Thomas remained rooted to the spot, every aching muscle in his body screaming in protest. The heat from the asphalt seeped through his clothes, but that wasn't what made him sweat. His gaze was locked on the only moving thing on that dead highway: a figure walking towards him in the wrong way.
His exhausted mind raced, desperately trying to fit what he was seeing into any logical category he knew. Maybe they were an accident victim? Seriously injured and in shock? That was the most plausible explanation. The road was littered with wrecked cars. Or maybe... maybe they were just a junkie, lost under the influence of strange drugs that made them walk like that.
A fragile flicker of hope sparked within him, mixed with a sharp vigilance. If that person could talk, maybe he could get answers. Where was he? What had happened here?
However, as the figure drew closer, each shuffling step eroded his rationalizations. Thomas could see them more clearly now. The way their right leg dragged on the asphalt, leaving a faint trail. Their left arm bent at an unnatural angle, as if its joint was broken. Their face was deathly pale, with a slack jaw and an empty gaze, seeing nothing yet still moving forward. And that smell... the faint putrid odor he'd first caught upon arriving now grew stronger, emanating from the figure like an invisible aura. This wasn't the smell of someone who hadn't bathed. This was the smell of decaying flesh.
The need for answers overcame the fear that was beginning to paralyze him. He had to know. He had to try. Swallowing a bitter mouthful, Thomas raised his voice, hoarse and cracking in the vast silence.
"Hey! Are you okay?"
The figure paused for a moment. For a brief second, Thomas felt hope. But then, the figure's head tilted with an unnatural jerk. From deep within its sunken chest, a sound emerged. Not words. Not a groan of pain. It was a deep, wet, guttural growl, a sound that seemed impossible to originate from human vocal cords.
Grrrraaaarrrhhh...
With that sound, all remaining hope in Thomas evaporated. The figure now turned, walking directly towards him with a newfound purpose.
The rationalizations in Thomas's mind shattered, replaced by a cold wave of terror. He instinctively stepped back, hands raised in front of him. "I... I won't hurt you," he said, more to reassure himself than the creature before him. "Please, tell me what happened here."
The creature didn't answer. It just kept coming, its shuffling steps now seeming a little faster. Its empty, clouded eyes now held a terrifying focus, fixed on him. It wasn't the gaze of someone confused or ill. It was the gaze of a predator who had found its prey.
The creature lunged. Its movements were utterly ungraceful; it simply threw its body forward with surprising force. Driven by pure adrenaline, Thomas leaped sideways, tripping over his own feet and tumbling onto the hot asphalt.
With a low growl, the creature turned and crashed into him before he could get up. Cold, damp hands gripped his shirt with incredible strength. Thomas could feel the clammy skin even through the fabric. From this close, he could see the clouded eyes, the yellowed teeth, and the putrid stench so overwhelming it made him want to vomit.
"Let go!" he yelled, pushing the creature's chest with all his might.
Its grip loosened. The creature staggered back a step, giving him a precious split second. His mind screamed, refusing to accept this reality. He couldn't use his power; his body already felt empty. His eyes frantically scanned his surroundings, searching for anything. Beside a sedan with the driver's door open, a lug wrench lay on the ground, glinting under the scorching sun.
Without a second thought, Thomas rolled, snatched the heavy metal, and scrambled back to his feet.
The creature lunged again. This time, Thomas swung the lug wrench with all his might. The blow landed squarely on the attacker's shoulder with a dull THUD. But nothing happened. The creature didn't cry out in pain, didn't even falter. It just kept coming as if it felt nothing.
That moment was the final horror that shattered the remnants of his old world. This wasn't human.
Driven by the most primal terror, Thomas swung again, this time aiming higher. A sickening CRACK sounded as metal met bone. The creature staggered. He swung again, and again, focusing every ounce of his remaining strength on one goal: making the creature stop moving. Finally, with one last shattering blow, the creature collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut and did not move again.
A thick silence returned to the highway, now broken only by Thomas's ragged, gasping breaths. He stood there, hunched over with hands resting on his knees, staring at the corpse at his feet. The lug wrench still clutched in his hand felt heavy and sticky. His hands trembled violently, uncontrollably.
As the wave of adrenaline that sustained him receded, another, worse wave replaced it. A violent nausea rose from his stomach. The gruesome images of what he had just done, the sound of cracking bone, and the overwhelming stench, all spun in his head. He stumbled to the side of a car, no longer able to hold it in, and vomited violently onto the hot asphalt.
After emptying his stomach, he could only lean against the car, his body limp and hollow. He stared at the scene around him: the silent road, the abandoned cars, and the corpse at his feet. A horrifying realization seeped into his weary soul. He had used his last wish to flee a hell filled with soldiers, only to land in another hell filled with... these creatures.
Grrr... rraaaah...
That sound again.
Thomas's head snapped up. The groan didn't come from the creature he had killed. It came from a distance, and it wasn't just one. His eyes widened in horror as he saw four... no, five similar figures emerge from between cars at the end of the road. They all turned towards him, drawn by the sound of the recent struggle.
He was alone, exposed, and exhausted. And now, he was outnumbered.
The thought of fighting vanished instantly, replaced by the most basic instinct. Survival.
He had to hide. Now.
That one word echoed in Thomas's head, drowning out the pain, exhaustion, and horror. Hide.
