"Ghhk—ZHHH...hht!…"
"Hea...y...ba...up!"
Hu...h...? His ears rang with a pulsing 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 throbbed with every sound.
The face looked up and past him as their mouth started moving, the face slowly regain some clarity while a muffled voice was hammering his ears.
His ears were in pain while he gazed at the person, it was a dammed ugly face he was familiar with, their crooked grin catching his attention for a moment. He tried to move his arm but all he could do was let out a silent scream, his eyes darting around in their sockets.
"Rela...hit....upp...arm."
Behind the ugly face, his eyes landed on a group using their arms, snatching shields and whatever they could find to defend themselves. The person waved their hand in his face before a wry grin appeared along with an apologetic look in their eyes, his spine tingled as a hand was raised up before it quickly went across his face.
His back hit a wall, his spine bending in an awkward angle as he threw his foot out while ignoring the pain on his cheek, aiming for someone to kick for his stinging face. The city around regained it's sound and clarity, his ears hit all at once by the noise.
"Damned...Librei!"
He frowned as he stared 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 bastards face when the grin became filthy.
"Its cuz you one fucking ugly pendejo. I'm still surprised you still got a girlfriend."
The man gazed at him up and down, Gutierre felt disgusted and forced his eyes to dart around, looking for something. "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 who disappeared just as quickly.
The ugly bastard looked back and spotted the gouge in the wall. A scream quickly followed as a figure was pushed in front of their view, falling on their ass when—
all of a sudden—their head flinched backward as something stuck from out their forehead, the figure hitting the ground.
Another figure quickly appeared, his hand once again raised instinctively as his hand was shoved down.
"It's Santo, so put your arm down. Let me do my job you old dog."
His soft furred ears twitched rapidly, remaining stood up without relaxing.
The newcomer grabbed the item stuck in the corpse's head, yanking it free before the man pivoted. As the person stepped closer, the shape revealed itself—a bolt.
A quiver bouncing around their hip as the newcomers face had a cut running through their dirty cheek. The voice was full of life, the opposite of his own when the sound of metal clicking coming from his right.
"Look at you, still haven't kicked the bucket eh?"
The newcomer clicked their tongue while shaking their head side to side with exaggeration.
Their voice was mocking, whiteish ears with thin black hairs on the tips faced his direction. He also clicked his tongue as he looked to his right. The smell of ash hitting his nose, a loud exhale coming near him.
"So, what happen—" Gutierre was about to ask a question when a soft clanking sound came from the ground. "—Ah Fuck!"
He looked to his side and saw their medic looking at the floor where fallen tools were laid upon.
He gave a deadpan expression to the medic who shot back an expression as if it was his fault the tools fell on the ground. "Well...its a simple matter of things getting out of hand..."
It was another of his group who answered, the actual old man of the crew who had a cigarette in his mouth, a puff of smoke covering his face. "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 dropped to one knee, taking off his rather big backpack, yanking it open—pulling out his tools out in quick 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 spoke with a rough voice.
They quickly did their thing as the video finished loading, a hissing sound followed suit as a weak green mist spread across his torso, the medic spoke with a flashlight in his mouth. "You wont feel a thing 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!"
The air was tense as Santo barked, pointing his crossbow at a small group who looked tired and battered—with someone being helped up.
A smaller feline darted quickly to Santo, holding a gun in their hand—tapping Santo's shoulder twice when they planted themselves behind them, using his body as cover. the smaller figure started to pull his back with caution.
Another figure followed their feline companion, a shield on one arm with a hatchet in the other hand.
The horns from their head curving 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, he stood up unsteadily while his back was grateful to him, relieved from the awkward position. He handed the phone to Callan—their medic who swiftly disappeared into the darkness.
He slipped off one strap off his shoulder, swinging his backpack around as he quickly unzipped it, pulling out an object protruding from the top with some struggle. The edge of the backpack clung to it, forcing him to partly rip the seams.
He yanked it hard while pushing the bag down, once free—he grabbed the folded stock of the weapon, pulling it towards him—a reverse crossbow that was big, clunky but reliable. More than anything else he had.
"ell...kano...he..."
He looked up and glanced a few faces from the small group, looking both scared and full of hatred, he could almost taste their regrettable feelings, placing his crossbow between his legs—he dug inside his bag for a magazine, inserting it with a bash.
His hands grabbed onto its cable, all of a sudden yanking hard using his forearms and shoulders as it latch in place.
Gutierre slung his backpack over his arms—then lifting his crossbow, he quickly approached his group, spit leaving the mouth of the presumed leader across the street.
Bouts of pain ran down his side but it was better than bleeding out.
The flames from the burning interior increased in intensity while he quickly slid past Santo, and Julie—the quietest of the group with her deep red hair before flanking Iván.
"...ve with your life, its hard already as is it no? Living like dogs."
