Amidst the shock, the fear, and the sickening drain overtaking her, Anya had lost track of time. The tiny room above Anton’s butcher shop had no clock, and she no phone or watch. Through the one window leading to an old terrace, she could tell that it was dark, but little else. She sat up, no more refreshed than when she’d laid down, so it couldn’t have been too long, and saw mother’s knife on the ground before her, unmoved from when she’d set it down before.

Prior to her brief nap, she’d spent a fair amount of time trying to grab the heirloom. Not with her hands, per se, but rather with her mind. In her struggle with Uncle Anton, that was what had happened, she was certain. Yet, sitting there she had been unable to so much as skirt her mother’s knife along the ground.

It was time for round two. Anya hunched, rolled her shoulders, and focused intently upon the knife. Snowy, wayward strands meandered across her vision, and she brushed the hair from her eyes, once, twice, then recalled from before her sleep what she’d seen in the mirror. She glanced down at her hands, suddenly distraught. Her skin was paler than she remembered, like chalk or bone, or nearing so, anyway. As well, her fingers seemed thinner, her wrists more narrow so that the tendons had a song and dance when she pulled a fist. A new peripheral view showed her the blackness of the ceiling, and yanked to the front of her mind the fact that she had a third eye splitting the territory of her forehead. Strangely, she did not feel as though she could see more, and in fact with focus she realized that the edges of her natural eyes showed her just the same. It was, somehow, a relief.

Train of thought thoroughly derailed, Anya pulled herself to her feet, and made her way to the old, full mirror resting against the wall. It was hard to see clearly, but her eyes were quick to adjust, and even in the dark she got a good look at herself. Things did not get better.

What she’d guessed from her hands was true, she was definitely less. Not too terribly, she hadn’t had much meat on her bones to begin with, but it had been comfortable, and she knew her look well. The way her eyes had begun to sink into dark, tired pits, and by the boldness of her cheekbones and the thinness of her lips, the change was apparent. Her clothes even hung more loosely, and she tugged them around to see how, whatever it was, had or was still effecting the rest of her body. It was all consistent, at least. Her collarbones announced themselves, as did her ribs, and the natural taper of her legs was much sharper around the baubles that were her knees.

The eye scared her, simple as that. It followed as her two eyes moved, but could blink separately, which was an equally unnerving sight, but at least with that, she could keep it closed. Or covered, which was increasingly becoming the more likely option, thanks to her hair. Not long ago she’d shared her mother’s flat blonde color, but by the time she’d gotten to the upper room the vibrancy had all but washed away, as it had from the dull blues that were once oceanic eyes. That ocean now appeared to reside within her hair, ensnaring it in a melancholy drift that lagged behind each movement.

It was ghastly, she looked like a drowned corpse.

Retrieving her winter cap, she stuffed the rogue, blanche hair beneath and pulled it tight over her head. It didn’t help much with the sickly visage, but with the eye covered as well, she at least looked like a human being. Truthfully, she could have spent hours inspecting herself, trying to find any other, perhaps more minor changes that might have sprung up over her sleep. However, she wasn’t afforded that chance, and probably for the better, as a round of gunfire outside tore through the quiet of the room. It took every ounce of self-control not to scream, but clasping her hands over her mouth helped.

Anya scurried over to the window, only absently aware of how quiet her steps were. To her relief, there didn’t seem to be much activity on the street directly in front, but after a few moments, more volleys cracked the air, and she could tell the conflict was some fair distance away. For a few minutes she just kneeled against the sill, head rested on her arms, listening to the scattered gunfire and occasional hazy explosion. She could make out figures below, shambling from one side of the street to another, jerking in response to the sounds. When something caught one’s attention, it would catch that of a dozen or so others, and like a race they’d sprint out of her view.

More time passed, and she was vaguely aware of a dip in consciousness, but when she focused again, it was still dark. Part of her wanted to wait until morning before trying to make any move. She thought it couldn’t be too far away, but then, the horizon as far as she could see was unwaveringly black. She didn’t want to sleep again, if she was going to change more, she wanted to be aware of it, or at least in her wits.

Scanning over the room, Anya realized all she had was her mother’s knife. Everything else was clothes, or blankets, or too big to take with her. She resigned to bundle, threw a dark jacket over her shirt, rolled arm warmers up to her elbows, and draped a soft navy scarf about her neck. The knife rested comfortably at her hip, latched by its sheathe to her belt. It would a hard thing to leave the shop behind, and she did not realize until she tried to pull the window open exactly how hard. The more she thought, the worse of an idea it seemed, but even that was in conflict with the images of Uncle Anton’s body only a floor below. Further still, the stupid window wouldn’t open.

She stepped back, huffing, and determined that either the pane was heavier than she’d previously thought, or she was substantially weaker than her appearance let on. Neither was particularly good. She cracked her knuckles, opting for another try, and took a firm hold of the pane handle.

“One…two…”

With all of her strength, Anya heaved up, and for whatever meager credit it was, she managed to shake the frame a bit. Alas, it remained sealed, either so molded into its place by disuse that it would not be convinced to move, or simply more resilient than she. She glared at the window, and her frustration culminated into an idea that only stuck when she realized how scant her options were. Either she managed to get the window open, or she’d be taking her chances on the street.

Anya stepped back, extended her hands at the window, decision made. At first there was nothing, much like with her knife, and she had to fight despair away. But, on the back of that struggle and fear, she felt a mental click. Her panic became tangible, but fleeting, she had to shut her eyes to keep it down. When she looked again, the feeling was different, stronger, as it had been with the cleaver and Anton. She could feel the window’s frame, gradual as though her mind was tethering to it. It was vague at first, but as she focused the frame’s presence solidified itself within her thoughts, not quite like she was holding it, but more perhaps a thing which controlled it. Her hands felt full, despite being splayed out like finger-turkeys. There was an itch in her palms, and then on her forehead as she realized her third eye was open, joining in the angry gaze with fabric against its cornea. The irritation quickly flared into pain, and on pure reaction, she flinched and shoved the cap away from it.

A horrid cacophony of rending metal and shattering glass followed that motion, as the entire lower section of the window bent outwards.

She shrieked, unable to quiet herself in time as glittering specks crashed against her clothes. Merciful fate saw her unharmed by the ordeal, aside from a flashing throb in her temples, but she went stiff all the same. When she looked down, her hands were shaking, and what was more, they were alight. Not from within, but rather from above, from her as though her face were a spotlight. Suddenly there came a shriek in return to her own, from below. Not from the street, though those followed some moments after, but the initial reaction was from the first floor of the shop. Then came the unmistakable rushing footsteps.

“Oh,” she squeaked.

Anya returned to the window, and slipped through the jagged, bent frame with as much haste as she could bear. She felt it tug at the fabric of her sweats, and the hood of her jacket, but nothing tore and she emerged onto the terrace unbloodied. But she was not safe. No sooner was she out did the door to her room bulge with the weight of something slamming against it. She had secured all three locks and moved a chair in front of the knob when she’d first come up, but it would not stand forever, especially against the force of many.

Her attention turned to the lip of the roof some feet above her. Too many feet, actually. The terrace was for decoration and had no rail, and even if she meant to climb, the building’s face was flat, she’d have nothing to grab.

The door shook violently once again, and bent on its hinges.

