Run

Traversing these desolate streets fills me with a simmering unease. Each footfall echoes in the dead silence, a grim testament to what once was. The quiet feels too familiar, too deceptive, reminding me of that damn time — it's like a past nightmare echoing back.

I take an aggravated gulp from my water bottle, a bitter taste lingering on my tongue. Not from the water, but from the persistent annoyance that is Dolura. This was supposed to be my supply, my stash. Yet every damn time I turn around, she's helped herself. It's like trying to lose your shadow at high noon; impossible.

My gaze inadvertently drifts to her exposed legs, mottled with dirt and grime. The rags? A joke at best. How she isn't crying out in pain or bitching about potential infection, I'll never understand. But, whatever. It's not like I asked her to tag along. If she wants to be stubborn, then she can deal with her choices.

A storefront catches my eye, promising a hint of salvageable goods. "Let's see what we can find in here," I mutter, my voice thick with skepticism and anticipation, almost as if challenging the world. To Dolura? I doubt she even cares about what I say anymore.

But just as we're about to step inside, there's this ear-splitting crack. Instantly, my eyes snap to the sound's origin — the roof. My heart plummets seeing that abomination. Its elongated limbs seem to mock the laws of nature, and that mottled gray skin... it's revolting. But what truly nails the dread in place are those lifeless black eyes. They're staring. Right at us.

Then, as if my thoughts summoned them, more crawl into view. Roof after roof, they gather. An unending sea of grotesque figures.

"A fucking course," I spit out bitterly, my heart racing in my chest. Why? Why every damn time I want a moment's peace, these freaks decide to gatecrash?! I'm so tired of this shit! 

Without sparing a second or even a glance Dolura's way, I make a mad dash. My only goal: distance. To my begrudging non-surprise, her near-silent steps follow, chasing my own frenzied footfalls.

Navigating the wreckage and alleyways, it feels like the monsters are everywhere — a suffocating presence. My thoughts are a swirling storm of anger and desperation. "Why? Why the hell now?!" I mentally seethe, wishing for once the world would give me a damn break.

Dolura, ever the emotionless specter, continues in her rhythm. No panic, no cries. Nothing. She's smart; making noise would attract something for sure. There is a shit load of them but they're kinda slow. 

After what feels like a relentless eternity, the sinister cacophony of our pursuers starts to dim. Maybe minutes have passed, maybe hours, but the chance to slow down is a welcome reprieve. Panting hard, I collapse against a decaying wall, not sparing Dolura a single glance. Tsk, how the hell does she keep up with those hurt legs of hers? 

I lean back, the harsh texture of the concrete barely registering against my heated skin. "We'll rest here for a while," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. Each word is dragged out, my exhausted lungs protesting the effort of speaking. "By the time we head out again, they should be gone."

I lay down completely, allowing the cool ground to leech the heat from my body. Thoughts drift hazily in my mind. When was the last time I felt this damn exhausted? Hell, when did I even last sleep? Sure, I've managed to find pockets of time to rest while staying awake, but actual sleep? That hasn't graced my eyes in... forever. A tired smile forms on my lips, the very thought of laying down without a care in the world enticing. "Once I reach that mountain, I'm gonna have the most amazing sleep anyone could dream of," I muse to myself, extending an arm and stretching out my stiff muscles.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dolura's movements. I watch her with narrowed eyes as she struggles with the tattered rags, trying to clean the grime and gunk off her wounds. The way she's going about it, using water and alcohol, causes a pang of irritation to flare up. Doesn't she know anything? Damn, is she some spoiled rich girl with zero knowledge of basic wound care?

A soft grunt escapes her as she continues her futile cleaning efforts. My patience snaps. I shift my gaze upwards, letting the blue expanse fill my vision for a brief moment. After a deep sigh, I finally break the silence. "Stop wasting my alcohol," I admonish, annoyance evident in my tone. "There's a bottle of soap in my bag. Use that instead, idiot. That alcohol is nearly pure. Even diluted with water, it'd be a stupid choice."

Without waiting for her response, I shut my eyes, hoping for a moment's peace. The rustling sound beside me indicates she's following my advice, rummaging through the bag. After a while, I hear her soft grunts again, the telltale sign she's securing fresh rags around her wounds. The next thing I register is the subtle shift in weight beside me as she lies down, her emotionless face staring directly at me.

Blinking slowly, my gaze settles on Dolura's direct stare. Why the hell is she staring at me like that? "What are you looking at?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

She doesn't immediately respond. Instead, she simply shifts her focus to the expansive sky above us and murmurs, "Thanks..."

I rub my eyebrows, the weight of my fatigue causing them to droop. She doesn't know how to stop thanking me. Tsk, should I just ignore her as I travel? Shoving the thought away, I plot my next move. If I can wait for her to drift off, maybe I'll finally have a shot at leaving her behind. It's not that I entirely loathe her presence, but she's more baggage than I ever wanted. A persistent shadow, like some sort of relentless parasite.

