y'know? I'm sure none of would dare to enter downtown." She sprawled her fingers across her chest, her voice full of pride.
"That's a lot of gates we have to go through." Gutierre finally spoke up, his voice still raspy.
"It'd be like any other time you came over for a little taquito." She responded, her eyes sparkling at the mention of food.
The room's silence filled with the faint creak of the building and the distant hum of the city.
"Pack your shit, we leave in five. I got us a route to Julie's place." Iván said to no one in particular, the once calm air now a current.
Gutierre grabbed his backpack, slinging it on and securing the straps. The table that had once been full of supplies was nearly bare. Taking a bottle of water and chugging it down then wiping his mouth.
"A few of these roads are blocked—here, here, and here." Callan pointed at the map on his phone, pausing as he glanced at Iván.
"They might lock this whole section down soon… though it won't help much. News spreads fast after all."
"We don't have a choice, do we now?" Santo said, already raring to go—the fatigue once in his eyes was nearly gone.
"Listo." His voice entered their ear, waiting out the last few moments before the storm.
They checked one another's gear, making sure nothing was left to second chance.
And just like that—time had run out, catching up to them in the blink of an eye.
They took their respective positions, Gutierre flicking his wrist, their surroundings flickering like a bad game. He nodded once, and they began their descent.
The soft sound of air whistling surrounded them, Gutierre's magic still hard at work. As they walked closer to the glass door, he broke off from the group and grabbed the handle before opening the door.
One by one, they crossed into the street—Santo broke off from the group before speed walking to the nearest car.
They covered him, aiming their weapons to provide cover as Gutierre bracelet flickered—a pulse rippled in the air, followed by a pattern appearing on the ground for a second.
He nodded to Santo who brought his crossbow higher.
Santo caught the signal and lifted his crossbow high. The buttstock slammed into the window.
KRRNK!
A spiderweb crack spread. He struck again—SHHKKRRAK!—glass bursting into glittering shards, littering the inside with glass. The car's lights blinked once and died. Gutierre's temples throbbed while the alarm fizzled out before it could scream.
Santo scraped the sharp edge with the stock, getting rid of any sharp edges before reaching his hand in and unlocking the car.
He opened the door and got on one knee to do his magic, air rushed through the street, carrying the distant sound of misery, blurry and almost forgettable.
Once they heard the engine turn over, Santo unlocked the doors—sweeping the shards of glass out of the car, Julie climbed into the passenger seat with Callan and Gutierre taking the rear seats.
Iván on the other hand unlocked the liftgate at the very back, tossing his shield in before jumping in.
"Vámonos." Callan said, gripping the front seat's shoulder.
Iván slammed the gate shut and Santo hit the throttle. Gutierre's bracelet pulsed one last time—the streetlights returning to normal.
"What happened to our other car?" Gutierre asked. "I know the truck had a blown gasket, but still."
"Some dumbass crashed into it when we were getting gas." Santo answered, the low beams illuminating the road before them—the car staying calm for several minutes.
"This was after we told you to hold on."
His phone lighting up the interior, the map updating every second the car moved.
"Didn't need to break into this car"—Santo looked back, a grin etched into his face.
"I just didn't want my skills to fade y'know?"
""....""
Gutierre leaned back, his spine bending in a slight weird angle from the backpack.
The streets were quiet, sirens blaring in the distance, figures darting between alleys holding anything with desperation.
Seconds turned into minutes.
The minutes stretched until they felt longer than they should have. The hum of the engine filling the car, to the point of boredom.
"First stop up ahead/" Santo said, holding an imaginary mic, his tone infuriating for the hour.
The crackle that might've followed never came, only the crushing silence.
"Or… not." His voice dropped, the humor dying out mid-breath.
Their eyes followed his line of sight. The car slowed, tires crunching softly against the aged asphalt. A signal post rose at the intersection ahead—one post for every intersection, one that was supposed to signal them.
One that never came—the metal unwavering and from it, something hung like a dirty rag.
The headlights caught it as the thing stayed limp.
A shape.
Even after everything, even after seeing death in every street and gutter, it still made the air feel heavier but not enough for them to hold their breath.
"Damn…" Callan muttered, his voice flat and soured.
"What a way to go. Died a dog's death."
The body swayed gently in the cold wind. Limper than the word itself. A face that was once something—not a face anymore or even a figure for that matter. Just what was left of one.
"This güey was already damned." Santo's eyes narrowed, voice flattening as he stared at the bare chest and arm.
"Surprised he didn't kill himself from the pain."
The car crept forward, the headlights leaving the corpse up above.
Gutierre turned his head when they passed, the man's chest was split with glossy brown protrusions. In the pale light, they gleamed faintly from the reflection—his arm wasn't even an arm anymore, looking more fantasy than real.
The car rolled through the intersection, Iván's eye's fixed on their rear—keeping watch.
The inside of the car was quiet, Santo's hand hovered over the radio for a long moment—his eyes split between the road and radio before pressing the volume button.
The speakers cracked to life—KSHHH—the words blasted their ears, Gutierre ears flattened themselves, pressing both hands to them.
"...!" Santo fumbled for the volume knob, twisting it to the left until the words became clear.
"Ahh...it nothin but news." Santo clicked his tongue, the news playing just loud enough to not be a distraction.
Gutierre could only watch the minutes passing by, the empty streets lightly illuminated by run down streetlights—inside a district abandoned by the city.