She felt herself starting to freeze up, staring like how she’d seen deer stare at oncoming cars. Trying to pull her thoughts back was difficult, but as she looked back up to the roof they returned with a degree of clarity. Bracing herself against the wall, she jumped up. At her furthest extension, her fingers could only graze the lip. With a bit of help she could make it.

Focusing, Anya quickly realized that she could not sense her own body as she did the window frame. The sensation was entirely nebulous, like a puzzle with incorrect pieces. What she could get a sense for though were her clothes. Their feeling came quickly, clear as day, and when she motioned up, she felt them tug against her.

A smile, despite everything, quivered into shape and punctuated itself with a whisper: “Wow.”

Once again she squared up to the building’s face and prepared to pounce. Inside, the door roared with piling assaults. One of the locks tore off and clattered to the ground, then the second. She jumped as the third gave in, reaching up and willing her clothes to lift her all in the same motion. At the apex, her fingers brushed the lip, then gravity came for its due, only to be denied a moment longer as her shirt and jacket yanked against the bottoms of her arms. It was enough, she grabbed the ledge.

The energy needed to pull herself up did not come immediately, so she hung like an ornament. Not nearly far enough below, she heard the door splinter, then break completely. Bodies crashed against each other, that she could tell for certain. They snarled, scrambling up or dragging themselves, the ferocity alone nearly startled her from her grip. When after a few seconds it became clear she was not going to be instantly pulled down, Anya took a breath against the dusty bricks, restrained a cough, and heaved herself up onto the roof.

As she rolled over, she heard effort against the metal frame, and guessed that the intruding things had finally searched the room’s only exit. It was some comfort to know they were, evidently, not very bright.

Anya got up and surveyed what she could. Lights along the streets were alive and buzzing, but the buildings were largely dark. She didn’t like Anton’s section of New Windsor as much as her home, but to its benefit, plenty of roofs were fairly parallel, and none too far apart. She could get a good distance away just by traversing them.

Next door a flower shop had its glass skylights shattered, and she could strain to hear the movement there. A risk, but one significantly less daunting than being inside, or on the ground. She approached the gap between the two buildings, and assured herself that she could make the jump, especially with assistance. Where she was going, or what she planned to when she go there, she didn’t know, and frankly wasn’t concerned with. For now, the best choice was to move, and hopefully find people who were still people, or at least people like her.

She stepped back, focused once again on her clothes, then belted forward. As she leapt the narrow alley, the sudden extra momentum carried her a fair few feet onto the flower shop roof. The landing was rough, she stumbled and felt a tremor carry up from her feet, but altogether, she thought, not bad.

Anya didn’t hurry, any mistakes would likely be devastating. If the price she had to pay for a safe-ish journey was taking her time, she’d pay it gladly.

It had grown quiet outside of the medical supply room. Francesco could still make out some faint growling and distant screaming. It sounded like most of them had gone to the far end of the hallway. His arms sank down beside his body and he allowed himself to relax slightly. His entire frame had been tense, in a constant fight or flight response, wedged in between the wall and one of the closets. He let out a quiet breath while staring blankly ahead, studying the grey wall opposite to him.

He listened for a little while longer, trying to judge if the hallway was completely empty while also gathering up the courage to leave his hiding spot. Eventually he got out, the movement positioning him right in front of the window. Something was terribly wrong, whatever was happening wasn'’t limited to his school. It stretched much further than that. The sky had darkened ominously. Down on the streets he could see the gas station. The lights of the sign above the entrance had gone out, but much more disturbing was the horde of beastly humans throwing themselves at the concrete walls of the establishment. They were clawing over each other, pushing without any sort of coordinated movement.

An awful thought crept into his mind. What if there were people hiding in there? They would be trapped just like him. The beasts didn’'t seem to tire either, the horror of the scene compelled him to see what was going to happen and he couldn'’t tear his gaze away from the attack. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice warned him that they could look up and spot him, which ignited a tingle of unfounded fear in his stomach. Then he suddenly remembered what floor he was on. The fourth. It would be impossible for those things to see him. He closed the blinds quietly, turning his back to the window. The magnitude of the events weighed down on him, feeling like something heavy was pushing down on his shoulders. It made him sick to his stomach. There was nothing he could do to help them from up here, he could barely keep himself safe.

He kept wrecking his brain on what could possibly have caused this to happen. If the entire city was like this, maybe it had something to do with the government and the war. They might have released some type of biological weapon. Maybe the water resources were tampered with? As if to test his theory he went to the sink and turned on the faucet, a steady stream of clear water ran down into the drain. He frowned, well what was he expecting anyway? Fluorescent yellow or green, something radioactive like you’ would see in the movies. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, laughing at his own ridiculous thoughts. He could be such an idiot sometimes.

Another terrifying realization dawned on him. If this was happening everywhere……...... He immediately got out his phone, noticing his hands were shaking. He raced through his caller list looking up the phone number of his little brother Massimo and pressed call. Francesco felt his heart pounding in his chest, so fast it almost started to hurt. His brother rarely picked up when he called, but he really hoped he would right now. He needed to answer his phone.
“"Hey…."” The low voice of his eighteen-year-old brother sounded through the other end. Francesco felt a lump form in his throat. He was relieved because if his brother could pick up the phone it meant he hadn’'t gone crazy like everyone else.

“"Fransh …what the hell is going on outside?”" Massimo asked his brother in his typically irritated tone of voice. Usually Francesco would snap back at him to watch his tone but right now he could care less. His phone beeped right through his call with Massimo, it meant his battery was running low.

Damn it. He thought cursing at himself. Why did he always forget to charge his phone? He didn’t know how long the call would last and started to panic.
“"Mas listen to me, lock all the doors and draw down the blinds”." He began to give his brother instructions. If these beastly humans were everywhere his brother needed to haul up in his room and call for help. But what if the police were affected too? Who the hell did he want his brother to call then? Francesco lost himself in thoughts of worst case scenario’s but was brought back by his little brother’s annoyed voice.

"“I already did that, why..? What’s happening?”"
“"I don'’t know what’s going on, just listen to what I say”!" He snapped at Massimo. He had no time to argue, he just needed him to be safe.
“"Go to my room and grab the knife set on the top of my closet, the one I kept for when I would be moving out.” “Take out the biggest one and keep it with you at all times."” He was spewing out instructions leaving no room for his brother to interrupt.

Another beep, his battery was almost dead. Francesco'’s heart skipped a beat. He was not’ done…

“"Call everyone, see if they pick up. Don’'t leave the house under any circumstances.”" He was talking increasingly faster as he went on. Massimo was used to his brother talking this fast and he could follow. The seriousness and panic of his usually calm brother freaked him out though.
“"Yeah okay…..."” He replied in an equally serious voice. He started to realize something was very wrong.
“"I’ll be there soon…..I lo…."”

The phone died. Both brothers looked at their phones. Massimo saw the picture of one of his brother’s favorite video game character. He had attached that picture to his big brother’s caller id. Francesco on the other hand only saw a black screen.

A drop of water splattered on the dead screen of his phone, followed by a second one and right after a third. Francesco dropped to the floor, laying down his phone next to him. He pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his head into his knees. Quiet sobs shook his body, while he cried soundlessly, trying to be as quiet as he could. It was all coming to a head. The adrenaline rush of earlier had allowed him to escape the dorms relatively unharmed. But the images of his roommates turning into beasts, the desperate call with his brother and being hauled up in the medical supply room had no mercy on his mental stability.

