Chapter 2

The middle of the day should be here, glinting in that delightful star, yet everything went dark, apart from those lingering shattered spaces that had hues of some colorful lights. William couldn't see them well; he was surrounded by the safety of these buildings, but how long could they last?

Screams, thuds, and tremors escaped into the sky, followed by every echo of that cursed beat. Darks were around, flying, stomping, eating, feasting, looking like shadows, giants, or creatures born out of paintings in this Dark Fog.

That was something his mother couldn't settle, nor could he. William snuggled himself into his corner even more, pulling his hands over his head and ears. He closed his eyes. It helped against the surrounding noises, yet that buzzing kept going.

He learned to ignore it. It was meant to end at some point, or so his mother said to him, though he probably couldn't even remember most of it anyway. His corner was wet and sticky, but it was his corner. A safety net.

Amidst many screams and clutter of noises, a group of people appeared around the corner, glancing at the tight alleyway without Dark Fog, blood, or Darks. A security, they thought.

William didn't notice them thanks to his hands over his ears, fixed eyes on the ground, and fear over the loss of his mother's hand. He didn't want to hear anything or anyone besides his parents or hold onto it again. It wasn't his choice, obvious to the little glowing treasure inside his hand that was throbbing, screaming at him, and something buzzing kept pestering it.

He tried to clutch the noise like his hands, pushing his hands at his head. Nothing was helping. Nobody would secure anything today.

The people who arrived reached the safety of this corridor, looking tired and horrified. Some of them had bloody holes in their chests, others had rough slashes that seeped out blood through their clothes. They made some quick bandages out of old shirts, as most of their wounds weren't life-threatening. They knew they were. Darks loved blood. Their games were hunts and killing shouldn't be outright perfect. Bloody scent was like a loud noise in the middle of the night, affecting some Darks in numerous ways, and there was nothing clean about it.

“I fucking knew those Walkers wouldn't do shit! All those promises and no acts.” one of them cursed.

“Fuck you! This is a bloody Incursion, Mark!” another remarked, obviously knowing that hope was expensive. “This much... This lot. There is no going back from this shit. This camp is done for and not because of lacking Walkers. Darks… No…. It is futile.”

Mark scoffed at this old man, looked behind, and noticed a bloody path behind his panic. He forgot to care about his leg wound and felt awful. “Fucking hell. No... No!”

After all that running, what was around this place and these corners was no hope. This camp might house thousands of people, but perhaps there were many more Darks around them right now than some fleeting dropping bodies.

A shriek skipped their voices, hearts, and steps. Everyone turned, watching how a head appeared behind the corner, followed by steps coming from shadows. Some Dark sniffed them out, straight up saw them, or hunted them.

They didn't know which was most likely. It didn't really matter, for it was coming.

“A Shrieker?!”

“Fucking Hell! Splitting up wasn’t so bad eh?!”

Some panicked, and others began fleeing, knowing that this was a time when survival was subjective to greediness, or straight-up wickedness.

Few remained to fight, others accepted their dread with numbers since what was coming might be possible to stop here and not somewhere else.

Shriekers were simple Darks. Walking on two, they resembled a human in most cases. It was no wonder. Shrieker used to be a human. Corrupted, eaten by, or fed Dark Fog, and changed via Corruption, a lot of things could become monstrous under this new Dawn.

White eyes glinted in dullness as if they were blind. A simple pair was not rare in its obnoxiously bigger head, while its convulsing and bizarre skin left the impression that it had been decaying for years. Shrieker had no potent Dark Aspects and their latency was subject to Corruption, luck, eating, or the blessing of their instincts. This one was merely at Rank 1 or 2 at best, so it was considered weak, although it was still nothing normal like any Dark.

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Its skin was parched, limbs long and skinny, and it moved erratically as if its motor skills were shittier than its sight. And that head? Its head was bulging, making its eyes seem crazy, and its mouth... oh, that mouth. It was wide open and full of little spikes and teeth that cluttered in little noises and growls as if it was radio going rampant or breaking off in howls.

It clicked its teeth, turned its head to the corridor in full view, and attacked the group, running on two rather poorly, so it changed to run on four. It was no human for sure, obvious by its unhinged appearance, holes for ears, and some protruding bones around its body. It shrieked, unleashing high-pitched noises that hurt the brain and ears, and struck human senses.

“Ahh!”

“No!”

