The gunshot echoed once—
—and everything went wrong.
Phileo felt it before he heard it. A violent pressure slammed into his head, sharp and blinding, like his thoughts were being dragged outward. He cried out and dropped to one knee, hands clutching his skull.
"Stop shooting!" Mara shouted.
Too late.
The front doors of the furniture store shuddered, then exploded inward. Wood and glass burst across the floor. Shapes poured through the opening—but they didn't scream.
They didn't rush.
They walked.
Phileo looked up, terror freezing his blood.
"No…" he whispered. "These aren't normal."
The infected moved with purpose. Their heads turned slowly, precisely, locking onto every sound—the scrape of boots, ragged breathing, the soft whimper Calder couldn't stop.
"They're listening," Phileo said, voice shaking. "They hunt sound."
One of the raiders fired again, panicking.
The effect was instant.
Every infected snapped its head toward him at the exact same time.
Then they ran.
The raider barely had time to scream before he was torn down, his body hitting the floor with a wet, final sound. Blood sprayed the wall. The others froze in horror.
The infected stopped again.
Waiting.
Silence pressed down hard, thick enough to choke on.
Calder sobbed, clutching his leg. "I—I can't—"
A Listener turned its head toward him.
"Calder, no!" Mara hissed.
Phileo crawled forward, heart hammering. "Cover his mouth—now!"
Too slow.
Calder gasped in pain.
The Listener lunged.
Phileo slammed a metal chair across the floor in the opposite direction.
SCREEECH.
The Listener changed course instantly, sprinting toward the sound, smashing into shelves. Others followed, moving fast—too fast—bodies twisting unnaturally as they ran.
"Move! MOVE!" Ben shouted.
They ran through the store, feet pounding, shelves collapsing behind them. Phileo's head screamed with every sound, the pressure tearing at him like claws inside his mind.
He could feel them.
Each Listener was a sharp spike in his thoughts, focused and cold. No hunger. No rage.
Only attention.
Jax tripped.
The sound of his body hitting the floor was loud.
Too loud.
Phileo spun around. "Jax!"
A Listener vaulted over a couch and landed on him.
Jax screamed once.
Then nothing.
Mara fired, screaming in rage—but the bullets didn't slow it. The infected didn't even flinch. It only turned its head toward the gunshot.
Straight toward her.
Phileo grabbed a steel lamp and hurled it across the store.
CRASH.
The Listener veered off at the last second, smashing into the sound instead.
"THIS WAY!" Phileo shouted.
They burst through a side exit into the alley. The door slammed shut behind them. Inside, bodies hit it hard, again and again—but the infected didn't claw blindly.
They paused.
Listening.
Phileo pressed his back to the wall, gasping. Blood ran from his nose, dripping onto the ground. His vision blurred.
"They're learning," he whispered. "They're not hunting people anymore. They're hunting noise."
Mara stared at the door, weapon shaking. "What kind of world is this turning into?"
Phileo closed his eyes, feeling the Listeners shift and scatter, tracking distant sounds, already adapting.
"It's not turning into something," he said weakly.
"It already has."
And somewhere in the dark, the Listeners listened—
and waited.