It would be useless to try and hold it in like he usually did. He just cried and cried and cried some more. He didn’'t care about his dripping nose dirtying the sleeves of his sweater. When he couldn’'t press out any more tears, crying became painful until it eventually stopped. He gently wiped his raw face with his sleeves, a blank look in his eyes. He let out a shuddered breath and he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, studying each corner of the room.

Closets full of medical supplies lined the walls in a u shape. Their lineup was interrupted by the sink, which was placed rather awkwardly between yet two more closets. A mobile hospital bed sat in front of the two closets right of the entry door. Two sets of IV poles were placed randomly inside the already cramped room. Next to the door tugged away into a corner sat a potted plant, but you could barely make out what kind. Some smart ass figured it was a good idea to plant a creeping ivy in the same pot. The winding plant had nearly taken over its host. Placed in the center was a long table filled with all kinds of hospital stuff, most of which he wasn’'t even allowed to use yet, heck he wasn’t even allowed to be in here under normal circumstances.

Francesco hauled himself up from the dusty floor. He crossed his arms and let out his last sigh. He was done crying. If the world was really going to hell, he'’d seen enough movies to know what to do. Even though Hollywood logic usually didn'’t make any sense it was his best reference point. He hadn’'t lived through a world apocalypse recently so…..

He searched through the closets to inspect the contents, opening, and closing each one very quietly and carefully. He kept his rummaging to a minimum, instead judging what he saw by sight to make as less sound as possible. He only took things which he recognized and knew how to use. Slowly but surely, he had assembled his own personalized first aid kit. He made two kits in case he’d run into anyone who needed it. They were too big to put into his school bag seeing what was already in there, so he stuffed them into an empty pillow case. He emptied one of the tables, throwing whatever was on there into one of the closets.

Keeping his hands busy also kept his mind distracted. Ideas came flooding one after the other, he made a mental to do list. He had packed a first aid kit, now he needed to let any hopeful survivors outside know he was in here. After that he would barricade the door. There weren’'t any empty pillowcases left, he was planning to make a sign and hang it out of the window but there was nothing to write on. He'’d already managed to find a black marker pen. He bit his lip, searching the room for the fifth time in a row. All the while he failed to spot the pillow on the hospital bed, which had a perfectly usable fabric casing around it. Francesco only realized this when he flopped onto the bed in defeat.

Really…?
Did he just not see the pillow sitting there this entire time? Not for the first time that day he smiled at his own stupidity. He spread out the pillowcase on the table neatly, smoothing out the folds. Writing the word HELP on fabric wasn’t as easy as you'’d think. It ended up readable and luckily large enough to be seen from the floor he was on. He made two small holes in the top corners of the pillow case with a scissor and looped a thread through it, which he then tied to the iron bars of the heating system underneath the window. He opened the window carefully and wind rushed inside. He lowered the pillowcase against the walls of the building, it flapped in the wind resting just underneath the bottom edge of the window.

He really hoped it would stay visible and not get blown away by the wind. SOS sign done, he checked it off of his mental to do list. A growling noise which rivaled the human beasts escaped from his stomach and his face flashed hot with embarrassment, even though there was no one around to hear it. He grabbed his bag and took out his lunchbox. He looked at the two sandwiches contemplating if he would eat both of them. He didn't know how long he'd be in here. It could hours, maybe even days. What if he was discovered by those beasts before he escaped? Eager to dismiss the last thought he munched down on a peanut butter sandwich. He was thinking of the best way to barricade the door. Moving one of the closets would make way too much noise and he doubted he had the muscle to move it anyway. His best bet would be to wheel the hospital bed in front of the door, maybe move that potted plant too, with one of the tables for good measure. When he finished his lunch he got to work. The plant was the smallest of his three makeshift barricade materials so that was up first.

He wiped his hands on his jeans, they were kind of clammy, before grabbing the plant at its base using his left leg to guide it to the door. It was deceptively heavy, probably because of the soil inside the pot. He grunted while he moved it into what he thought a strategic position, when suddenly he looked at his hands. The veins were swollen, just like the ones on his face but they were glowing a crazy traffic light green. Startled he let go immediately, the glow dimming after he released the plant. What the hell was that?! He blinked a few times, the glow was gone.

He tentatively touched the plant again and the glow returned, only now he felt the leaves stir against his skin, the base of the plant seemed to move underneath his palm. It kind of felt like a pulse, slowly beating against his hand. A loud crash erupted somewhere down the hallway, it sounded like doors being demolished. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and fear toyed with his stomach. The glow of his veins increased to a bright green and then something extremely disturbing happened. It was like his panic was feeding the ivy plant. It started to grow at an unnatural pace, like something you'd see in a timelapse video, where seedlings grew into full formed plants in a matter of minutes. It wrapped its vines on anything that it could find, weaving like a spiderweb across the door. It snaked around the handle,creeping underneath the door. All the while Francesco watched with wide eyes, unable to let go, not knowing what he was doing. The ivy seemed to fortify the door, creating a net on the inside of the medical room, covering most of the wall, in which the door was placed. If someone would open the door they would push into a hedgework of tough leafy vines.

"Oh my....god"

It felt like the room was spinning for a second and he steadied himself on one of the IV poles. He was feeling really light headed. His throat was dry, like he hadn't had a drink in hours. He swallowed a couple of times, waiting for the dizziness to fade.

There was no time to admire his handiwork, because he could hear them stalking through the hallway like before. Francesco quickly wheeled the hospital bed in front of the door. He pushed one of the tables against the bed. The fact that he was creating noise by doing that was lost on him, he still couldn't get over what he had just done. The barricade wouldn't get any stronger than this, because one he was out of material and two, the room was already cramped. He moved as far back as possible, hoping somebody would spot his sign before.......

Ezra picked at his wrist for the millionth time since he started to turn fabulous, gritting his teeth against the dull ache that permeated his entire body. The crystal growths were expanding further, stretching up almost to his elbows, and forming thick shoulder pads underneath his clothes. His sleeves were rolled up, in order to accommodate his larger physiology, but his shirt still hung awkwardly on his torso, brushing weirdly against his spines and other spiky growths. He sighed- he was just gonna have to endure it, sadly. It was better than having to go shirtless, that was for sure. His stomach growled hungrily again, and Ezra scowled- at his stomach, at the still-too-dark sky, at the alleyway he was trying to slink through unnoticed... nothing made sense anymore.

His right side still ached slightly more than the rest of him, after the rough time he'd had this morning. He'd awoken earlier to Ferals trying to beat down his door (guess they'd heard his snoring), and had exited the room through the only way he could- out the window. Thankfully, he'd only been on the second floor, and his new physiology seemed to have absorbed most of the impact, but he was still a little sore from the tuck-and-roll landing. Then, later, he'd realized that it was well past time for the sun to rise, and yet the skies were still black. Which was unnerving, to say the least. Not only had two-thirds of the city decided the Long Pork diet was the way to go, but now the sun had gone dim, and the sky had turned black.

It was officially the worst Monday in the history of ever.

