Her luck ran out less than a kilometre away.
The tower didn’t loom so much as it begged to be seen. Holding that same frailty Gaunt came to know in the past few days, but taller than anything she’d seen for miles around. And it was right there, within fifteen minutes of slow travel, if not for the things in between.
Haggard shapes. Hunched and somehow delicate, much like the tower. Whines and growls and the occasional teeth that snapped, paws that plodded on soil or hung limp. Less than two hundred metres away.
They hadn’t quite seen Gaunt yet. She was crouched, belly almost flush with the dusty road, hidden save her forehead and left eye. Each breath was tight and pulled against her bandages, but she didn’t dare risk shifting until she was ready to run.
Where was there left to go? It was this or the pile of bodies from before. If she left, she wouldn’t be coming back for a bit. Then that begged the question of where she’d find food and water, and medical supplies; she couldn’t simply backtrack. Hell, Gaunt probably wouldn’t make it another day without some miracle to come down from the heavens, and after the actual passing of the apocalypse she didn’t exactly have her hopes up for divine blessing.
So, through the coyotes it would be. She scanned the group for any gaps, which were few and far between given the sheer size of the pack. It was dense enough there weren’t any spots to slip by, but there was one coyote that had wheezy breaths and downcast eyes. She’d have to contend with any companions that went after her, but it was a start.
That said, all the coyotes seemed somewhat under the weather. Almost a boon in and of itself if not for the mystery of where that sickness came from. Not something Gaunt was looking to acquire herself, which didn’t make things any easier, and wasn’t something she figured she could factor into her plan. So she gave herself time for one last breath, enough to strain the bandage taut, hefted herself to her feet, and went in sprinting.
Or she tried. One leg hitched on the gravel, the other didn’t quite make up for it, and then she was back on the ground. The force of the pavement on her wound forced a mild wheeze of her own, pain lacing through her abdomen and collar. She slid one hand under herself, slipped again, scraped some of the dust off with her other palm and tried lifting with both arms. That was enough to get her bearings, but also clearly enough for the coyotes to reach her first.
One foot to the right, the other to follow. Something about four legs being faster than two, at least on clear terrain. Gaunt went for the crowbar at her side, missed, then gripped it firmly. There was one place left where she might have the advantage, and if she was going to die, she’d be doing it there.
She skirted around the first of the coyotes, narrowly missing a swipe of its paw. She could just make out something twitching in the plume it created once touching ground, shifting the sallow skin and matted hair on the limb, slight enough to have her question her eyes, more than enough to scream disease. Not something to deal with with a close-ranged weapon.
Fuck it. She’d die sometime in the next hour or not at all. Gaunt threw her free arm back to unzip her bag, shoved it straight in, closed her hand on a can of tuna. Pulling it free nearly made her skip a step, but the motion of whipping the can behind her got her safely rebalanced. She didn’t quite catch its path, but it definitely hit one of them, and whichever one it hit didn’t even get a chance to yelp afterwards.
They were close. Gaunt went for another can, tugged the zipper a bit too far and a couple things spilled out. Threw that one too, saw it hit a whole lot of nothing, and readied both arms for a swing with the crowbar. A loud SNAP sounded as it cleaved straight through the closest one’s foreleg, sending it tumbling ungainly at her feet. Gaunt kicked its snarling face aside before continuing on, the rest of the group mere tens of metres behind.
So close. The only beacon to be seen, the only place she could hope to reach. It wasn’t a tower, it was salvation. Escape. The end of a long, long road to nowhere.
Just let me have this. Please.
Halfway there. More were catching up, she could smell stale musk, hot blood, something she couldn’t quite place but certainly didn’t smell healthy. As much as another can of tuna could do some damage, Gaunt wasn’t ready to risk the more valuable contents of her bag. Chunks of concrete were lying around, kept together by the rebar housed within. She scooped up the nearest one and hurled it back, crashing heavily with only a stone-on-stone thunk. Swearing, Gaunt shoved her hand into her bag for her very last card and came free with the bear spray.
