The quiet hum of the engine and the crack of branches breaking under the tires disturbed the stillness of the forest. A motorcycle rolled over the yellowing leaves. Its rider was dressed almost entirely in black: a thick jacket, rough fabric pants, a gas mask, and serious weaponry strapped to his back. He maneuvered between the trees with ease, as if he knew this route by heart.
"Woof-woof," came a bark from behind.
A dog with yellowish fur and light patches was running after him. They crossed the forest and reached the base of a low mountain. There had once been an active mine here now only ruins remained. Judging by the rotted sign lying in the mud, this place had been abandoned long ago.
He approached a massive metal door, half-hidden beneath clinging grass and painted to blend with the rock. Inserting a key, he turned it, then inserted a second one above and turned that as well. Bracing his hands, he slowly pushed open the heavy door; it let out a long, grating groan.
It was dark inside. The man switched on his flashlight, its beam slicing through the dusty air. He walked down a narrow corridor until he reached the generator. A few pulls later, it sputtered to life with a low, steady rumble. Flipping a couple of switches on the control panel, he listened as the lamps throughout the place flickered on one by one.
*image*
Now it was clear that this wasn't just a shelter. Someone had turned the old mine into a full-fledged base: an armory, a small laboratory corner with test tubes, an improvised kitchen, and a storage area filled with boxes, crates, and spare parts. In the back was a garage, where a vehicle lay hidden under a tarp, covered in a thin layer of dust.
*image*
The man headed to the kitchen. He opened a shelf, pulled out a can of food, cut it open with a knife, and emptied it into a bowl. The dog trotted up immediately, tail wagging fast.
He took an old pot, filled it with water, set it on the stove, and turned it on. When the water boiled, he added some rations, sat down at the table, and removed his gas mask with a heavy exhale.
Under it was a pale, gaunt face. Almost hairless, with sunken cheeks and inflamed red eyes that looked burned out from sleeplessness and pain. He looked like someone who had been sick for a very long time.
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Life is shit. It always has been, and I knew that. Then again who doesn't? The trick is not obsessing over it, not looping that thought endlessly. You just keep going, worrying only about the things you can change. You value what you still have.And I did. Despite everything, I was still alive. Which meant I could still change something.
After I injected myself with compound "B," I eventually learned what it really was. Essentially, the isolated virus wasn't a cure it was a weapon. It targeted cordyceps, destroying it from within, killing the infected at a cellular level. The scientists in that lab hadn't intended to save people. They wanted to wipe out the threat in a single strike.
But creating a safe version of the toxin one that wasn't lethal to humans had been beyond their reach. All their attempts came down to just one goal: develop a form of the virus that could kill the fungus. They didn't have time. Maybe if they'd had a few more months, they could've done it. Ended the infection in one blow.
I understood even then: curing someone already infected with cordyceps was nearly impossible. You could slow it, yes, but ripping it entirely out of a body… no. Over time the fungus grew so deeply it became part of the person. Indivisible.
When the hellish agony hit after the injection, I wanted only one thing for everything to finally end. I wanted to die. I thought that was the end.But then… I woke up. Surrounded by corpses, in a cold laboratory. I tore the door open and stumbled outside, barely feeling anything. I don't know who came in after me it looked like someone had cleaned up, all the bodies piled into one room.
I thought for a long time about how I survived. I even ran tests on myself. All the equipment was still in the lab, and I had no idea how to use it I had to learn on my own body. The cordyceps hadn't died; it was still inside me, deep somewhere in my head. But the compound had weakened it severely. It stopped showing signs of activity, like it had gone dormant. I hoped that meant it was dead.
With time, I realized it had started growing again, reclaiming control over my body. After rereading the notes and journals, I understood that the only thing I could do was slow its spread while killing myself in the process. There was another side to it: the parasite protected its host to ensure its own survival. Living on the edge not letting it take over my mind, but not letting myself die either.
I managed to come up with a few things to keep myself going. I created a filter for the gas mask I had to breathe through it constantly to maintain this fragile balance. The formula wasn't complicated: ground charcoal, powdered copper and silver, thin fabric fibers soaked in pine extract. Not a perfect system, but it worked. I was still alive, which meant it hadn't all been for nothing.