Ezra kept to the shadows, keeping an ear out for the cries or snarls of anymore Ferals out and about. Thankfully, they all sounded rather distant, at the moment, along with the staccato bursts of machine gun fire, peppering the silence in between the booms of cannon or artillery fire. Or maybe bombs, or grenades. He didn't know, and didn't care- as long as someone was doing something to stem this tide, he could put off having a psychotic break for now. He had better things to do right now, anyway, and the less Ferals that got between him and his goal, the better. He hoped he still knew where it was- it had been a couple months since he'd had to navigate his way there, and the darkness wasn't helping.

His target, of course, being Fordham University, where his sister went to school. Despite it being a weekend when the apocalypse hit, Rebecca lived on campus in the dorms, which meant she might have been caught up in all the nonsense that had occurred. If, indeed, she wasn't already part of the nonsense, one way or another... Ezra shook his head vigorously, as though to dislodge that particular train of thought. She was okay- she had to be. Rebecca was scrappy, resourceful... and she was his sister. If he could emerge unscathed (relatively) from the initial nightmare, maybe so could she. Though, he hoped that she hadn't shared in his fate, honestly- this was no picnic, and if she'd caught his particular strain of Fuck-You, he had no idea how it would affect her. Her case could be more mild... or more severe.

...Clearly, I'm not good at this whole, "don't-think-about-it" thing. Ezra kept walking, emerging from the alleyway that he'd been skulking through, glancing left and right, up and down the street, before turning right, trying to stay low, though the streetlight up ahead was going to make that hard. He was almost to the university, though, so he just had to persevere. He tried crossing the street, away from the light, when something it happened again. Just as before, with the electrical outlet yesterday, a bolt of red lightning arced out from the streetlight, the sparks dancing along his arms, particularly where the crystals had pierced through his skin. Ezra yelped, then leaped back out of range (he thought) of the streetlight, rubbing at his arm where the lightning struck. He ducked back into the alleyway, keeping an eye out for any Ferals that might have been attracted by his little light show. He glanced down at his hand, surprised to see the crystals glowing faintly, like a glow-in-the-dark sticker.

Huh. That's weird... He rubbed his abdomen absently, feeling off-kilter slightly, though he wasn't sure why. Feeling like his luck with Ferals was holding out slightly better than yesterday, he walked back to the streetlight, curious. Tentatively he approached again, stretching out his right arm. Crackle. Another few arcs reached out to his arm, striking the crystals and making them glow. There was a strange sound, too- somewhere between the screech of tearing metal and psychotic, over-caffeinated crickets chirping. Very faint, but getting louder with each arc of lightning that caressed his arm. He pulled back his hand, observing the brighter glowing crystals, and the strange cricket-chirp noise. As the sound and the glow died down, Ezra rubbed his abdomen again, feeling... strange, for some reason. It took him a moment to figure out why.

He felt less hungry than before. Not by much, but moreso than before.

Oooookay...? Apparently I eat electricity now... Ezra stretched out both palms this time, willing the power contained in the lamp to come to him. Immediately, and with much more force than before, the red lightning surged forth, lapping at his arms, the cricket noise going crazy, and his senses... well. There were scant words to describe the sensation. It was like the world's greatest energy drink, or smelling salts and steroids- everything seemed brighter, clearer! His mind, his body was on overdrive! It was, quite possibly, the coolest thing he'd ever--

POP!! Ezra yelped again and ducked back as the streetlight's bulb exploded, and his energy source was suddenly cut off. He paused in shock for a few moments, before starting to walk away sheepishly. Clearly, he was going to have to exercise caution with this newfound ability- the power grid likely wouldn't survive too much of such "eating habits." Not to mention, while he did feel restored and refreshed, the gnawing feeling in his stomach hadn't diminished by as much as he'd hoped. It seemed that while he didn't need to eat as long as he had power supplies, it was still uncomfortable not to.

And here I thought I'd solved one of my resource issues. Ah, well, at least tapping into the power grid can work in a pinch. He continued walking for a few more steps, when he heard it- screaming. Roaring and snarling. Directly behind him. Feeling his stomach drop, he turned around, and was not pleased with what he saw.

Ferals. Not quite the horde he'd seen wandering toward the militarized areas, but still large enough to be concerning. And they were charging right toward him. He glanced down at his arms and groaned- he was lit up like a Christmas tree, perfectly visible to even the sight-challenged not-undead. He turned and started to run, even if he knew it was hopeless- he'd never outrun this many Ferals, not even freshly "fed" as he was. He was gonna die, picked down to the bones by a bunch of slimy zombies. And yet, he still ran, hoping adrenaline would succeed where cardio had failed.

The screams and cries were getting closer now. Louder. Interestingly enough, the cricket sound was also getting louder in his ears. He kept running.

They were getting even closer, practically nipping at his heels. Cricket noise chirped even louder.

He felt fingers scrabbling at the hem of his hoodie- they were right on top of him! Cricket noise was almost unbearably high-pitched, it felt like his whole body was vibrating along with it...

A hand clamped around his shoulder, and a surge of fear and... something shot through Ezra. The cricket noise became a high-pitched whine. He lashed out with his left arm.

"NO!!" he cried. And then the world exploded.

His crystals flashed bright, like a magnesium flare, and crimson bolts of electricity suddenly poured from his body, greedily surging toward the pursuing Ferals. Their screams of hunger and rage suddenly became cries of fear and agony as the bloody arcs carved charged furrows into their flesh, their eyes cooking in their skulls, their veins igniting in red light. In mere instants, it was over- at least a dozen Ferals lay at his feet, smoking and twitching in their death throes. Ezra looked at the corpses in awe, then down at his hands, which were still glowing, though not as much as before. They were still resonating, though- metal-cricket-sound and all.

...So. Apparently, I can do that. His musing was cut short as he heard another pack of screamers, this time from farther away, thankfully. They were still probably heading this way, though, so he decided to hightail it while he was still minimally glowy.

---

It took some doing, but Ezra finally managed to reach the Fordham campus with minimal incident, following his Feral barbecue. Even in the dark, the university was unmistakable. Hopefully he still knew his way around- he needed to make his way to the dorms, where his sister would hopefully be waiting. As he walked across the street to the university campus, however, his ears caught more screaming from ahead of him and to the side of him. He suppressed the urge to groan- more Ferals. Of course- there had to be millions of them, if logic served correctly. He turned to his left, where a gas station was still partially lit up, illuminating a group of Ferals banging away at the walls, trying to break inside. He cursed, and moved toward the deeper dark. Thankfully his glowy bits and cricket noises had stopped, and the Ferals were a little too occupied to notice him. He also still felt the remaining electricity he'd hopped up on surging somewhere deep inside him. It would come in handy if he ran across any more uglies, though how long his reserves would last was an educated guess, at best.

As he walked toward one of the buildings to use as cover from the Ferals in the open, he noticed something odd in the half-dark- a banner, of some sort, hanging from one of the fourth-story windows. He squinted, seeing something scrawled onto the white banner, though it was hard to make out at first. He got a little closer, and... there it was. HELP. An SOS? Someone was alive in there. Maybe not for long, if some Ferals came sniffing about, but that was why he was here. With luck, whoever was up there knew Rebecca. It was worth a shot, either way.

Ezra weaved his way into the building as quietly as he possibly could. Quiet enough that he could hear the screeching from above, faint, but unmistakable. Fuck, he thought. They're already upstairs! I have to get up there- that's my only lead!

