Startled by the roaring engines, it awoke. A near miss with a dog catcher, and it bolted. The hard ground below rushes to meet it, and it rolls off as soon as it lands. It runs on all fours, like a primate as the infection courses through its very being. This wasn't a turned person, at least not really. Like many of the zombies today, this was a hivespawn. Sprouting from the pussing blisters lining the flesh that make up its walls and floors. It's made up of that melded flesh, several victims who fell to its boney rotten grasp.

However much like the unnatural infected, it still holds pieces of its human mind. Like the slicing of tendons to immobilize a prisoner, the infection slowly cuts off parts of its humanity that it deems unnecessary. The will to fight back, and the freeze caused by shock, leaving it with a flight response on a hair trigger. And now, soaring through the woods, jumping through trees, over boulders, it does what it can to escape that same rotten grasp chasing after it. They can smell its fear, its adrenaline firing off like a display of fireworks.

Eventually it loses the chaser, avoiding the creation of a horde. It stumbled upon a road, it sniffed the ground, letting out a click and a tap to check for any traps placed around. It crawls around slowly, until it sees a young man, cloaked with a rifle in hand. The herald ran, but as it did, something in its mind wanted it to stop, to turn around. To defy its very instincts, it felt a strange feeling, and it didn't know what it was. The thoughts hurt its tormented amalgamated brain. Something wasn't right, and so it struck itself over and over until something clicked. A feeling of familiarity. In pain, it turned around, staring down the man as he walked by. The herald kept its distance, but followed him.

The man carried around a photo, and after a while of following, they ended up at a small settlement. “Hey… sir… have you seen m-my dad…” he presented the photo through the pained stutter. The man shook his head.

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“You might have better luck at the raiders, if he hasn't been enslaved then try Jones’ market.” The young man was uneasy hearing this, and turned away without a word, and he kept wandering. The herald watched from afar, sticking to the trees. Humans were close enough to chasers that it kept away, but something drew it towards this young one.

As the days passed, the young man returned to his shack. He sat on his bed, crying into the photograph. The man was special, he didn't know much of the world, as it was different to him. but, his dad was his guide through it all. He went missing a few weeks ago, inspired by the vultures to make a living for him and his son. But, never came home. “Papa…” the boy weeps. His eyes shut tight as he tried to stay still, just as his father taught him. “T-the monsters… wont get me…” he rocks himself, trying to calm down. He was restless.

The herald looked through the man’s window. A tear leaving its eye. It tries to say “papa is here, William…” yet it can't. Only clicks and spaztic movements come out. It hits its head again. And it falls from the trees.

Once its purpose is fulfilled, the herald is no longer needed by the hive, and is ready to become a chaser. While rare, some heralds momentarily regain their humanity, forcing the infection to rush the process.

William is startled by the noise, getting up to look around. He readies his rifle. His hands shake, a loose grip. A gulp. This was his first time using a gun to defend himself. “G-g-go away m-monster! I-i- i have my papa’s gun!” his shouting was attracting chasers, and the herald feeling this… his father, feeling this, tries to lure them away. But, it doesn't work. He clicks to get their attention, jumping around frantically. But the clicks turn to groans, and he falls flat on the floor after a jump. A grunt followed by a grunt, leading to a howl. It tries to get up, but it shambles. Its agility is gone. And now it finally understands.

That odd feeling. It was so clear now. It was hunger. It was pain. It was the first to make it to the house. And the man was caught off guard by a familiar hug from behind. “P-papa…?” and it bit down, tearing away the back of his skull.