Not even bothering to look, she thrust her arm back as far as it could go, in a direction she hoped was exactly behind her, and sprayed. Her wild sweeping motions were met with a cacophony of yips and howls, and a risky glance back showed only two still keeping up the pursuit with any success.
The howls from behind nearly drowned out those from ahead. More, somewhere she really wasn’t hoping any would be. No choice, of course, with her being herded towards the tower anyway. Gaunt shoved the bear spray back in her bag, snatched at the zipper, missed a couple times before giving up. Despite the tearing sensations, she forced her legs to stretch that much further, her paces to follow that much faster, just in the hopes of getting there before something she couldn’t quite encapsulate.
There, in front. Yellow eyes in the sides of her vision. Flanked, pursued, there was one direction to go and she wasn’t certain she could do it. Bracing herself, eyes nearly shut, Gaunt gave whatever she had left to get between the two newcomers before they closed her off for good. One of them flinched, the other stumbled, and she shot through like a bullet through water. Then it was right there, she was there, and the door was just on the other side. Hand reaching for nothing in particular, Gaunt practically dove around the corner.
There was nothing there save the face of the building itself, thank god or gods or whatever else doomed the world. Nothing but the doorway, lacking a door, but with some carpeting and a couple boards haphazardly fastened around the edges. One corner flapped free, and Gaunt slipped through with ease.
Something to block the way. Lots of chairs, one coffee table. She wasted no time shoving the table in front of the door and cramming the chairs in the least extricable configuration she could come up with in three seconds. Even so, things were still buckling, splinters still flying, and those three seconds would only save that many minutes at most.
Calm, Gaunt, calm. Think. What were you supposed to do when a door’s being broken down? There was nowhere else to go, no other doors out, just up. Gaunt raced up the stairs with the meagre hope of a better barricade only to be met with a flimsy door in the stairwell and a few more office-style chairs scattered in the hallway. Not worth going up another floor, she’d cut her losses here.
There was something she could almost place, about being stuck like this. She racked her brain as she piled up the few chairs around the stairwell. Something about running through closed rooms.
Something about being trapped…
````
Sitting. She was sitting.
The bench was hard. Her ass was sore, someone was talking. He was very excited about something. She nodded, one of her arms was around the other, shoulders tucked in. The air was slightly cool.
Someone else laughed, whoever was next to her. She didn’t. The window had condensation on it, it was foggy. There was a tap on her shoulder.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
A face, she couldn’t recall exactly what it looked like. It was concerned, maybe. Gaunt shook her head; it was fine. She shook her head too; it wasn’t fine. Gaunt’s shoulders slumped a little more.
Hand on hers. The man reached over and took one of her arms away from her body. She let him. The one next to her laughed again, and so did Gaunt and the man. She punched Gaunt’s shoulder lightly and Gaunt laughed harder.
…
Running. Still holding someone’s hand, she didn’t know which one, or if it was someone else. She didn’t know where she was running, didn’t know if she knew then either.
Yelling. Lots of yelling, some screaming. Some of it was scary and some of it was scared. Pushing open a door now, it was cold, much colder than the air. Now both of them were in the next cabin and she heard the door shut.
She couldn’t see what was in front of her, but she remembered it wasn’t good. She pulled the door behind her, and it was locked…
````
No, the rattling wasn’t the door in front of her, it was the random shit she piled in the doorway a floor below her. Focus. She could certainly place whatever that was now, about being in that situation and then assuredly not getting out. Not particularly helpful.
The cracks were getting louder, but it didn’t quite sound broken through yet. Chances are she had less than a minute to prepare. Gaunt took off her bag and set it on the ground, opened it all the way, took stock. Not a whole lot that could help other than the bear spray, which she didn’t plan on using indoors. She set it against the nearest wall, flicked her eyes to the doorframe a metre over, then to the floor in front of her. Fuck it. She lurched to the door and roved over the mess within.
A two-second cursory glance revealed nothing of use. Next door, still nothing. The third one was locked, prompting her to bash at the lock with her crowbar, and throw her full weight against it. The door tore soundly off the hinges to reveal the space beyond. Some old cookware in the sink, filthy and rusted but more than effective as bludgeons. Some knives, too, but likely dulled over. Gaunt snatched up the largest pot she could find and slipped back out the door, pot in one hand, crowbar in the other.