Still trying to stay as quiet as possible, though moving more quickly, Ezra ascended the stairs, following the noise of screeching once-humans and flesh thudding against solid matter. He made it up to the fourth floor, where the sound was louder, and peered around the corner. There- Ferals, at least six or seven, screeching and climbing all over each other, battering their hands, their faces, their entire bodies against a door down the hall. Which, if his sense of direction still served, was about where the SOS had been placed.

No time to lose then. Taking a deep breath to steel his courage, Ezra darted around the corner, charging at the Feral pack. One of them turned toward him and screeched, just before taking a crystal fist to the face, caving in its skull lethally. As the rest of the pack turned toward Ezra, and he brought his other fist forward to crash into another Feral's stupid mouth, he concentrated on the feeling he'd felt earlier, when he'd fried the other crew of Ferals earlier. His crystals began to glow as the Ferals began clawing at him, warded off by Ezra's swinging limbs, shattering jaws and cracking bones as they connected, though they got back up pretty quickly from even his crushing blows, and started returning the favor. He took a rake of nails across his left cheek, and what might have once been a savage blow to his ribs, but by then it was too late. With an angered cry, and another burst of metal-cricket-chatter and bright light, Ezra lit up the hallway with bloody luminescence, raking the Ferals with electrical arcs.

The burst wasn't quite as strong as the earlier one, and left him very lightheaded once he'd done it, but it did its purpose- the Ferals screamed and collapsed to the ground, twitching and screeching in pain. Ezra didn't wait for them to recover- quickly, he wove in-between prone Feral bodies, cocking a fist back and delivering a literally-crushing blow to each of their skulls, ending them before they even had a chance to try and get up. With that finished, Ezra quickly turned toward the door the Ferals had been battering, and knocked. Politely.

"Umm... hello? Anyone alive in there? I, uh... I need help. And from the looks of things, so do you." Ezra cocked his head, listening for more attackers. Thankfully, they all still sounded a fair distance away, though that could always change.

"...Look, if there's 'alive inside,' ya gotta tell me now, dude. We gotta move, and fast, before more of those fuckers show up."

Steinway Plaza was lit only by the street lamps that lined either side. It was located only a few streets east of Riker's Island Bridge. The place felt like a void, empty of normal houses or any obvious safe spots. A lone man ran down the street, beads of sweat rolling down his frustrated brow. He wore coveralls, splotched with blue paint and a red sweat jacket. He looked behind him toward the main street to see a few ferals turning a corner into full view of the street lamp. His heart jumped and he groaned as he forced himself to run forward. One of the ghouls heard him and moaned loudly. Its blank eyes jumped rapidly around before it heard his steps pounding against the pavement. It lurched forward into a sprint in his direction.

Long, sleek, black arms whipped out from around a fence and pulled the man in. A hand was put over his mouth to muffle his cries as he was pulled back toward a building. The two tucked into a corner. The captor whispered into is ear gently. "Sshh..." The other man looked down at the blackened arms that held him and he started shaking uncontrollably. "Hold still, be quiet." The captor commanded. The group of ferals searched around the fence, sniffing around and looking manically for prey. The man with the arms whispered one more time. "Stay here." He let go of the poor runner and grabbed something along the floor. It clanked subtly in his claws. The runner looked wide-eyed at him, knowing no other way to answer aside from sitting there in a panic. The captor wound his right arm back and threw the bottle across the street. It crashed and shattered against a storage crate. Hyper ferals rubber-banded across the street, clawing and bashing at the large storage crate to find a way in.

A black arm pulled the man up and started hastily dragging him to the back door of the building. The two slipped inside and went up a flight of stairs where they could watch the ferals from above.

_______________________

Both of them stayed there in awkward silence for what seemed like hours. Gunfire permeated that period in regular intervals throughout the city. Finally the ghouls found some other noise to chase. The man in coveralls piped up, clearly still disturbed. "What the hell are you?" Ambient light from outside lit the room and much of the building enough to see.

The savior sighed and shrugged. "Well what about me? Screwed is what I think." He chuckled but it was clear he wasn't really amused with the confronting thought. "I'm Alan." He extended an arm to shake hands. The other man kept gawking at his arms like they were about to jump off Alan's torso to grab him. With how little sense everything else made it happened to be a reasonable assumption. Alan pulled his hand back. "Oh. Sorry. New to the whole... thing, whatever this is." He flexed it in the air and looked at every side. Grooved black armor coated his arm and ended in claws. "Happened when everything went to hell. I don't know how I didn't turn into one of those things out there but I'm thankful I'm not. What's your name?"

The other man relented. "It's Chad. Right now I'm tired and filled up with this crap." He sat in a nearby office chair with a huff. "I just want to get my family and leave this godforsaken city." Chad stared at his clothes in disgust, wiping absently at the dried paint on his coveralls. "Hell, I didn't even have time to get home and change. These demons have been hounding me since yesterday. Seemed like my whole crew was tearing each other apart. Tools, claws, teeth. It was madness.." He trailed off.

Alan gave Chad a sour look, sudden realization hitting him. "Chad. Did you just say that was yesterday? Can't be, sun isn't up yet." He looked outside, looking at the dismal sky for any sign of dawn. It was a story out of scripture, the sky simply held its black like a broken light bulb with no one to fix it.

Chad gave him a solemn nod and answered. "Afraid the sun isn't coming today. Maybe God is punishing us my friend. Maybe the rapture happened and all that's left is the mad and wicked. Who the hell knows!"

Alan pulled his phone from his pocket, careful not to make a new fashion statement out of his jeans with his claws. It read eighty-one percent battery life, ten eighteen AM. A good battery but a disturbing time. He checked his messages and found nothing new despite having already tried to contact his brothers and girlfriend, Liz. Alan's heart sank a little. He put the phone away. "I've holed up in this piano shop ever since I ran from the paper factory just off of 20th." Alan explained. "A factory covered in windows might seem like a bad idea but we're off the beaten path here. Hidden in plain sight if you will. Riker's Island Bridge right next to us draws most of the attention. No one else was crazy enough to hole here. Alan grinned at Chad. "Not by choice anyways." He had made up his mind, he was going to help the man. "Get some rest pal. I'll keep an eye out. After that we find your family and get you out of the populated zones."

Chad looked up at him, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "That's the best damn thing I've heard in a while. Thanks. I mean it, Alan. Thank you." He hunkered down against the wall and did his best to sleep. Alan kept staring out the window. Gunfire peppered through the silence throughout the city. When that gunfire disappeared things would certainly get scarier. There weren't enough bullets to put all these things down.

Uncomfortably cold, stuck in the fetal position, Acton sat, trying to stay warm and trying in vain to lessen the strain on his bite wound and aching neck. Through the thin metal door of the maintenance closet, the hushed arguing in the room outside was difficult to hear, but audible. With his hands and feet bound, and mouth gagged, Acton lie on the floor, slowly drifting into a sleepy trance, his fingers continuously tapping a rhythm on his rear end, slowly losing feeling in their tips. The business ties around his wrists and ankles were uncomfortably tight, and the rag stuffed in his mouth smelled rather unpleasant, but none of it kept Acton’s sleep deprivation from catching up to him. Before his eyes could fully find a resting spot, though, he sprung back up, the pain in his shoulder flaring back up, and the painful reminder of the worryingly precarious situation he was in bouncing back into his mind. His bound feet pushed him up against the wall opposite of the door, his chest rising and falling erratically. The the pain his his neck flared as he tried to rest it on the fusebox behind him. His mind began to race, sweat beading on his forehead. How had he ended up bleeding in the freezing cold maintenance closet of a hotel.