With a resigned sigh, I push myself up into a sitting position, my back against the crumbling wall. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch," I instruct, my tone flat.

Without uttering a word, Dolura continues to study the sky. Her face is unreadable, a stoic mask that rarely reveals anything. After a minute, she lets her eyes slide shut, giving in to the exhaustion that she's been fighting against.

Five minutes pass in silence. Only then do I dare to move, slowly rising from the ground. I lean in to double-check if she's really asleep. "Hey, you awake?" No response. With caution, I wave a hand over her face, half-expecting her to flinch or react. Nothing. I let out a small, relieved breath. Alright, it's time to get the hell out of here.

But just as I take a step forward, I feel a sudden pull. Confused, I glance down. A thin string is looped around my shoelace. My eyes trace the string's path, leading directly to her wounded legs. Crafty... She's a lot cleverer than she lets on. 

Dolura's eyes flutter open, meeting mine with an unreadable expression. She doesn't say a word, but her gaze is accusatory, as if she's silently asking, Thought you could get away, did you?

I let out a frustrated exhale, cornered. "Really?" I spit out, my tone dripping with annoyance. She doesn't respond verbally, but the slight upturn of her lips suggests she's more amused than she lets on.

My ears prick up at the distinct rustling on the roof, the soft patter growing louder by the second. That dreadfully familiar sound. Shit. The sensation of being hunted surges through my veins. "We need to go. Now."

Before I even finish speaking, the nearest rooftop bursts with movement. One of those monsters — its mottled gray skin and haunting black eyes — comes into full view, staring us down with a predatory hunger.

"Run," I order sharply.

Dolura doesn't need any more prompting. She's already on the move, sprinting out of the alleyway, and I follow right on her heels. As we break out into the main road, my heart sinks. They're everywhere. The entire skyline, every rooftop, every nook and cranny — those abominations dominate the scene. Just how many of these things are there? The scale of the infestation is staggering.

Think. There has to be an escape route somewhere. There's no way I'm getting trapped in this cesspool of a city. That mountain, the promise of peace, is still out there waiting for me. My gaze scans frantically, desperate for an out.

And then I see it — a manhole, aged and rusty but still intact.

Without hesitation, I dart towards it, my fingers grappling with the lid. The weight is formidable, but adrenaline fuels my strength. The metallic groan as it gives way is music to my ears.

Dolura's lithe form springs through the opening without missing a beat. Typical. I follow suit, dropping into the cool darkness below.

The sewer's expanse is impressive. The broad tunnels and high ceilings speak to its purpose in a world that once was. A place designed to deal with the excesses of a teeming population and the deluge of floods. The damp, moldy aroma fills my nostrils, but there's another scent mixed in. The potent stench of gas makes me recoil.

Shit. A gas leak. Any spark, any errant flame could turn this entire place into a death trap.

Despite the danger, there's no time to contemplate. The unmistakable sounds of those creatures crashing into the sewer reverberates behind us, announcing their relentless pursuit.

"Keep running," I whisper, my voice steady despite the inner turmoil.

-

The weight of the darkness presses against me as we dash through the shadowy labyrinth of the sewers. Each step resonates with a splash, reverberating off the grimy walls and echoing through the passages. My senses are assaulted by the humid, stale air and the caustic scent of gas. Every breath feels like I'm inhaling fire, but I dare not slow down.

The trembling from above ripples ominously, the ground beneath us quaking with an unpredictable rhythm. Those creatures — whatever they are — are wreaking havoc, and I can feel it even in this subterranean hell. Still, the constant thrumming and pounding from behind us — those relentless monsters chasing us — is the more immediate threat. It's a dual assault: one from the unseen destruction above, and the other from the all-too-visible horrors tailing us.

I can't help but wonder: What the fuck' is happening on the surface? Fire? Bombardment? Natural catastrophe? Every rumble and vibration deepens the dread pooling within me. But the speculation is a distraction — a luxury — and I shove it aside, focusing on the tunnel in front of me.

Dolura, despite her wounds, keeps pace. Her steady breathing and rhythmic steps are a testament to some kind of resilience or stubbornness. I gotta say though, for someone who claimed they have nothing to live for, she sure is trying real hard to live. 

Our footfalls become the soundtrack to our escape, but that continuity is shattered by an earsplitting explosion from above. The sheer force of the blast rattles the entire sewer system, causing the ground to shake violently beneath our feet. My heart lurches, and the realization hits me: If that fire finds its way here, combined with the gas, we'd be toast.

Ahead, I spot salvation — a pothole, its cover slightly ajar, releasing a thin sliver of hazy light from above. Without hesitation, I rush towards it, propelling Dolura ahead of me. "Hurry up and open it!" The command is sharp, devoid of any externalized panic, but the urgency is palpable.

She doesn't question or hesitate. Using her slender arms, she pushes the cover off, revealing a rusty ladder leading upwards. I waste no time in clambering up after her, the dank smell of the sewers slowly giving way to another kind of stench — burning. The scent of charred wood and scorched earth assaults my nostrils.