Finally a dying groan from below sounded from the makeshift blockade, quickly followed by the drumming of feet. Out of time. Back to the edge of the doorframe, weapons raised, bones clenched so hard she could feel her flesh bruising before the fighting even began. The drumming slowed, became overpowered just by the thumping in her chest.
Maybe they won’t find me. Maybe they’ll just leave. She didn’t dare stop tensing, or lower her crowbar or the pot by even a few millimetres. Her breaths were so light she could hardly hear it at all, but so fast that she feared she’d keel over on dealing her first blow. Just go.
A faint growl. Her heartbeats were drowned out once more, the noise getting louder, then faster, then it juddered through her whole body and the chairs, too. One snapped right off its base, another careened away from the door. Gaunt reached for it and shoved it back, then held everything together with her body weight, too.
One more impact and she was on the ground, chairs wrenching apart like she wasn’t even there, and bloodied teeth were poking through the crack in the doorway. More came into view as a coyote sniffed through the gap, though it didn’t sniff so much as snort blood on the floor by Gaunt with a snout bent at nearly ninety degrees. Then some scrabbling of claws and an eye, then two, glared in; really there were three, but one was better described as an open cavity than anything functional.
Gaunt kicked the door shut, causing the remainder of the gore-crusted jaw to fall into the pool of blood at her feet. An unearthly wail sounded, guttural and wet through too much blood and not enough mouth, accompanied by the splintering of the door at the hinges. The door swung open just large enough for something to slip through.
That something entered just in time to be slammed with about five pounds of large stainless steel pot right over the cranium. It didn’t quite land and most of the force went into the floor, but the coyote still slumped over, completely limp. The door was steadily stretching wider, and more were trampling its prone body to get through.
Gaunt could only focus on the next one. The pot was at a bad angle, so with a swing of the crowbar she went for the head a second time, only for her to overestimate its weight and send it flying far above the target. The leading coyote took the opportunity to tackle her, ploughing exposed ribcage and rancid flesh straight to her wound, ripping right through the bandages. The scream didn’t even have enough breath to leave Gaunt’s throat, instead sending a further spike of pain through her ribs. The pain was quickly replaced by a sensation comparable to pouring a handful of ants into one’s every orifice, and accompanied by a firm stabbing as its teeth met her collar.
The pain was rapidly overshadowed by the itching. Gaunt couldn’t help her arms reaching for the wound, doubling over to guard it against further attacks, even as her left arm was held in place by the coyote’s jaws. More were coming. She’d be eaten alive.
Without a clear goal in mind, she thrashed around, throwing her arms wide. Somehow, she managed to hit the next coyote to approach, and the nails she dug into its face cut deep. Its flesh was much softer than she’d expected, the bones much more brittle. Her shoulder tore free with a fresh cold agony ripping through her.
Her eyes flicked to her left. Red, but not as much as she expected. Yellow, from the teeth stopping up the wound, still embedded in her shoulder and no longer in its owner’s face. Moving her left arm wasn’t worth the trouble, so she let it hang limp and fumbled for wherever she thought the crowbar was with her right.
Her fingers closed around it. Gaunt could hardly raise it. But even so, the coyotes hesitantly glanced behind themselves, back to the door, and plodded off.
Hopefully to never return. But really, she had a few minutes at best. With none to waste, she picked off whatever was left of her soaked-through bandage. Doing so only jacked up the itching another notch, so far that she scrambled to pick out the antiseptic without even checking the wound, with the hopes the pain would drown out the feeling. By the time she poured it onto the wound, the itching was already subsiding.
The antiseptic didn’t hurt as much as she was expecting, either, not even matching her existing wounds. Fear moving in to replace the lack of sensation, Gaunt finally brought herself to look at the situation. Five – no, six tiny worms were squirming in the wound, one end exposed. Probably the ass end, as with each passing second they got that much shorter.
Her hand shuddered. It was still shaking as she reached over to grab one, missing the mark the first couple tries. On the third attempt she gripped it at the end and started tugging it free. Well, she tried, but the tremors in her hand already got it out before she even began. She flicked it onto the ground. The spot her fingers were was completely crushed.
