ZAK
The street felt wider than it should have.
Once they got off the mattresses and stepped away from the building's shadow, the world opened up in a way that made Zak uneasy. There were no walls or ceilings, nothing to make him feel contained. Just broken asphalt stretching out in both directions, filled with abandoned cars, glass, and things he preferred not to examine closely.
The web still hung above them. It always did. Thick strands ran between the buildings like scars stitched across the sky, catching the light in dull, uneven lines. A torn section near the east sagged, swaying faintly as if aware something had slipped through it.
Zak adjusted the strap of his pack and kept walking.
They moved in a loose formation. Craig led, his eyes constantly scanning. Hassan stayed near the middle, tense, with clenched hands. Selma kept close to Chris, her head swiveling constantly. Abdi brought up the rear, quieter than usual, glancing at the sky more than the ground.
Zak tried not to dwell on how exposed they were.
The city felt wrong at ground level.
From above, from windows and balconies, it seemed broken but familiar—streets, buildings, landmarks he recognized. Down here, everything appeared warped. Sound didn't travel the way it should. The air smelled off, metallic and damp, like rain that never quite fell.
They passed a bus on its side, windows shattered, its interior dark. A shop with its shutters half open displayed mannequins frozen mid-pose behind cracked glass. A car sat stalled in the middle of the road, its driver's door swinging open, no sign of whoever had left it that way.
"Don't slow down," Craig muttered.
Zak nodded, though his attention had caught on something ahead.
A person.
The figure stood in the middle of the street, maybe thirty meters away. It looked like a man. No obvious injuries or blood. He just stood there, facing slightly away, his head tilted as if he was listening to something only he could hear.
Zak raised a hand instinctively.
"Hold up."
Everyone stopped.
The man didn't move.
Hassan leaned closer. "You think he's…?"
"I don't know," Zak replied, his mouth feeling dry. "But he's not a bug."
That mattered. Maybe.
Zak took a step forward, then another, moving slowly and deliberately. He remembered how people used to talk to scared animals—calm voice, no sudden gestures.
"Hey," he called, not loud but enough to carry. "We're not here to hurt you."
The man's head twitched.
Just once, sharp and wrong.
Zak felt his stomach drop, but he kept going. "We're just passing through. If you're hurt, we can—"
The man turned.
His eyes were open too wide, the whites showing all around the irises. His mouth hung slightly open, lips wet, chin stained dark with something Zak didn't want to identify.
He took a step toward them.
Then another.
"Stop," Craig said firmly.
The man didn't stop.
Zak lifted his hands higher. "Listen to me," he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. "We're people, just like you. You don't have to—"
The man screamed.
It wasn't a scream of fear or pain. It was a raw, animal sound, torn straight from the throat. He lunged forward, sprinting now, arms pumping wildly, feet slapping against the asphalt.
"Back!" Craig shouted.
Everything happened at once.
Selma stumbled as she tried to move away. Hassan swore, reaching for something he didn't have. Chris instinctively raised her pack as if it could shield her.
Zak froze.
Not because he wanted to, but because his mind refused to catch up with his body.
The man closed the distance too fast. Zak could see his face clearly now—veins bulging at his temples, jaw clenched so tight his teeth showed. There was no recognition there, no hesitation. Just hunger and rage. Something stripped down to its ugliest core.
He slammed into Zak.
They went down hard, the impact knocking the breath from Zak's lungs. Asphalt scraped his palms as he tried to push the man off, the smell of him—sweat, rot, copper—filling his nose.
The man clawed at Zak's chest, fingers digging and nails tearing fabric. He snapped his teeth inches from Zak's face, spittle spraying, eyes wild.
Zak shouted, more in shock than pain.
Abdi moved.
Zak caught it only out of the corner of his eye—a blur of motion, Abdi rushing forward, grabbing the man by the shoulder, trying to pull him back.
The man twisted impossibly, strength surging from nowhere. He backhanded Abdi hard enough to send him stumbling, then turned his attention back to Zak, mouth opening wide.
Zak braced himself.
The shot cracked through the air.
Loud. Sharp. Final.
The man jerked violently, body arching, then collapsed forward, dead weight crushing Zak into the ground. A second passed—maybe more—before Zak realized he wasn't being attacked anymore.
Hands grabbed his shoulders, hauling him free.
"Zak. Zak—look at me."
Craig's face hovered above him, pale, eyes sharp.
Zak sucked in a breath, his chest burning. "I'm—yeah. I'm okay."
They all turned toward the sound.
A man stood at the far end of the street, gun still raised, smoke curling from the barrel.
He was tall—about six feet—and young, too young for the way he held himself.
His jacket looked like it once belonged to someone else, something military or close to it, worn thin at the edges. It didn't fit quite right, but the way he stood did. Solid and practiced. He wasn't shaking or rushing, as if this wasn't the first time he'd pulled the trigger since the world changed.
He stood alone in the open street, gun raised, eyes locked on them.
Nothing else moved behind him. No shapes stepping out, no backup revealed. Just the empty road, the abandoned cars, and the web-shadowed buildings watching from above.
The man with the gun spoke.
"Everyone stay exactly where you are."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Zak's heart pounded as he slowly raised his hands again, palms out. Craig did the same, and the others followed, tension coiling through the group like a live wire.
The man's gaze flicked over them quickly, assessing and counting.
His eyes lingered on Abdi for half a second longer than the others.
Then he lowered the gun—just a fraction.
"You alright?" he asked, nodding toward Zak.
Zak swallowed. "Yeah."
The man nodded once, as if that settled something.
"Name's John," he said.