Every other human Acton could see was screaming of the dying around him, the thunderous boom of hordes of mindless monsters rushing around him. How was he so lucky?

Like stones in a rushing river, stranded vehicles and piles of bodies where the only thing to interrupt the continuous flow of movement, feral and human alike, careening through the street. What had started as normal Saturday, enjoying a nice smoothie and people watching, turned into a blood spattered nightmare, with strange, rabid creatures attacking and devouring everyone in sight.

Acton struggled to stay amongst the fleeing and alive, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd, his own misty breathe shooting out in front of him in ragged puffs. He could hear the volume of screaming and inhuman screeching increasing, but his legs were already being pushed to their limits. As the noises grew closer, and his legs grew shakier, tears welled up as Acton began to accept his fate. When he had finally made his peace with the world, he was pounced, the monster jumping atop him, sinking his teeth in his shoulders, bringing immense pain, blood beginning to ooze out. The monster had managed to pierce Acton’s skin, but the thick coat and clothes he was wearing kept the bite from completely ripping a chunk from him. Acton wrestled wildly to to get away from the Feral biting him, elbowing at it and slamming himself into the ground to try and shake it’s grip. More people stampeded by, and Acton quick turned onto his stomach, hoping for a miracle. The sprinting bodies clashed with the two, the feral being knocked off, and trampled as it rolled into the crowd. Acton sustained a few kicks and steps himself, before finally standing up, and taking a ragged jog into a nearby hotel to lick his wound.

Along with a crowed of a few people, Acton burst into the door, following the herd to the elevators, then opting to take the stairs instead. As they got a few floors up, people began to scatter into different rooms, some rushing to get into the large dining areas and hold out. Acton managed to wiggle into one of the dining areas on the higher floors, where less people had trickled into. When he stumbled into the spacey room with a leaking wound in his shoulder, he gathered more than a few stares. Immediately, people were running, hiding under tables and crouching in corners from what appeared to be the end of their little safe haven from the chaos below. Fingers jutted, pointing at his shoulder, screaming that he must’ve been doomed to turn into one of those horrifying creatures making mincemeat of the streets below. Immediately, an argument began to decide whether to throw him back out to the wolves, as a crowd of people encircled the terrified and still trembling Acton.

Many argued that throwing him out would be the quickest solution, but many argued opening the doors and causing a commotion ran the risk of letting in the actual Ferals below. Other suggested that they outright kill him where he stood, but even those suggested didn’t exactly have the stomach to kill a kicking, breathing man. The solution? Bound, gag, and throw Acton in a closet, and, there he was.



Blood has filled the bandage and dried, sticking to his skin, painfully opening his wound everytime he tried to move it too much, adding more blood to the mix.. His hands and fingers were still tingling asleep, probably due the tight knots around his wrists. His head was pounding, especially around his eyes, and his back and neck ached, all probably from being stuffed in a closet for the past couple of hours. He’d had migraines in the past, but this was different from those. This pain ran deep, resonating up and down his spine to the top of his skull.

Suddenly, the room outside grew quiet, which lulled Acton out of his flashback. His eyes widened as he stared at the door, hoping he would be able to see through it if he stared long enough. He jumped back, shooting back against the wall as the door in front of him swung open. A male figure wordlessly stepped in, and grabbed Acton by the face, pulling his glasses off, paying no mind to the startled and pained groans from the man on the floor. Acton’s vision filled with white, and his eyes burned intensely, his head and eyes instinctively shooting away, eyes shutting on instinct. The hand got a new grip on his face, and forced him to turn back towards what Acton realized was a flashlight. The hand shifted, and pulled open one of his eyelids, burning Acton’s teary eyes once again.
”See? I told you! If he was one of those things, he would’ve turned into it by now! If he was blind, he wouldn’t be turning away from the light like that!”

”She’s not wrong, Christian. Everything I’ve read on that website says they have bad eyesight, and he looked away from the light immediately. I think he’s good. C’mon, we need to treat his wound better, or else he could bleed out or it’ll get infected or some shit.”

”I still don’t trust it. I know you guys have a point, but I’m still not sure.” Christian paused for a second, crouched and looking at the cowering man, eyes still squinted in the light. A hand reached to pick up Acton’s glasses, and when he went to place them back in place, he paused, setting them back down and taking a hold of Acton’s face again, once again shining the light in his eyes again. The man and woman behind Christian began to murmur and move around, questioning what he was doing. He held Acton’s eyelid open and turned to the pair behind him.

“His eyes are fucking yellow.”



Shuffling down the hallway into the main lobby, the two men with their hands around Acton’s arms kept their heads on a swivel, lest any ferals lurk in the first floor around them. Acton moaned and grunted, the pain in his head and neck worsening with every step. His noises only granted him a sharp elbow in the side, which drew even more miserable groans from his throat. Seeing the glass doors in front of him grow closer and closer still, the tension in his body was rising with every inch he walked.

A dull orange glow of an apparently burning city flowed into the lobby of the building, and the closer they got to the thin glass doors, the more still and silent the trio of men grew. The smells of burning flesh and rubber was faintly permeating the lobby, drawing a grimace and beads of sweat from all three of them. Of the small fraction of the street the could see through the glass entrance doors, the carnage was an unholy sight. Acton could feel the fear setting into his legs, stiffening every movement. Finally, their footfalls fell silent as the trio made it right in front of the door, so close their noses could feel the a slight brush of warmth from the glass. Even though

Stranded cars doused in blood, and the dead bodies that provided it, filled the eerily quiet streets, the asphalt and sidewalks stained with even more crimson. Amongst the fallen lay police officers, firefighters, and other emergency personnel, one atop the other, in groups around other dead civilians, heralding their failed attempts to save them. Other bodies, covering in black cracks and veins were scattered in the remains too, crazed looks of hunger and savageness plastered on their faces. Disembodied limbs littered the streets as well, all in various states of being consumed, same with many of the bodies. The monsters, who looked almost like ghosts, marked with snaking lines of charcoal up and down their bodies, had had a feeding frenzy on this street. Not too surprising, considering this was one of the busier streets in Manhattan.

The two men had their faces nearly pressed against the glass doors, searching frantically for any possible ferals that could be attracted by the noise they were about to make. The streets seemed and looked rather dead, but the silence wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

“Go ahead, man.”

Without a response, the man on the left reached in his pocket, and pulled out a key ring, unlocking the doors in front of the men with a stressed inducing click. The man on the right, who had spoken before, let go of Acton’s arm and gave him a stern look, before turning back around and stepping through the door, poking his head out. He looked around, never blinking, his entire body stiff with apprehension. Acton’s breathing began to shake a bit, letting the man’s apprehension become his. His gaze then turned upwards, at the black sky, without a star or moon in sight. He then stepped back inside, and shut the door silently.

“What time is it, Rob?” He asked quietly, without looking back.