The group panicked and tried to escape from the other direction, rendering their rare idea of fighting useless. Holding hands over their ears helped very little against this shriek

Shrieker pounced at the first prey, grasping a woman’s head, and shrieking to her clutched ears. Her ears exploded, eyes popped off, and wails turned to huffs. Then, a loud bang echoed and her brain turned to mush. Coincidently, Shrieker's head exploded over the corpse of a dead woman, falling limp like a shot dog, dead.

“You have a fucking gun!?” Someone from the group said to a shaking man holding a revolver and bleeding from one uncovered ear. His other hand held a shaking weapon; it was a miracle he was even accurate. It was pleasing for some, but late.

And also a terrible noise.

“L-last...” a shaking man holding the revolver whimpered.

“What? Can't hear you.”

“Last bullet.”

“Oh, god... Oh...”

No other Shrieker came to them, but noises let something else here.

That bullet was meant to be a different kind of safety net than killing a simple Shrieker that could be killed with a neat stab to its head, neck, or mouth.

Cluttering noises revealed Crawlers, a variant of the many human-based low-rank Darks. They were quick, savage, and looked like beasts rather than humans. Their heads were small, mouths little gaping holes, and exposed chests revealed their ribs that were like tendrils of limbs that supported their bodies, giving gore and their torso significant view. Open mouths had a long tongue like a whip, and eyes were small bloody dots. Some even had several scars, gushing out dark liquid from their open chests full of bizarre gore.

Their proper limbs were either useless, missing, or fused with the darker body with veins and dark accumulated dread. Some of them could walk on two, but most crawled around thanks to their rib-like limbs. Shriekers had weak bodies, whereas Crawlers were much quicker and better at direct combat.

Three Crawlers were coming, and the people of this corridor had some knives, metallic bats, and other homemade weapons. They would have become handy against that single Shrieker, but that panic and noise changed their mind. Guns weren't a luxury; they just weren't lucky enough to find some, or they lost theirs already.

Crawlers came like hunters, pouncing and cluttering their ribs against the ground, either pouncing at people like spiders or flickering their ribs like weapons. Most people in this group got hurt, but they fought and tried to hit Crawlers in their chests, hitting where it hurt.

The original dozens of members became less than ten in less than a minute, giving them a grim reality check. Crawlers all died, shrieking, wincing, looking bloody like wounded animals, and leaving sizzling dark matter that was deteriorating their flesh.

Mark hauled a big stick into the brain, wincing it to squeeze the last living shit out of the last Crawler. “This is fucking sick... Yuck...” he spat and looked around, noticing many deaths. Most who survived were experienced and their wounds were mild. No Darks came next, so they didn't run to the streets and rather found some safety in this corridor that was away from the eyes. It was a tight space where they could escape and find temporary hope.

It could be a good idea and protection because the Federation shouldn't miss out on this camp. Something big like an Incursion just shouldn't go unnoticed and let this place become rotting hell. Thus, the idea of hiding was acceptable because Incursions were time-based disasters. It could stop. People should be patient.

They had no idea it barely started, while the Darks would never be patient if something blissfully demanding controlled them.

“We should have taken those bunkers,” one of the survivors said.

“Bullshit. Those are packed with perfect targets. Now... be silent, don't breathe much, and keep your eyes open.”

Stumbling to each other, they hid behind some rubble and trashcans, which were bigger than them, making it a passable hiding place. One of them even suggested hiding in the trash, but others refused.

Unbeknown to them or their naivety, their spot led to a surprising sight that none of them expected. A boy was opposite them, hiding on the other side of this corridor and in a rather small corner. His eyes were open, glaring down, and his hands protected his ears. He snuggled there, a small distance away from them.

There was something else about him than his surprising presence. Something that came to their eyes at first sight. Within his right forearm, there was a crimson colorful gem radiating soft red light that bore something very special. An Emblem. It was a key for Walkers. Their power.

His bloodied and tattered shirt and trousers made him rather pathetic, but those people were nothing better. At least this boy wasn't injured; the blood wasn't obviously his, albeit it wasn't very apparent. At least under their eyes, it didn't matter.

William had yet to notice this group of people because he was busy ignoring the buzzing noises. He was in no state of care for some deaths, struggle, or mental fortitude to see someone else besides his parents.

Silence. He wanted such a silence, he wanted to be able to sleep it off. Then, the nightmares would cease to exist, become low, and the warm sun would emerge again. Or a hand? A warm hand to clinch into didn't sound half that bad either.

One man from the group pointed to him, frowning and realizing who this boy was.

“L-look! That is a fucking Walker!”