At first it felt unbearably strange, then came the dull acceptance born of hopelessness. I spent almost a month in that laboratory studying myself, and left only because the military arrived and took the place under their control. The Pittsburgh Quarantine Zone rose in a matter of days. When I saw it a month later, the walls were already five meters high, armed men patrolling the top. I knew I'd never get inside now they were more likely to shoot me on sight than let me in.
So I had to find a new place. I headed south and spent a long time studying old maps until I found an abandoned mine. That's how I settled there, hauling everything I could salvage on my pickup. Lab equipment came first, tools, a grinder for silver and copper everything I needed to make my filters.
For a whole year I roamed the state's roads. The infected were no longer the biggest threat the survivors were worse, the ones who wanted to take the last thing you had. Attacks became routine, and I realized it was time to reinforce my pickup properly. I welded extra plates over the entire body and shielded the rear wheels. I had to leave the front ones as they were.
Time passed, and the abandoned mine slowly turned into a real base. That's where I spent all my time, alone with myself.
"Woof," Druzhok barked shortly, as if reminding me he was still there.
Taking a sip of water, I leaned on the table and stood up. Then I got to the dishes, washing everything with what little remained in the tank I had to refill it manually. I still hadn't figured out a way to set up a permanent water source. Digging a well by hand was a nightmare, and bringing in drilling equipment was a whole other story besides, I had no idea how to use it. Luckily, there was a river not far away. I carried water from there, ran it through a filtration system, and got something close to drinkable. The infected were rare in these parts, and I hadn't found any trace of cordyceps in the water. I didn't know how long things would stay that way, but for now, it was livable.
Druzhok had grown big, strong, obedient. I spent all my free time teaching him commands. I wasn't a professional, but Viktor once had acquaintances in the service who trained dogs, and they'd told him a few things about their methods. It was enough to teach Druzhok the basics.
Recently, I stumbled across rumors about the Fireflies. People said they emerged after FEDRA tightened its rules in the quarantine zones. It sparked a wave of protests, and after the first major sweep where soldiers used heavy weapons an entire movement was born. Honestly, I didn't care about their conflict. It wasn't for me to decide who was right or wrong. What mattered was something else: they had begun searching for a cure. FEDRA supposedly continued their lab work too, but according to the rumors I heard, their goal wasn't treatment it was eradication.
Soon I'll head to the quarantine zone. I want to learn more about the Fireflies, see who they really are. I can't just sit on my ass and hope for a miracle cure. While their group is still growing and strengthening, I have a chance to influence the development of a vaccine. Unlike FEDRA who would most likely throw me straight onto an operating table.
I couldn't take much with me; the less you carry, the better your chances of staying unnoticed. I stepped up to the mirror and made sure I didn't stand out too much. Ah, my bald head. I once had thick dark hair now nothing but bare skin, shining under the light.
"Yeah…" I exhaled, running a hand over my scalp.
I picked up a small bag. At the bottom, I carefully packed a couple of spare filters, an old gas mask, and put on a less noticeable one myself. It was almost a standard respirator, just without side filters so I could cover it with an ordinary cloth mask. I attached a hose to the side and fixed the filter on my back uncomfortable, but better than nothing.
Next came the few supplies I could use for trade in the city if necessary. Cigarettes, bullets, small odds and ends. After adjusting the bag, I left it by the wall. Then I took off my dark work gear and put on something simpler.
Almost ready to go.
"Druzhok," I called.The dog got up from his bedding and came over, stretching."I have to leave. Maybe for a month, maybe longer. Remember how I taught you to hunt? There's food in your bowl enough for a while. And if it runs out, you know how to get your own."
I gave his muzzle a gentle rub and headed for the garage. Grabbed a canister of gasoline, checked it, and moved toward the exit. As usual, the dog followed. At the doorway I stopped and looked at him.
"Guard," I said.
He froze, then reluctantly returned to the door and lay down, watching me leave. I could see he wanted to run after me but he stayed, just like he'd been taught.
I fueled up the enduro bike, started the engine, and rode onto the road. I had never been inside a quarantine zone before and legally, there was no way in. A smuggler had given me the route; he'd been in and out more than once, scavenging whatever he could in the city and quietly slipping back inside afterward. FEDRA didn't let anyone out only their squads left to patrol the streets, clearing infected and anyone who got in their way.
I'd met him several times and traded supplies for information. The first time was in a hardware store I was scavenging I didn't shoot on sight, and he was unarmed. We talked and parted without trouble.