The man on the right, with one hand still on Acton, reached with his free hand into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. Acton turned his gaze to the phone, the same as the other two men, and shared the same look of horror as they as the screen lit up.

It was 9:40 AM.

“What the fuck? It’s pitch black outside. Is your phone fucked up? Hey, you, do you got your phone on you?” The man said, turning his gaze to Acton. Acton wordlessly nodded, and pointed at his right pocket. The man calmly reached in and pull out Acton’s smartphone, pressing the home button, only for a dumbfounded look to plaster his face. Acton’s phone read the same time as Rob’s. The man stared into space for a moment, before slipping Acton’s phone back in his pocket.

“No fucking way, man. No way.” The unnamed man said, shaking his head. He sighed, and looked back at the two others.

“We just need to get him outside and get back upstairs. I’m sorry dude, I barely know you, but everyone’s decided you need to go. Good luck out there, man.”

Rob pushed Acton forward, and into the unnamed man’s grip, and Acton could feel a stutter in his step as he could feel himself pulling away from the hell outside. Terrified. He was truly terrified, all the way to his bones. He was only 25, he wasn’t ready to simply give his life up, especially to those ravenous monsters that were tearing New Windsor piece by piece. The men noticed his slight resistance, and the unnamed man gave a tug, but flinched a little. Acton and Rob both stopped in their tracks, their eyes widened.

”The fuck was that? What’d you jump for?” He whispered harshly as all the men stayed statue still. ”Is there something out there?”

The man simply stared at Acton and Rob for a few stunned seconds before finally speaking up, whispering.”No, I dunno, I just felt something weird.” He took another brief moment to breathe, and reached for Acton again. ”C’mon asshole, you need to get out of here before whatever the hell is happening to you starts happening to the rest of us.”

As soon as the man’s hand took grip of Acton, both men jumped back, yelping in surprise, before shutting both their mouths shut.

”What the fuck!” The man whispered harshly.”Did you feel that shit too?”

”Hell yeah I felt that! What the fuck was that?”

They both gave hard stares at Acton, looks full of harshness and unforgiving. The unnamed man simply took a step back, opening the glass door all the way, and pointing outside, signifying that Acton would have walk himself out into hell.

Once he took his steps out, the door was immediately shut and lock behind him, Acton’ never casting a glance back at the men. Now that he was outdoors, the stench of burning flesh and tire was heavily apparent through the city. All sorts of cacophonous noises could be heard from every direction. It truly was a war, and there was no clear winner. Only Death.

Now stranded outside in Manhattan, Acton could only hope he could make it back to his apartment without drawing unwanted attention.

The sun was shining brightly, bathing the day in its golden rays of light and warmth. All around the small cafe’s patio the world was alive, buzzing and humming with the sounds of a city truly alive. Yet, it felt wrong, as if seen through a murky glass, a reflection of something that was not. Makiah stared out at them, the people, with a flutter in her heart. Their skin, pale, and spiderwebbed with black as if the very flesh itself had cracked. Not unlike her own, she noticed with a start. The hard covering over her hands and forearms crackled as she stared at her hand, watching her fingers move, watching the dull orange glow between the crevices of her new skin. The people were watching too.

Kia reeled back, standing suddenly. Everybody had stopped moving, a still hush had fallen over them as they stared with their lifeless eyes, hundreds of shadowy pools focused on her. She whirled around her, even the waiters and the other patrons had stopped, staring at her with the same lifeless stare. Kia leaned against the short railing bordering the outside area, her meal long forgotten as her heart tried to rip its way from her chest as it hammered against her ribs. A cold hand wrapped itself around her arm, and without hesitating she screamed and jerked away, but it held her fast. Other hands joined in seizing hold of her, ignoring her shrills cries as they dragged her over the railing and into.. Darkness.

She floated there, wordlessly and filled to the brim with fear. Her legs knocked against something, and she looked down to find herself standing on a stretch of carpet. When she looked up again, she was standing in a hallway. It was dark, with flickering fluorescent lights that swung freely from the ceiling, or lay against the ground. Twisting forms of metal pierced the walls, their iron guts spilled out into the hallway and creating a hazardous path that Kia found herself walking through. She hadn’t noticed she was walking, she felt as if she was on autopilot as she stepped around broken walls and rended iron, pebbles and glass cracking beneath her bare feet.

She felt compelled, drawn to the end of the dim hall with its failing light, where the space gave away into an ocean of all-consuming darkness. A veil so thick it seemed she would walk directly into and find her progress obstructed. Yet, as she drew nearer, she could see tens of hundreds of stars, twinkling in the darkness, blinking in and out of existence. She stopped, her toes dangling off the edge of the path, hovering over the abyss. Somehow she felt that if she fell, she would never return. Instead, her eyes wandered out into that sea of shadow, at the tiny pinpricks of lights so far off in the distance.

A small form broke away from the darkness, or rather, it seemed to turn around. Kia sucked in a breath through her teeth. A small, raven haired girl stood before her, with eyes so bright they mimicked the stars. Kiah felt her mouth moving, ”Who are you?”, but heard no sound. The silence pressed in all around her as the girl moved forward, the stars growing bigger and brighter as she did until the small figure had to crane her neck up to see the taller woman’s face.

”Key it’s time to go..” The small girl said, her eyes glimmering as she looked up. The small girl looked lost, and sad, as if she were on the verge of tears. But smiled, the shadows on her face grew darker, giving her a haunted look. ”It’s time to go Key!” The girl shouted in Natalie’s voice. Kiah reeled back as the girl lunged for her, stumbling and falling hard against the surface of the floor.

Makiah shot upright, gasping for air as the fear of the unknown squeezed her heart. Her eyes searched frantically around her, trying to make out the dangers in the darkness as she slowly adjusted. Natalie’s face swung into view, and suddenly Makiah remembered where she was at. The office, with the others feeling the.. The horror of—She blinked, remembering that the danger was still out there, still lurking.

”Key, we’ve gotta go,” Natalie voiced quietly, taking her sister’s hands and pulling her to feet. Natalie had flinched. Barely, but when their hands had met, her slick, cool fingers grasping the hard, rough surface of Makiah’s. Kiah smiled softly, straightening her rumpled clothes. A hollow, thunderous boom echoed out from below, sending small vibrations through the office complex.

”What was..?” She asked, looking at her sister sideways as she gathered the few things she’d need from her purse.

”The military or something are outside, stirring up the.. the..”

“Ferals,” A man standing next to the window finished. Makiah looked at him, suspenders holding up his pants and a shaggy mane of hair stuffed beneath a knit cap, “..and I think that’s Marine Corp down there, them boys were stationed in the city waiting for redeployment I think, when everything happened.”

”Key, that’s Dumont-”
”Ery’one jus calls me Monte.”

Makiah shot a glance at her sister, ”Always nice to make new friends, consdering..” she let the statement hang and instead motioned around her with both of her arms.

”Ay, agreed man, friends are gonna be lackin’ something awful in the days to come.”

”Alright if we’re done with the formalities, I say it’s high time we left.”

”Agreed, there’s a storm running through them streets, I dun wanna be ‘ere when it decides to pay us a visit, ya’ know?”

