Logan had decided not to sculpt his whole armour suit. For the first time in a long time, he was entering an area that had other people, and he had no idea how much of a shitshow the world was yet. The last time he’d talked to Lara, she’d mentioned gunshots, and that things were getting dicey, but not dicey enough that Logan had to worry.

Logan had no illusions that he wouldn’t encounter bad actors—the murderers in the cabin were proof of that—but the city was home to thousands of people. Thousands. If he burst into a gathering looking like Iron Man… well, Logan could admit to a bit of self-conscious embarrassment.

Plus, there was another factor at work. He’d gotten so good at reforming his armour that he could assemble the whole suit, even the facemask, in less than a minute. If he needed help finding Lara, it was better to approach people looking as normal as possible.

So, he’d be cautious; he’d be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, but he’d judge the lay of the land first.

That’s not to say that he hadn’t reformed the pouch on his back. He’d perfected it so it could pass for a normal backpack, utilizing [Mimicry Armour] to give it a brown, khaki appearance.

“Make sure to stay inside the pouch until I give the all clear,” said Logan as he powered through the trail, pine trees rushing by in a blur.

Not deploying his armour to stay inconspicuous wouldn’t matter if people saw an octopus clinging to his shoulder.

Ernie grumbled in response, but it was for show. Ernie knew how important it was to find Lara and the kids; he wouldn’t do anything to interfere.

Logan was close to the top of Hope’s Mountain. To get to Richton’s Tomb from the city, you had to climb up Hope’s Mountain, hit the summit, then climb down the other side and wind your way through the trail. That was why it was known as a heart-attack hill. But at least at the top, Logan could look down on the city.

The sun had dropped, only faint light left, evening soon upon them. That meant it would be dark shortly, and he’d know whether the city had lost power.

Climbing the last quarter mile with a shit eating grin, Logan skidded to a stop. Worry for Lara and the kids was still ever-present, but all the same, he could admit to a bit of pride. Running up that hill would have been impossible before the System Integration. Logan would have died—keeled over, gasping for breath, his heart ready to burst out of his chest, his face and chest drenched in sweat. Instead, Logan might as well have taken a few steps for all the difference it made.

But as he peered over the hill, his elation turned to dread.

Unlike normal, he saw light, but it wasn’t the lights inside of buildings.

Fires.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” said Ernie as he peeked his head out of the pouch. Seeing no one around, he climbed out, his eyes alight with curiosity.

Without electricity, the full extent of the city wasn’t readily apparent. But Logan’s high perception could make out the skyscrapers in front of the waterfront, the tall downtown buildings, and then far off, the residential area on the other side of town.

“That… wasn’t what I pictured,” said Ernie in disappointment. “Is the city supposed to be glowing that much?”

“No, that’s not normal. Fuck!” But it made sense. Without firetrucks, the city would be hard-pressed to fight multiple fires. They were clustered together—a whole block was on fire, but far off in the distance, was another and another. That was miles apart. The only way the firefighters could get there would be on foot or with an electric vehicle. And if the power were out, there would be no way to charge those cars.

“Hold on to me, Ernie. I’m going to run down the mountain.”

Ernie made a sound of agreement and ducked into his pouch.

Rather than running, Logan was jumping.

Jumping down a mountain.

Deploying his Pink Sock, he kicked off with his leg, launching himself into the air. What went up must go down, but that was what he wanted. Freefalling, wind rushing by and lashing his face, Logan plummeted, falling down the steep cliff and hurtling towards a large pine tree.

At the last minute, he twisted his body, letting his foot skim the side of the trunk, and then launched into the air like a soaring eagle. Snapping his arms to the sides to decrease his air resistance, he soared so high it felt as if his Pink Sock had launched him from a rocket, before gravity pulled him down. Windmilling his arms, he tried to keep his balance.

By now, Ernie had gotten a sense of what was happening, and he’d stuck his head out of the pouch like a dog looking out the window of a moving car.

“I’m a mighty flying god!” he shouted in exultation.

As Logan reached the base of the mountain, he didn’t stop. This time, instead of jumping he ran all out, ran so fast he might as well be an Olympic sprinter. Pine trees were a blur as he rushed by, pinecones kicked to the side. Pine needles scratched his face before his constitution attribute and [Regenerate] kicked in, wiping away the scratches as if they had never been there in the first place.

Gradually, the dirt path turned into a paved road until he was no longer in the wild, he’d entered the city.

***

Logan could make out the faint glow of a fire in the dark sky in the distance, but the buildings just off the mountain were intact. They were brick office buildings, intermixed with the occasional restaurant. There was a reek in the air, noxious, rotting garbage, which made sense as he came across garbage bags outside of buildings. People had taken out their trash, but the city hadn’t picked it up.

