Phileo ran until his legs stopped obeying him. His chest burned, each breath sharp and shallow, like his lungs were tearing apart. He crashed into a concrete wall and slid down to the ground, the impact knocking the air out of him. For a long moment, he stayed there, face pressed into dirt and dust, unable to move.
The silence hurt more than the noise before.
No screams.
No gunshots.
No voices calling his name.
Mara's scream replayed in his head anyway. Loud. Desperate. Calling him again and again. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his ears, but it did nothing.
"Stop," he whispered.
The memory didn't listen.
Ben's shaking hands came next. Jax's laugh from earlier that day. Calder calmly fixing his gear like it was just another job. Faces burned into his mind, one after another, until his chest tightened so much he thought it might collapse.
They were gone.
All of them.
And he knew why.
His hands trembled as he slammed his fist into the ground. Pain shot up his arm, but he did it again. And again. His knuckles split open, blood soaking into the dirt beneath him. A broken laugh escaped his throat, short and ugly.
"They followed me," he muttered. "They always do."
His breathing broke apart. Too fast. Too shallow. He stood suddenly and kicked the wall beside him. The metal rang loud in the empty street. He kicked it again, harder, until his leg gave out and he dropped to his knees.
The scream tore out of him without warning.
It was raw. It was loud. It was full of everything he couldn't say.
He screamed until his throat burned and his voice cracked, until nothing came out but air. When it finally stopped, the world felt heavier. The pull was still there. Stronger now. Like invisible hands inside his chest, dragging him away from where he stood.
He hated it.
He hated himself.
"Why me?" he asked the empty street.
No answer came.
Then he heard it.
A dragging sound.
Slow. Wet.
Phileo looked up.
An infected stood at the mouth of the alley. Half its face was gone. One eye stared at him while its jaw hung loose, swaying as it tilted its head, listening. Even like this, broken and ruined, it was focused on him.
On his sound.
On his presence.
Phileo pushed himself to his feet. His eyes were empty now.
"Come," he said quietly.
And the world moved again.