Footsteps echoed loudly within the narrow tunnels of the catacombs, abandoned long ago by a society that no longer exists. Darkness was a constant presence. But now it was being ripped apart by the steady beam of a flashlight that was shaking side to side chaotically.
A frail young man with black hair, dirtied tanned skin, and strange crimson eyes was running at full tilt. Behind him, a snarling monstrosity gave chase, its claws scratching against the various skulls that lined the walls.
The chase had been going on for only three minutes or so, but Hill felt like he couldn't maintain his pace for long.
This shitty backpack! He cursed internally, biting down on his lower lip as his posture leaned further forward. I'd be way ahead if I didn't fill it to the brink with these stupid cans!
He overextended his next step, causing his knee to buckle. Falling forward, he twisted around and reached for his pistol just as the monstrosity lunged in for the kill.
"Screw you!" He yelled, pulling the trigger down repeatedly as muzzle flare illuminated the face of the beast, ripping it apart in a gory display. The echo of the gunfire echoed down the length of the tunnel, causing his ears to ring painfully.
Taking a deep breath, he scooted away from the monster and stood to his feet before aiming the flashlight at the corpse. The monster, as it turned out, was a regular. A plague beast that possessed no supernatural powers. Had it been an irregular, Hill would've been in deep trouble.
"Damn it," He muttered as he holstered his pistol. "Now I'll have to lay low."
He looked down the tunnel nervously. Sound tended to travel very far in these parts. If it did, it would certainly alert any plague beasts in his vicinity, causing them to pour in like a flood. If he wanted to avoid that, he needed to get moving now.
Adjusting his backpack along his shoulders, he broke out into a jog in the direction he'd been already going. After continuing for around half a mile, he suddenly hooked right, pressing his shoulder into the wall to his right. The bony surface gave away like a push door, revealing a secret entrance.
He killed his flashlight. It was no longer necessary. Eight months of solo survival left him unusually accustomed to these surroundings, so much so that light was no longer needed. He replaced the bone wall and locked it securely using three clockwise levers and a heavy latch.
It was a tight piece of work. So much so that once the 'door' was fixed in place, Hill could only manage around ten minutes inside before being starved of oxygen. But it was a worth risk. Leaving room for ventilation would only increase his risks of being found.
He was used to this, though. And besides, the idea of dying by suffocation was more comforting than being ripped apart by some vicious monster.
"I'm home!" He announced, keeping his voice low but maintaining the faux joy. Nobody replied, as expected. He felt around for his scented candles. Once he located them, he drew his matchbox and lit the candles, illuminating the space.
It was small and square, but it was homely. Skulls lined the walls in rows along with various other bones. In the far corner, a sleeping bag was strewn across the ground. To the left of it, along the rear wall, a table—which was more like a stool—housed his scented candles. And to the left of that was a trash bin, filled to the brim with empty cans.
Above all of this, nailed to the skulls, existed three photographs that were wreathed in dead flowers. The first one was of his sister, Meira, after her graduation from high school. She had died around two weeks into the apocalypse and was the first one to die in his family. Her crimson eyes, just like his, seemed to deliberately pierce through the very essence of his soul despite being frozen in time.
Hill tore his gaze away before the guilt could take hold of him. Then, with a sullen expression, he stared at the next photograph.
This one was of his mother, Leah. Unlike her son and daughter, she had blue eyes, which were haunting and piercing. She had died around three weeks into the apocalypse from suicide. Meira's death had driven her mad.
She probably felt guilty too, huh. Hill grimaced, turning away from the memorial. Screw guilt! It makes everyone go mad.
The third photograph deserved no attention. That crimson-eyed man deserved to rot in hell for everything he'd done.
But he's not in hell.
Sadly, the conclusion wasn't ridiculous. Namely because of the fact that both his father and sister had died at the hands of a plague beast. Those apocalyptic monsters didn't have a real appetite from what he'd observed over the months. Once they killed someone, they'd simply move on in search of their next target, refusing to discriminate between man, animal, and anything else.
They were murderers by nature. Not hunters.
When his sister had died in front of him, he witnessed something so strange that he couldn't explain it no matter how hard he tried.
Her body had vanished. Disintegrated into thin air.
A month later, the same thing happened to his father.
In fact, every time he saw someone die to a plague beast, their body would either disintegrate... or mutate into a plague beast. The latter result was what concerned him because in his mind, their bodies were being taken somewhere.
He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he sincerely believed that they weren't dead yet.
Maybe they had truly vanished from existence, or maybe they were in some sort of afterlife.
There's no way to know...unless I die.
He shook the unpleasant thought away and sat down next to the sleeping bag, emptying his backpack onto the ground. Several cans of chicken chili rolled out.
Scavenging for these awful-tasting slop containers nearly costed him his life. It was worth it though. There was no edible food within the concrete jungle of Agshaka besides canned foods like this.
Even that supply was running low. Hill knew that if he wanted to survive any longer, he would need to leave the city soon. But the thought of being ambushed by plague beasts scared him to death. They thrived outside the city due to the abundance of rapidly-reproducing life forms like rabbits.
Time was running out. A decision had to be made.
Picking up one of the cans, he stared at the weathered label and let out a sad sigh.
"I don't have much time left, do I?"
The ground began to shake.
Hill froze up, letting go of the can and resting his palm against the butt of his pistol. Of course, he had expected plague beasts to show up. The gunfire was plenty loud enough.
The vibrations grew louder, closer, and more numerous. It was a horde of em', rushing through the tunnel at once.
Hill walked over to the door and leaned close to it, hoping to hear the horde pass by.
Suddenly, the vibrations turned into violent, thrashing tremors. It was as if some massive clash was happening in the narrow tunnel outside his hideout. Dust was thrown off the ceiling as a particularly loud thud passed through the hardened stone and bone.
The hell? This is...new.
He leaned closer, trying to listen for anything that would reveal what was going on.
The chaos stopped abruptly.
Hill pressed his ear against the door.
The door exploded inward.
It wasn't a mere crack, but an explosive wave of force that shattered the bone-riddled stone into pieces as a bloodied fist tore through it. Hill was airborne before he understood what had happened, the impact throwing him across the length of the hideout until his back hit the memorial wall.
He crumpled to the ground. Meira's photo landed face-up next to him.
The candle light was extinguished, but it didn't matter. Hill could see it clearly.
It was humanoid in a very loose sense. It had the two arms and the two legs that one would expect, but there was something clearly wrong with the creature. Its skin was awfully pale, contrasting with the blood that coated its skin.
Its face was the worst part.
The eyes didn't exist. They were concealed by sunken eyelids that were darkened but not fully shut, revealing a dark slit that was terribly unnerving. A pale angler protruded from its forehead, curving slightly forward and casting dim light across the various surfaces of the hideout that were now covered in debris.
Hill's fingers wrapped around his pistol once more.
But deep down, he already knew it wouldn't matter.