There were no garbage trucks anymore.

So far, he’d seen no hint of human activity. Normally, this side of town would have been bustling, people pouring into pubs and restaurants, congregating on the downtown core. Hope’s End was a resort city; the skyscrapers concentrated in the downtown waterfront, overlooking Okanagan Lake.

Although there was water access here, that’s why Lara hadn’t wanted to meet downtown.

Too many people.

And yet… he saw no one.

Jumping over the remains of what looked like rotting meat next to a pile of garbage bags, Logan…

That wasn’t rotting meat.

Logan gagged.

It was a crushed body, the skull smeared across the sidewalk, flies and maggots swarming over the remains.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

What the hell had happened here?

Worst of all, even though his high perception let him make his way through the street, it was by no means foolproof. That, combined with the smoke and smog in the air, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

As he walked further down the street, dried blood soaked the ground, so much blood his boots crunched over… he didn’t even want to speculate.

And the smell… Logan spat, trying to clear his airways, his eyes streaming.

“More stinky snails?” Ernie said in his pouch, his voice muffled.

“Something worse.”

Logan stilled.

Something was coming.

It was a rattling sound, metal against metal, a clanging. Making a snap decision, Logan willed out a scoop of diamond dust from his spatial collar and reformed his talons, doing it so quickly pain radiated behind his nose.

Only to freeze, not knowing what to think.

A man in a long, purple overcoat with yellow fur on the sleeves was pushing a shopping cart down the street, the wheels clanging over the remains of shriveled up guts and blood like skipping over pebbles. The man was filthy, covered in dirt, his hair standing on end, a glazed look in his eyes, his lips chapped as if he’d stared into the sun.

Inside the cart were empty bottles, as if he were taking them to the bottle depot. In the front seat, a slender, dirt covered white cat stared at Logan, its yellow eyes flashing. A leash around its neck dangled to the side, clanging with each jerk of the cart.

Logan examined them both with [Idiot’s Inspect]:

[Elliot Micheal: Level 15. A human being.]

[Highest Stat: Perception. Characteristics: A unique ability to live in his own world and tune everything else out. Hidden name: Elliot.]

[Domesticated House Cat: Level 60. A rat catcher.]

[Highest Stat: Agility. Characteristics: Loyalty, a vicious temper. Hidden name: Maleficent.]

Logan raised an eyebrow. The cat looked like a… cat. Every animal he’d come across who was a threat had been mutated in some way—the spider rat, the rabid squirrels, the diseased deer—and to see an animal who looked normal made him want to wait for the other shoe to drop.

But something else made him hesitate.

The cat’s hidden name.

Ernie had the same thing… a unique name, I Rival All, that he’d picked himself. Sapient animals did that. Was the cat the man’s bonded companion?

Logan hated to judge someone by appearances alone, but if perception was Elliot’s highest attribute and he was stumbling down the street without paying Logan any attention, he found it difficult to imagine how he’d managed to level up that much. But if the cat were the man’s bonded companion, it could share XP. After all, before he’d entered the trial dungeon, Logan had the same advantages with Ernie.

Logan cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said, holding his hands out, trying to look harmless. Hesitating, he studied the man, looking for a sense of whether he could have something like the [Charlatan] class which let you hide your true level.

Logan had no way of knowing how that class worked, but he was betting that although you could hide your level, you couldn’t hide your aura. If Elliot were truly a higher level, Logan suspected that he’d feel a punishing aura, something that made him sit up and take notice.

But he could sense nothing. No aura. The man might as well be a blip on the screen, non-existent.

“Where is everyone?” asked Logan.

But Elliot continued pushing his cart as if he hadn’t heard Logan, his eyes unfocused.

The cat, on the other hand, let out a yowl, fur standing on end, its eyes flashing as it gave Logan a steady stare.

Damn.

The thing reminded him of his ex-girlfriend’s cat right after Logan kicked it out of the bedroom, that same murderous glare as if it wanted to sit on his head and suffocate him to death.

“Stupid human,” it yowled, its white incisors flashing. “I hope the rats get you.”

What.

The cat had just talked.

Logan scrunched his nose. At this point, why was he surprised? Ernie, the serpent queen, the snail.

But the damn thing looked like… a housecat. That was what was so jarring. Until now, he’d expected any animal who talked to, well, not be normal.

Logan scrubbed his hair. “Hey… cat. Maleficent. What happened here?” Logan gestured to the gory remains on the street, the blood and guts scattered on the road.

The cat sniffed, its tail standing straight up. “Stupid, stupid human. No wonder your species is about to go extinct.” With a grin, it licked its lips, pink tongue flashing. “Then again, you might help me hunt. Go, human, go. Keep walking down the street like an idiot. Let the monsters come, lure them in while I pounce from the shadows. But not to save you, oh no. To feed.”