Iván spoke in a tone befitting his stature and age, though it did little to deter them but instead 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, he was sure—
No. He was certain they would not live long, he put his finger on the trigger as he squeezed it just enough to not fire—disengaging the safety.
He exhaled through his open mouth, his eyes starting to burn from the—
"Your...just...a demon."
Gutierre eyes narrowed as a bout of anger hit him at once, some of them had weapons but it was obvious in the way they held them, none of them had any idea of how to use them properly.
That in itself made them equally as dangerous.
"Then."
The old raised his head with pity in his eyes, taking a steady stance. "I will grant you your wish."
A few people looked confused as the leader of the group clenched his fist around an old bloodied knife.
TCHHK!
He fully squeezed the trigger as soon as someone moved, the short metal bolt hit an older man square in the chest when a bout of wind passed him. It pulled at him as he planted his feet harder when an infected yelled.
The infected staggered back as his clothes had three noticeable stains of blood, and not a second later—a wall of steel blocked his view as a rather nimble person flanked his side, his body yelling at him, he was barely able to twist his body.
He shoved his crossbow up in front of his face, the knife caught in between. His arms strained, the only thing in his view was and angry and desperate face.
Damn...infected fool!
He pivoted his crossbow to his right as the attacker stumbled forward, his bracelet flickered as his figure fluttered into nothing.
He quickly kicked the infected feline in the head as it attempted to stand up, he then promptly stomped on their head once before letting his crossbow go, pulling a knife from his backpack, grabbing a fistful of hair—pulling hard with a scream following closely.
The sound of fighting could be heard, he shoved the knife down into the center of their neck, pushing deep before twisting hard.
Gutierre pushed the head away with force, disgust and disregard at the pathetic sounds it made, putting the knife away.
Two to one is not a good number at all!
He turned around and spotted Julie pushing someone harshly to the ground, alongside Santo who smacked an attacker across the nose with the buttstock of his crossbow.
Julie grabbed the back of Santo's attacker's head before kneeing their throat in, the infected started gasping for air, tears leaving their eyes as she jammed her firearm to their head.
BANG!
A disgusting noise followed quickly as the now deceased infected head feature two new air vents.
He didn't hesitate as he spun towards Iván who had throw a few infected with his shield, his hatchet biting deep into a librei.
A few other infected looking stressed as if they had no clue on what to do, clutching their weapons with uncertainty.
He cocked the cable back as a bolt popped up from below, aiming and squeezing the trigger—TCHHK!—grazing the shoulder of the one clinging and clawing at Iván's shield with reckless abandon.
The infected feline's ear twitched before facing his direction, he pulled the cable with force as another bolt slid up.
TCHHK!
The bolt imbedded itself on attackers shoulder, the feline paused her attack for a moment as Iván placed the shield in front of him.
PFFSSHHHH!
Flames erupted, the feline shrieked as her tail ignited into flames. The stench of burning flesh rolled out, thick and sickening as the attacker fell to the ground screaming in pain, thrashing violently. Gutierre flickered back into existence and at the same time, he dragged the cable back again.
The infected recoiled almost imminently, a few stumbling backwards. Behind them, Santo drove a small librei into the concrete ground with force, the smell of burning skin the ash chocking the air with disappear—the small one pulling a fast one.
Julie held Santo's shoulder, the child quickly darted around and behind an infected with eyes flashing terror and confusion.
A kid?!
He swallowed his voice, the infected checking on the small child when one looked back at them with more hate.
"Whatareyoudoing!?"
Their expressions turning uglier as Gutierre felt adrenaline running through his veins, taking in deep breaths. He could hear Iván's exhale, opening his mouth with disappointment and anger.
Iván's grip on his hatchet tightened, his eyes a degree colder than before.
The poor infected still burning away, screaming for the fire to be put out—clawing at the ground with the smell of smoke thick combined with copper.
Both flames illuminating the cold and dark street, they all could still hear the many skirmishes from afar.
Gutierre aimed at the burning person with his finger on the trigger—THWIP!—the bolt impaled itself to the side of their head, the screams of agony ceased and so did the life.
His eye darted back up towards the child hiding behind someone, pulling the cable back as the last bolt slid up into place.
Iván didn't say anything, the shield in his hand gripped tighter as he took one step back—it seemed seeing a child get thrown to the ground managed to calm both parties to some degree.
Gutierre and the rest of their team slowly backed off from the infected folks, he could see distortions in the air or rather see through the hot shimmers even through the night.
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 starting to seep from their pores, the air searing against their skin at every moment. Gutierre gritted his teeth, pressing back until his backpack touched the car. He used one arm to feel the car before sliding along it, pulling cover between himself and the infected.
The distortion thickened to a noticeable degree, the rippling waves turning the street unsteady, their vision swimming as 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, as she pressed herself against the driver front fender, right where the motor was.
Santo on the other hand didn't retreat—he moved deeper into the street, his crossbow locked onto the group, his ears twitching as the furnace's air pressed 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.