His mind wandered, the streetlights pattering his face—the car dipped forward, the suspension groaning deeper through the tunnel.
A few more meters, and the road leveled again.
Immediately after the car had leveled itself, the moonlights above hitting the street below through a large opening through the ceiling.
"At least we don't have to go around." Santo said, his eyes scanning the underground street. "We can just cut through this little patch of wonder."
Santo's voice rang inside the car, his eyes faced the front, his hand finding the headlight switch and flicked it once.
The car slowed down, the rest of the group reached for their weapons without a though, the street filled with the faint whisper of wind being pushed—like a giant fan displacing air.
Their eyes stayed on a swivel—watching every corner like a fowl, the wind making it harder to hear, forcing them to rely on their sight more than anything.
They drove deeper into the cavern, it didn't resemble the surface in any way. The road was cracked, the support walls that we're supposed to support the ceiling were stained with layers of black and brown. The cold air seeped into the car—sharp enough to raise the hair on their arms.
"Is this… a market?"
Julie's voice came quiet, and uncertain. Their faces shifted, each reflecting a different kind of emotion. The tunnel opening into a mismatched street lined with misery.
"It looks like a catastrophe came through here."
"Are you sure this a street?" Callan added, his eyes narrowing at the scene before him, trying to look for anything useful. The buildings—if they can even be called that were dilapidated, figures lay scattered all over the ground, unmoving like statues.
The faint smell of copper lingering in the air, hijacking their senses like a parasite.
"Drive pendejo, don't just sit here!" Julie's voice punched through the air, sharp and disbelieving.
Santo slammed the throttle a little too hard. The car lurched forward, rolling over something that rattled through the chassis—enough for them to feel it on their asses.
"Damn, no mames güey! Don't you got a license!?" Callan barked, bracing himself against the seat with both hands.
Santo glanced at his side mirror—spotting a few figures emerging from the dark, their faces and figures blending into one mass but not the glint of their crude devices in their hands.
"Check it out, we're about to be jumped—" Santo held the steering wheel firm, keeping clear from any debris
"—just like in secondary!"
"No, dumbass." Callan shot back, pointing at him. "That's just you."
"It's just six people, we could've won."
Callan voiced, the figures shrinking in the rearview while they ventured deeper—the headlights lighting up their path, cutting the dim lit road like a lantern.
They stood alert. A few vehicles here and there, while people in worn clothes wandered aimlessly—their faces married with fear and exhaustion, and some without any will at all.
All of them were the discarded, all of these people forced into solitude, their friend's who pushed them away, partners who looked at them with disgust, all pushed into the depths of despair.
Yet these were the lucky ones—the ones who got to live. The giant fans above kept the air moving, pushing the rot away.
The ride stayed quiet, for twenty minutes underground—the scene remained mostly the same.
The car's front raised slightly, they were nearly at the end of this underground section. The news had become repetitive, barely giving them any comfort.
A few more minutes passed and they were able to spot light reflected from a streetlight, the tunnel coming into view as they passed another speedbump.
Traffic noise hit them all at once.
"We'll take this road and then grab the highway." Iván spoke up, his phone's glare staring into his tired eyes.
"Roger roger." Santo had already rolled down the window long before arriving here, waiting for traffic to decrease, turning on his turn signal.
When he saw an opening, he took it—a horn blared not a second later.
"Chinga tu madre! Hijueputa!
He shoved his head out the door while he cursed his ass off, flicking his arm up in annoyance.
They all looked at the street below, it was filled with people walking rapidly. The frustration was evident in the air.
The street was heavy with the presence of people in uniform, their faced filled with annoyance sourness.
"Watch out." Iván's voice came steady, aimed at Callan and Gutierre, his hands finding perch and squeezing in between them.
"We don't need to get pulled over. Pass your stuff over here."
The two of them ducked their heads out of the way, his horns making it hard to move before placing their stuff in the trunk.
"Now we got traffic instead."
Gutierre's bracelet blinked—TZZT—the white light flickering with their belongings distorting, changing into what was bag of supplies, groceries food and clothes.
It flickered once more, their appearances changing too, taking a more appropriate look.
They could do nothing but wait and groan with the crawling traffic, each meter the traffic moved felt like an eternity.
Julie with her phone out, scrolled through messages and tapping fast, the screen glow painting her face pale. Callan leaned his head against the window, the glass vibrating with the hum of engine.
"You'd think the end of civilight would clear up traffic."
He said, his voice distorting with the vibrations.
Gutierre's gaze wandered out the window, watching the faces in other car's. A child leaned against a window in the car next to them, tracing shapes in the fogged glass.
And after who knew how long, the highway finally came into sight—the highway ramp just barely out of sight.
They rolled up to another stoplight—one street post for every intersection, a white dot grid of light stretching for each direction. The sign's ahead their heads glowed a dull red, the city beyond it washed in the same color.
When it turned green, Santo slammed the throttle. The tires screeched, the car jerking forward as the engine roared to life as he held the door frame as support. He cut around the vehicle on their right, the next light ahead already shifting to yellow.
"Don't—" Julie started, but her voices drowned under the rush of air.
The light turned red, he didn't slow one bit. Santo braked just enough to make the turn, tires whining as they swung onto the ramp—curses flew at him while he flashed a grin, their bodies lurching forward.
Then, once the wheels found the straight, he floored it again like some cheap movie.
The force pressed them back into their seats. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the engine climbing higher.