His instincts took over. His eyes wildly scanned the labyrinthine sea of cars, searching for cover. And he saw it. Across the road, a small grocery store stood like a dirty, forgotten beacon of hope, with a partially missing "24 HOURS" sign. It was the only building within reach. It was the only option.
Without hesitation, Thomas pushed himself away from the car he was leaning on, immediately ducking low. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat a drum propelling him in this desperate race. He moved from car to car, using the wreckage as a shield. The sound of shuffling feet on the asphalt and the low groans of the group of creatures grew closer, an invisible whip forcing him to keep moving.
He reached the last row of cars before the open stretch of road separating him from his destination. Peeking through a gap between a pickup truck and a crushed sedan, he saw them. The five creatures were walking aimlessly, but their general direction was towards him.
No time to think. With a deep breath, Thomas ran. He darted across the open asphalt, the sound of his own shoes deafening to him. The grocery store's glass door was the only thing in his sight, a promise of salvation in this newfound hell.
His trembling hand touched the cold metal door handle. He pulled it very carefully, trying not to make a sound. The door opened with a soft hiss.
Ding.
The sound of the small bell hanging above the door rang loudly in the silence, like a death knell. Thomas's heart seemed to stop. He froze in the doorway, his entire body tense, listening with bated breath. Did they hear it? Would the group outside storm in?
Seconds stretched into eternity. There was no change in the sounds from outside. Only the low groans receding. With a painful flicker of relief, he slipped inside and closed the door very quietly behind him.
Darkness and the smell of stale air greeted him. As his eyes, previously dazzled by the sun, began to adjust to the dim light inside, he saw it. Behind the cashier counter, a figure stirred. It wore a dirty store employee uniform, and it slowly turned its head, drawn by the same bell sound that had nearly made Thomas's heart stop.
This time, there was no scream. No blind panic. Only a piercing coldness and the realization of what had to be done. He couldn't use the lug wrench which would make a loud noise. He needed something silent. His eyes scanned the nearest cluttered shelf. Among fallen items, he spotted a long screwdriver.
Holding his breath, Thomas moved silently along the aisle. The creature was still trying to maneuver around the counter, its movements slow and uncoordinated. Thomas gave it no chance. In one swift, efficient motion born of pure terror, he lunged forward, vaulted over the counter, and plunged the screwdriver with all his might into the creature's temple.
The creature collapsed silently, falling among scattered cigarettes and candies.
Thomas leaned against the counter, letting the screwdriver fall from his trembling grasp with a soft clink. He had done it. He had survived. For now. His breaths were still ragged, but this time there was a hint of triumph in them, not just terror.
Pressing physical needs took over. Thirst. His throat felt dry as sandpaper. His eyes scanned the store and found a refrigerated drink cabinet. He pulled the door open, grabbed a bottle of water, and gulped it down greedily in several long swigs. The cold water was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.
After his thirst was somewhat quenched, his survivor instincts kicked back in. He couldn't just hide. He had to understand. Very carefully, he crawled towards the large, dirty front window, keeping his body low beneath the display shelves.
Outside, under the scorching sun, the group of five creatures shuffled aimlessly in the middle of the road, passing his store without noticing his presence. They moved without purpose, like broken puppets.
An idea formed in Thomas's mind. An experiment.
He returned to an aisle, picked up a can of pea soup. He went back to the door, opened it just a crack, and with all his might threw the can across the street, far in the opposite direction.
CLANG! CLUNK!
The sound of the can hitting the asphalt and rolling was incredibly loud in the silence. Instantly, all five creatures stopped. Like a single organism, their heads all turned in unison towards the source of the sound. Then, without hesitation, they began shuffling towards the sound of the can, leaving the road in front of the store empty.
From behind the dirty window, a thin, humorless smile touched Thomas's lips. A cold, clear understanding formed in his mind. "So that's the rule," he whispered to himself. "They're essentially blind. They're stupid. And they just follow sound. Like insects."
He now understood the first law of this new jungle.
With that newfound knowledge, Thomas's paralyzing fear slowly transformed into a sharp vigilance. For the first time since arriving in this hell, he felt a shred of control. He began to move with purpose, grabbing an empty backpack hanging near the door and starting to comb the store's aisles. Canned food, a few more water bottles, a lighter, and a box of bandages. The essentials. The things that would keep him alive.
As he moved behind the cluttered cashier counter, searching for a possible first-aid kit, his foot accidentally nudged a small portable radio lying underneath. It fell to the floor with a loud thud, followed by deafening static.
Panic instantly shot through him. Sound. He had just learned that sound was an invitation to death. He scrambled for the radio, his fingers fumbling for the off switch. Just as his thumb pressed the volume button, a voice cut through the noise. A human voice.
"...emergency broadcast... to all survivors... Atlanta... there's an evacuation center..."
The voice was broken, fading in and out amidst the static, but the words were clear. Thomas's finger froze.
"...do not approach the city... we repeat... stay put... military patrols will..."
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the voice vanished, swallowed back by the endless hiss of static. Thomas shook the radio, frantically turning the dial, but the voice was gone.
He didn't care. He had heard it.
He wasn't alone.
The exhaustion that had weighed on his shoulders seemed to lift slightly. The ache in his muscles eased a bit. Amidst the despair and horror, a genuine, strong spark of hope ignited within him. There were still other people. There was still the military. There was still a system, a safe place.
He stared out the window, at the empty, deadly street. Now he was no longer just running aimlessly. He had a mission. To find the source of that broadcast. To find that evacuation center. To find his way back to civilization.