As soon as Iván got close enough, Julie rushed up him before yanking his arm, pulling him towards cover as the wall of steel kept them safe.
Gutierre kept his sight forward as the distortion blended the infected into a blurry mess, light bending until his eyes burned. He blinked many times but the haze never left.
The infected at 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 as he felt a tap on his shoulder, he kept his crossbow pointed—walking backwards before turning around after a few steps.
"Apúrale!"
It was Santo with his ever present energy, jogging along with his crossbow in the low ready. Their steps bouncing off the walls, the cold night amplifying every sound.
They speed walked for a few minutes, until they were far enough where the infected wouldn't come looking for them.
Bzzzt!....Bzzzt!...
The phone cut through the quiet, buzzing flat against the night.
Santo slowed down to crawl—his ears flickering.
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. she gave 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 with a few infected without realizing they were being recorded. I think one of 'em was pretty short, though."
Gutierre scanned the quiet street as 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 speed walked for a couple for minutes, the awkward air long gone as they kept a low profile, already forgetting the conversation.
"Right there...on the right, by the intersection."
They slowed again. Iván took point, the others falling in behind, using him as cover. Julie pressed a hand against his back, her gun held low, angled off-center.
Gutierre flexed his fingers around the barrel, the motion grounding him as they crept closer to the corner.
Julie and Iván edge closer, getting closer to cover left towards another 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 up from crouching as he passed Santo and tapping his shoulder, he quickly shuffled his feet towards 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 random but close light post as his bracelet flickered, his head throbbing for a moment when the lamps dimmed unevenly.
The night turning even darker as he—
"FHWWIIT~"
Gutierre bolted at the sound of the elongated whistle, trying his best to keep it as quiet as possible. He slid behind some stairs and leveled his crossbow toward the café's direction.
"FWHEEW~"
Santo was next, speed walked 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 as the last two crossed. Iván and Julie moving across quickly, Gutierre's bracelet flickering again as all their figures distorted into faint blurs.
He could still see their faint outlines when he and Santo stood as they moved toward the café. Iván took point once more.
Gutierre waited for his cover—
Once Iván got into position and whistled again, Gutierre crossed the street and into the still lit cafe, he eyes darted for the light switched, giving the light a glance as it flickered like faulty bulb—his bracelet flickering as well.
He found the switch and flipped it down, the lights cutting out and leaving only the streets dim glow leaking through the windows.
Behind him, the rest of the group crossed in one go, blurs gliding through dimly lit street.
Gutierre figure flickered back into view as the rest of the group slipped through the door, the glass cracked, a hole spiderwebbed near the frame.
Their outlines shimmered into focus, each of them glancing toward the street. Their heartbeats thudded—the cold night grasping at their hearts. Their eyes swept the room, searching for anything that could lead them upstairs.
"Over here..." Santo whispered, braking the few quiet moments of searching. He gestured toward a narrow wall lined with pictures, some fresh and some faded—behind the wall, a stairwell.
They moved into position, shoes leaving soft thuds on the floor. Sweat rolled down their temples as they started up, each step groaning under their weight.
THDMM-THDMM—THDMM-THDMM.
They crept closer, Iván keeping his shield center as he peeped the edge of the floor above. He scanned what he could see as he pressed on. As Julie followed suit, she grabbed Iván as support while aiming at an angle.
Santo aimed his crossbow toward the open space above their heads, Gutierre covering the rear.
Iván and Julie sliced through the open room, Santo mirroring their sweep. Gutierre's eyes caught a restroom sign, he leveled his crossbow that way. The rest of the room was clear—
PSSHHHT~
The hiss sliced through the silence. Their weapons turned toward the sound—a narrow door marked with a restroom sign, barely lit by the lights outside.
They held their breath as Julie leaned into Iván's shield, using it as cover.
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 with his ears drooped to one side. He cough full of awkwardness, the sound breaking the tension like glass.
Gutierre exhaled through his nose, his crossbow already snapped up on reflex. He aimed for the idiot's head—almost pulled the trigger. Almost.
"Um...wassup?"
Gutierre raised his hand to silence Callan, the bracelet flickering again as something appeared on the ground before dissipating just as quickly.
The group stared at the patterns below.
A ripple passed through the air, subtle as 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, his tail limp but twitching—his face was obviously ugly and full of curiosity. Tactilely steering the conversation in another direction.
"Ah…" Gutierre looked up at the ceiling as the rest of the group caught their breath. "This morning… before this thing—" he lifted 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 with a finger as a thin cable linked it to her phone, waiting for the screen to load.
A quick ten minutes of calm passing by in no time.
"Yeah...Hey, check this out."
Iván set his phone on a table near the center of the room. The screen glowed faint as a video played, the rest gathering around while Santo kept his crossbow trained on the stairwell.
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 even at that height.
"What's happening?" Santo muttered, lifting his head just enough to see blurs.
"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?"
Iván didn't answer right away. The 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?