Carefully, then. The next one she went for, she gripped her wrist with her other arm to steady it; her shoulder didn’t protest too much at that. It gave no resistance at all as it slid free, this time somewhat intact and wriggling. She slammed the heel of her palm into it for good measure, grinding it into a thin paste.
The one after that was at a strange angle, and half its body tore as she pulled, but thankfully she could make out the front end from the bit she removed. Gaunt could just make out a nub where another one had burrowed, gritted her teeth, and dug a nail in. She didn’t feel much past a faint poking sensation. She wrapped her index finger around its body and extracted it, saw another’s pale grey body in the same tunnel, and pulled it out the same way. Both were intact, but unlike the second one, they hardly moved save for a gentle pulsing.
The last one was gone. Figures. Gaunt was at least able to get to her feet, so it could wait. Just as she did so, more howls echoed outside the building, and Gaunt heard paws tromping down the stairs. Good riddance. The rest of the group probably called them off.
She was tuning out the rest of the howls and steeling herself to break down another door when she heard something else.
Someone screaming, something.
Holy shit.
Was that them? She couldn’t be bothered to bring her phone out now, but they were supposed to be in this area, right? Would they be alright? Could Gaunt even do anything if they weren’t?
The howls were getting closer, an occasional unintelligible shout joining in. Gaunt hobbled to the door, one of her knees buckling, set down in a kneeling position. Not a great position to fight in. Don’t bring them here, for the love of god.
Right as she thought it, the sound of fabric tearing reached her from downstairs, and the rapid sprinting up the stairs. One hand on her mouth, the other on her crowbar, knuckles white and sore, heart throbbing so loud she was certain they could hear it, Gaunt stared at the door. The banging kept going, and didn't get any louder. It faded.
She wasn’t in a position to do much. If she stayed, though, and Kiki died, she was fucked. Utterly fucked. If Kiki died and the coyotes came down, she was even more fucked. Not good.
Well, if she was on death’s door anyway.
Fuck it.
She left the pot behind, didn’t want to strain her arm, even though it hardly felt hurt at all. Took the steps slowly, then a little faster when she didn’t fall down right away. There was more shouting now, a lot more, sounding more defensive and even comically angry than vulnerable. Good that she was safe, for now.
Four flights of stairs. Then five, six with nothing. On the seventh, light shone down the stairwell from the yawning door, and Gaunt could make out the hindquarters of a few coyotes. She ducked. None looked her way.
One foot on the stair, lifting herself so slow her leg started to shake. Another step. Pressed her back against the wall, flat as possible. She tapped her foot against the doorframe, once, twice, as quietly as possible. Just by the edge of the frame she could make out the twitch of an ear.
When the first one poked its head through, she unloaded with every last scrap of strength she had. Which was a whole lot more than she needed, apparently, as its skull burst into pieces, spattering every surface in the vicinity. Calcium deficiency really was all that. Gaunt groaned as some of the shards impacted her chest, and reached out to steady herself.
She hadn’t quite recovered in time for the next one to come through, but there was no need. A solid kick to the chest, it didn’t quite have the bearings to retaliate, and it tumbled straight down the stairs. Its neck was bent three-quarters around the wrong way at the bottom. Gaunt wrapped her other hand around the crowbar, hoisted it over her shoulder, then lowered it mere moments later. Nothing else, yet.
There was still noise, of course, but toned down. Seemed Kiki had their full attention for now, or at least they were caught in a moment of indecision. Then something fell from somewhere, a light thudding like someone jumped down from somewhere, and a wet thwack of something cleaving flesh.
Now or never. Gaunt charged through, just in time to see a coyote about to lunge at Kiki from behind. No use warning Kiki as they were preoccupied with dumping another off the roof, and Gaunt wasn’t willing to risk them falling off too. They turned around just in time to witness Gaunt smashing through the coyote’s skull, its spine, and halfway through its ribs.
Gaunt didn’t say anything. Too much to say, really.
Kiki took a meek step forward.
“Gaunt?”