Makiah tossed down her purse, and the largely useless items it still held—Cosmetic stuff mostly. Pocketing her necessities, she stepped around the broken pots and dying plants carefully to stand next to Monte. They were right. Down below a heavy convoy was rolling through the street, complete with armed soldiers and ,what Makiah figured from all those war movies, were some type of APC, or tank. Maybe a mix of both, she never really kept up on military tech. Ferals were pouring out of every nook and cranny, forming a seemingly unbreakable wave as they charged from both ends, but when they got close the vehicles, the two of them, would fire and blow huge holes through the crowd.

”C’mon, it’s not a fucking movie,” Nat commanded, pulling Makiah away from the window. Monte glanced at her, offering her a sympathetic smile as they moved out into the work area. Makiah found it hard to believe that not even twenty-four hours ago, this place had been filled with busybodies trying to climb the corporate ladder. Now.. now it was full of haggard faces in dirty clothes, crying children, the injured, and a few others like.. Well, like herself.

They made their way through the hopeless, the people sitting or crying who had no more will to move, those who could no longer face the world outside. Makiah felt a pang of sadness in her heart, those people would probably be sitting there when the creatures outside found them. At the far end of the area, a silent crowd had gathered with a rather large man at the forefront. A construction worker, probably, seeing as he was wearing a hard hat. The guy was giving soft instructions, perhaps he was a manager of some sort, and his new, haphazard crew seemed eager to follow his lead. Nat nodded her head, motioning forward as she pulled Makiah into the fringes of the crowd.

“..If we go up, we’ll get stuck.. So we gotta go down and we gotta be real quiet about it.” The foreman was saying, his hands out with the palms down to emphasize the need for silence.

“Down?! Down there with those monsters?!” A frantic voice exclaimed, a wiry, jittery man at the front of the crowd. “We’ll die out there!” He said none-too-softly.

“And where are you going to go when you’re stuck on the roof and those.. them things come for you?!”

”Ferals,” Monte added, earning him a withering stare from the would-be leader.

“If we go out the back, quietly, we can make it.. I say we head for the tunnels,” Hard-Hat said, motioning with his hands as if he was half pleading, half commanding.

“Fuck that!” Another shouted, a red-haired bulbous man who was sweating far too much, “There’s only death down there! Get out of my way! I’m going up! There will be choppers looking for us! There’s always choppers!” The stocky man pushed forward, urgued by the murmurs of agreement behind him.

“I’m telling you,” Hard-Hat began before some of the crowd pushed past him, “Fine, fuck ‘em then, let's go.”

Nat looked back at her two companions, shrugging and following the crowd downwards. It was slow progress, but Natalie had to give it to the some thirty-odd people for being relatively quiet. There wasn’t much more than a cough here, a sniffle there, all of which were followed by the hasty sounds of somebody being hushed. The stairwell was dark, and even with everybody’s current composure, every soft footfall sounded ominously loud. Within the confining walls the sounds of the battle raging outside had become quite muffled, excluding the plaster-loosening blasts of the armored vehicles.

The crowd filed out into the lobby. Being on the ground level seemed to heighten the group’s frayed nerves, Makiah could feel them trembling as she slithered through them—Or was that herself shaking? Monte snaked his way forward, rather gracefully, tapping Nat’s shoulder for her attention and nodding his head towards the rear of the building. As they turned to make their way through the milling bodies awaiting guidance a hail of gunfire erupted from outside, sounding far to close to comfort. A stream of shadowy figures passed before the lobby’s doors and windows, a tide of blurred bodies running through the darkness.

An explosion rocked the group, blowing the glass inwards and showering the gathering of anxious people in a spray glass and slick wetness. Makiah flinched back, nausea welling up inside her. The downed creatures outside, those that could still run, hobble, or crawl.

“Oh fuck man we’re gonna fucking die,” Somebody said, the voice was too far for Makiah to see who it had been. A second explosion smashed into the ferals, scattering limb and beast alike. Shadowy figures hurled into the darkness, crashing into the crowd or sliding across the rubble strewn floor. Not even half a second later a woman screamed, bringing the ferals that could still move back into a frenzy. More screams and yells joined the chaos, pulling the attention of many of those still picking themselves up outside, recovering from the blast.

Makiah could vaguely hear somebody out there shouting, orders perhaps, but that was quickly forgotten as Natalie all but dragged her across the floor towards the back. They rounded a corner, and now away from the initial panic, they make quick work charging down the hallway. Other survivors were close behind them, seeing no other way out than to follow the two women. Natalie, in the lead, raced past the other doors lining the hall and threw herself full-bodied against the rear exit, as if expecting some sort of resistance. The push-bar clicked and the door flung itself open, slamming against the outer wall.

Makiah was right behind her, something Nat made certain of with a quick over-the-shoulder glance before turning down the alley—Opposite of where she expected the ferals to be streaming from. Makiah turned out into the alleyway, the smell of which seemed to pass over her like a physical barrier, and turned after her sister. ”N-Nat!” Kia wheezed, trying to garner her sister's attention.

Natalie stopped, turning towards the distant sound of Makiah’s voice, and found herself surprised that she was nearly already at the end of the alleyway. Unbeknownst to her, she had been sort of phasing in and out of using the power she was only vaguely aware of. Nat turned, jogging the last few paces to the mouth of the narrow space between the buildings to survey the street. Thank god the streetlights were on, she had a pretty decent view of the road in both directions. A minute later Makiah came up, sucking in breaths of cold air and bracing her hands on her knees in a slouch.

”Look, over there,” Nat started, motioning for Makiah to look off to their right, ”They’re still fighting up that way.. I say we keep to the alleys.”

”Phew,” Monte began in a whisper, standing at the forefront of the faster runners crowding behind them, ”What I wouldn’t give to have what you have.. Just blurring up the way here in hops ‘an skips.”

”I think you’re right,” Kiah agreed with Nat, looking out into the road beyond. The street was well lit, but still had a scattering of abandoned cars and other debris; metal balconies, toppled trees, doors and wall fragments. The area past the intersection on the left side was obstructed by a pileup, a box truck and a few smaller vehicles.

“If we hang a left ‘round that corner there,” A voice said, pointing with a flannel-covered arm, “We’ll hit the metro tunnels. Can’t be any worse than up ‘ere eh?”

The three looked back to find that Hard-Hat had caught up with them, and was still determined to see his plan through. ”Honestly, that’s not a terrible idea.”

”I wouldn’t mind getting away from this madness for a bit,” Monte added with a shrug.

”And what if those..”
”Ferals,” Monte finished.

”Right, those Ferals are down there?”

“Well, the tunnels are basically a labyrinth. There are side rooms and maintenance ways, protected by some pretty thick metal doors, I’ve done work down there.”

“Fuck this, I’m not waiting around any longer!” A squeaky voice exclaimed in a harsh whisper, pushing his way to the forefront and moving towards the presumed metro entrance. Natalie watched the people streaming past as hard-hat popped up before her, “C’mon lass, can’t be any worse than up here.” He didn’t wait for a reply however, and joined the others in making their way carefully through the dim street.
”I can think of a hundred ways it could be..” Natalie grumbled softly with a shrug, motioning for Makiah and Monte towards the other survivors weaving their way across the road. Another resounding explosion served to hasten their step, and before they knew it the three of them were staring down at the backs of people from every walk of life as they descended a flight of stairs into the Manhattan subway tunnels.

”At least the lights still work,” Makiah added chipperly.