The raiders were the worst thing around the city. They prowled the roads like rats, hiding from FEDRA, but the moment they saw an opportunity, they'd jump any traveler they found.
There were still people living outside the zone, but fewer every day. The main threat now came from infected packs. They almost never wandered alone anymore they moved in groups, like a single organism, as if they sensed where the living were. And they always went toward them.
I stopped not far from the city. Decided not to rush and scout first. I surveyed the buildings and found a vantage point. Slowly climbed up at times having to squeeze through collapsed sections, gripping ledges to pull myself higher. Once I reached the roof, I took out my binoculars and scanned the surroundings. The city was heavily damaged; after several bombings, FEDRA had tried to clear out the infected but never fully succeeded. Many buildings had collapsed into piles of concrete and rebar, and only the outlines of the streets hinted that life had once flowed here.
The route went through an old mall, then past a row of offices, and farther on a residential complex. From there, you could descend into the sewers and pass beneath the quarantine zone's walls. Soldiers patrolled there, but if you paid, they'd let you through. And if you didn't get caught, you wouldn't have to pay at all.
After climbing back down, I found a place to hide the motorcycle and covered it with old debris. All I carried with me was a Glock. The pistol was hidden under my clothing, along with a hunting knife the least visible items I owned.
Walking through the streets wasn't an option; FEDRA controlled everything, their patrols moved across the avenues constantly. If they spotted me, they might open fire or drag me to their base.The safest way to reach the walls was through the buildings. Otherwise the shooters on the walls could take me out.
Walking along the edge of the street, I heard the sound of an engine. I slipped into a building and climbed inside. The vehicle got closer a reinforced pickup with armored sides, soldiers sitting in the back with weapons ready. Once they passed, I hurried toward the mall.
Inside the mall, I switched on my flashlight and looked around the empty atrium. It was silent, except for the echo of my footsteps. I found the route marker and followed it. Getting through was easy enough, moving past storefronts where scraps of goods still lay scattered. I noticed jewelry strewn across the floor worthless now. Nobody needed things like that anymore. All that mattered these days was food and ammo. Everything else was practically junk.
Part of the wall here had collapsed from bombings, so I crossed into the next building easily, sprinting over a narrow passage. Upon spotting more markers, I realized I had to get higher. Smugglers rarely traveled alone usually in pairs, sometimes in small groups. While one searched or scavenged, the other kept watch; better odds of staying alive that way.
Over time, more and more types of infected began appearing.
The first stage runners. They still look human, but every day they lose more of their mind. Next are the stalkers the trickiest of them all. You could meet them inside buildings, in tunnels, in tight corners. Cautious predators, hiding in shadows, striking without warning.
Then came the clickers. They navigate not by sight but by echolocation: they click, let the sound bounce off objects, and shape the world from the echoes. The fungus twisted their bodies and nervous systems, making them tougher, harder to kill. Their weakness is complete blindness, which is why they prefer to stay indoors rather than outside. And the worst part they share information. The moment one senses something, the sound ripples through them all, and every single one knows there's prey nearby.
I found a cabinet by the wall, dragged it to the gap in the ceiling, climbed onto it, and pulled myself up. Looked like an office building a long hallway stretching ahead, rows of broken, empty offices on both sides. Reaching the end, I went down through a collapsed section of wall and ended up on the first floor again.
At a shattered window, I saw the quarantine zone walls ahead. Guards outside, patrols, snipers in the towers. They still let people in, but far more cautiously than before. Space inside the zone was nearly gone, and anyone trying to force their way in without permission wasn't just detained anymore they were shot on sight.
A little farther along, I noticed a dark patch on the floor.
"Blood," I muttered. "Spilled two days ago. No more than that."
It had dried, but was still visible. Looked like someone had been killed. And since there was no body, either it had been dragged away, or the person had left on their own.I believed the second option more.
Moving carefully, I stepped into the corridor.
Click… click…
A shiver ran down my spine I recognized that sound instantly. I switched off my flashlight at once. In the dimness, through cracks in the walls where beams of outside light slipped in, I saw the silhouette of a clicker. It moved slowly, jerking its head, producing sharp, uneven clicks.
It was possible to pass through clickers as long as you didn't draw attention. They were blind, but incredibly sensitive. Each click was a radar pulse. After it echoed back, the clicker would freeze thinking, in its own way. Those fractions of a second were when you could move.
Click-click…
Judging by the echoes, there were at least four of them here. Maybe more.