The gate didn't hold for long.
Metal shrieked as hands clawed through the bars. The infected piled against it, bodies pressing, faces twisted with hunger. Rust snapped. Bolts loosened.
"We can't stay," Mara said, already moving.
The hallway ended in a storage room. Shelves lined the walls, half-empty, coated in dust. A small window sat high near the ceiling.
Jax jumped, trying to reach it. "Too high!"
Phileo's head throbbed hard now, the pressure sharp and constant. The noise outside felt like it was inside him too.
"There," he said, pointing to a back door. "I can feel less of them that way."
Ben hesitated only a second. "Lead."
They burst through the door into an alley choked with trash and broken crates. The smell was foul, but the space was narrow—good for slowing pursuit.
The injured man limped badly. He cried out as he fell.
"I can't— I can't keep going!"
Mara looked back. The infected spilled through the broken gate, shrieking as they poured into the alley.
"We don't have time," Ben said.
Phileo turned. "I'll carry him."
Before anyone could argue, Phileo hauled the man up, slinging his arm over his shoulder. The weight was heavy, but adrenaline drove him forward.
They ran.
An infected dropped from a fire escape ahead, landing hard and rolling to its feet. It screamed and charged.
Phileo felt a strange calm.
He slammed his boot into a trash can, sending it clattering down the alley.
The infected turned instantly.
"Go!" Phileo shouted.
Mara and Jax ran past, dragging the injured man from Phileo's shoulder once they were clear. Ben covered their retreat, firing only when necessary.
They burst out onto a wider street. Sirens wailed in the distance—dead systems screaming into nothing.
The infected followed the sound trails, breaking off in confused groups.
Finally, they reached a collapsed bus and ducked inside its broken shell.
Silence followed. Heavy, broken silence.
The injured man lay on the floor, breathing hard. "Name's Calder," he gasped. "I didn't mean to fire. They rushed me."
Mara nodded. "You're alive. That's what matters."
Phileo sat apart, hands shaking now that the danger had passed. His head felt raw, like something had scraped the inside of his skull.
Ben crouched in front of him. "Every time you do that, it costs you."
Phileo looked up. "I know."
Ben's voice was low. "How long until the cost is too high?"
Phileo didn't answer.
Outside, the moans drifted farther away—but the echo of them stayed in his mind.