“Logan,” said Ernie, popping his head out of the pouch and giving the cat an owl-like stare. “Can I kill it?”

The cat hissed.

Logan sighed. He suspected that if they killed the cat, the man would soon follow. He was staring straight ahead, pushing his cart, unaware of anything around him. Without the cat to contribute XP, he wouldn’t survive long.

“The cat gets a pass,” he said with a frown, scrunching his eyebrows.

It hissed again.

Logan darted around the cart and continued down the street, giving the windows and doors wary looks. It was dark, and there wasn’t a hint of movement. Even without electricity Logan would expect to see candles, flashlights. Human activity. It was as if everyone had abandoned the buildings and they—

Huh.

On the side of the next building, someone had spray painted in huge red letters: STAY AWAY FROM THE RATS.

Logan didn’t like this. A cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, he scanned the street, looking for signs of movement. For years, you could find the occasional mouse or rat in Hope’s End, but recently, invasive Norway rats had surged throughout the valley. Huge fuckers, twice the size of squirrels. They were everywhere—in burrows in yards, in the walls, in roofs and trees.

One year, Logan had taken his cover off his barbeque only to find that a rat had been living inside of it over the winter!

That meant the Okanagan had thousands and thousands of these buggers, and in their new world, he didn’t like what that meant.

But surely, Lara and the kids couldn’t be in trouble because of rats?

Logan increased his pace and powered through the street, passing another block and advancing deeper into Hope’s End towards the residential sector. And yet, he passed buildings on fire, passed homes with wide open doors, with signs of struggles—broken glass, blood and discarded first aid kits—but no matter how far he went, he had yet to come across another person.

This was fucked.

This city was huge, home to thousands. Without transportation, there was no way that many had fled. And even if they had, where would they go? There were only so many motorless boats, and the next city was hundreds of miles away.

Somehow, everyone in this city had disappeared. Even accounting for murderers who roamed the streets, killing people for XP, he should have seen signs of massacres, signs other than a few smears of blood and guts on the road.

But most ominous of all, he’d come across three more graffiti signs spray painted on buildings and on the sidewalk:

BEWARE OF THE RATS

DON’T TRUST THE RATS

THE RATS LIE

“Must Ernie still hide?” said Ernie from inside his pouch.

Logan blew out a breath. “No, there’s no point. Everyone’s gone.”

Ernie scurried out and clung to Logan’s shoulder, peering into the darkness. “No sign of your brethren?”

“It’s not looking good. But we’re coming up on Lara’s house soon; it’s just down this block.”

Lara was smart. If something had happened, she would have left a clue for Logan. Anxiousness ate away at his stomach as possibilities raced through his mind. The signs so far had been clear: the talking cat, the guts on the road; the graffiti signs. All of it was leading him to only one conclusion.

And yet it made no sense. If rats had attacked everyone, where were the signs? He should see rat carcasses just as much as people.

Increasing his pace, his quads knotted in tension, his arms swinging, Logan gritted his teeth and sprinted the rest of the distance to Lara’s.

As her house came in view, he skidded to a stop and stared.

The front door was wide open.

***

Living at home alone with two young kids, Lara was careful. She had a security system, and she always locked her door. Beyond the fact that they were going through the apocalypse, she never would have left the door open like that.

Worse yet, if they had left to travel to Richton’s Tomb as planned, she would have triple checked that the place was locked up tight before leaving. For the door to be wide open, something must have happened.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Logan scanned the street before approaching the entrance, his mouth dry, apprehension eating away at his insides.

Logan pressed the doorbell and knocked on the doorframe. “Hello?” he said, raising his voice. “Lara? Sawyer? Hunter?”

Silence.

In the street, although it had been dark, he had the moon to light his way and the glow of the fires off in the distance. Inside a pitch-black house, even Logan with his high perception struggled to see.

Taking out his barbeque lighter, he used it to light the way until he stumbled across a handful of unlit candles that Lara had spread throughout the house.

So, the power loss hadn’t been sudden.

Logan lit the candles, willing his barbeque lighter inside his spatial collar, then looked around.

Overturned kitchen tables, shattered glass on the floor, and a cast iron frying pan that was halfway through the drywall as if someone had thrown it there with force. A steak knife was hanging from the ceiling, a carbon arrow was stuck in the kitchen door. The sink was overflowing with water that looked pink with blood.

Someone had taken all the kitchen knives out of the knife block, and they had fallen to the floor. Worse yet, there was a smear of blood on the hardwood just outside of the kitchen. As if someone injured had been dragged over the floor.

Fuck.