After resting for a while, the two of them finally decided to leave and continue toward the designated location.
The girl had stopped crying, though her breaths still hitched with occasional sobs. Her eyes remained damp, lashes heavy with lingering tears. Yet Voma's own injuries were far too severe for him to spare any real attention toward such details.
"Damn..."
While walking down the ruined street, a sharp sting lanced through his arm and shoulder, forcing the word from his lips in a startled grunt. His wounds continued to bleed. Worse, he could already see the first faint signs of infection forming around the torn flesh.
"So damn hurt!" Voma hissed, grimacing as he clutched his uninjured left shoulder.
At least the gashes and punctures he had received were all concentrated on his left arm. If both arms had been crippled, his situation would have been far more dire.
Still, this was hardly what anyone would call "a silver lining in misfortune".
"Two hundred meters more until the girl designated location. Four hundred meters more until my own check point."
Based on his current evaluation, Voma realized that he would have to pass by her designated location anyway. If he wanted to reach his own rendezvous point, that route would be the fastest he could take.
Up ahead, he saw the end of the alley. Leaning forward, he cautiously peeked out to survey the surroundings.
What his eyes met was not safety, but devastation. A scene so utterly ravaged that it seemed to have been torn straight from the end of the world. Vehicles lay abandoned and piled in chaotic heaps, scattered across a burning wasteland of fire and smoke.
Buildings had collapsed into jagged ruins, their skeletal remains jutting out of the ground. Glass shards glittered like sinister teeth across the cracked asphalt, where massive craters and deep fractures split the street apart.
And then there were the bodies.
Blood splattered the ground, the walls, even the charred remains of what once were shopfronts. It was thick, metallic, and foul in the air.
A heap of viscera lay in the middle of the street, glistening like spoiled meat, as if someone had torn the victim's body in half with sheer brute force and tossed the remains aside like discarded garbage.
On a wall, a woman's corpse hung suspended, impaled by countless black spikes that jutted from the concrete like grotesque thorns.
Inside a crushed sedan, a man and a woman, likely a couple, sat in an eternal embrace, their bodies mangled beyond recognition beneath the boulder that had fallen from above, smashing them into nothing more than pulped flesh and shattered bone.
It was a nightmare landscape. The kind of scene that could sear itself into the mind's eye and never leave. Even the strongest of men would be forced to their knees, retching the moment they laid eyes upon it.
Voma was no exception.
A bitter, acrid taste rose at the back of his throat. He could feel his stomach twist violently, bile threatening to surge upward.
It took every ounce of his willpower to force it down, swallowing hard until the urge passed.
"Goddammit... after seeing all this, I really don't want to go any further."
He bit down hard, clenching his teeth as the thought burned in his mind. Staying in the alley would be far safer. But he couldn't. Not now.
He needed medical treatment immediately. Without it, he would bleed out. He didn't have the luxury of hesitation.
"Uh... hey..."
The girl's voice was soft, almost hesitant, cutting into his thoughts.
"Hm?"
"Well..." She seemed at a loss for words. Instead of explaining, she acted.
Biting down, she tore a long strip of fabric from her dress with a sharp rip.
"I don't know if this will help... but let me bandage you."
Voma said nothing. He simply nodded once in silent agreement.
Seeing that, she seemed relieved and even a little happy. Without wasting another second, she moved to stop the bleeding.
Voma knew full well that with wounds this deep, a crude bandage would do little.
But still, he allowed her to work. He couldn't explain why. Maybe it was to give her a sense of purpose, to keep her mind occupied so she wouldn't dwell on the horror around them. Or maybe, in some strange way, it was comforting. Even he didn't know for certain.
"There... done."
After a short while, she finished her work.
She had tied the strip of cloth tightly around his shoulder and upper arm, binding the wound. Then, looping the makeshift sling over his neck, she supported the injured limb.
It was rough, makeshift work, but surprisingly practiced.
Seeing the girl brighten up just a little, Voma let out a quiet sigh before speaking.
"Then let's keep moving."
"Mm."
The two continued forward, moving cautiously, their footsteps light and deliberate as they made their way toward the designated location. Along the road, the sight that unfolded before them was one of endless ruin, a wasteland that seemed to stretch into infinity.
The number of corpses they passed defied description. There were more bodies here than the number of people they had ever known combined.
"Stop!"
Just as they were about to step into a side street, Voma suddenly barked the order. His voice was low yet sharp, and it startled the girl. Before she could react, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a wrecked car that lay nearby, its frame twisted from some long-forgotten accident.
Once inside the vehicle, Voma peeked through the shattered edge of the window. His heart tensed at the sight, a pack of wolves, each one radiating a feral aura, their eyes glowing with a predatory gleam. Their fangs were long, sharp, and glistened with fresh, bloodied flesh. Slowly, with deliberate steps, they prowled toward his direction.
As one of the wolves drew closer to the wrecked car, it paused. Its nostrils flared, sniffing the air. Then, its gaze shifted directly toward Voma's hiding place. His pulse spiked, and he ducked back down instantly, his breathing shallow.
The wolf moved nearer, its presence pressing against the thin barrier of metal and glass. Voma could feel his heartbeat pounding harder and harder in his chest.
The suffocating weight of life-and-death danger pressed down on him, making every breath feel heavy. Yet he forced himself to stay silent, to hold back the instinct to exhale too loudly.
Sweat streamed down his face like rain, tracing paths along his skin. Without even thinking, his left hand moved to cover the girl's mouth, cutting off any sound she might make. Through his palm, he felt her hot, uneven breaths. With his other hand, he could sense the rapid pulse racing through her small, trembling fingers.
The wolves' footsteps were quiet, almost imperceptible. In the cramped silence, Voma could hear nothing beyond the sound of their own heavy breathing, which drowned out any clue to where the predators were now. Trapped in the dark, unable to see or hear clearly, they could only remain still, unmoving, hoping that patience alone would keep death at bay.
Ten minutes passed. To them, it felt like an eternity. Neither Voma nor the girl dared to scratch an itch, wipe away sweat, or even adjust their sitting position.
The strain was unbearable. The kind of mental pressure that crushed from the inside, gnawing away at the mind far worse than most could imagine. Finally, Voma's resolve began to crack.
Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward, intending to see if the wolves had left. After all, the car window was still rolled up.
Thud!
The moment he turned his head toward the glass, the first thing to greet him was the snapping jaws of a wolf slamming its head against the window.
"Ah!" Voma recoiled violently, dragging the girl with him in reflex since their hands were still locked together.
The hungry beast roared, its claws raking against the car door in a frenzy. It was as if it had been starving for days and now, having scented prey, would tear apart anything between it and its meal.
Voma's breathing grew ragged, beads of sweat rolling freely down his temples.
One swipe of the wolf's claws, and the car window cracked instantly, thin lines splintering across the glass.
He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to steady his thoughts. Snatching the metal rod from the girl's grip, he lunged forward. With a swift motion, he thrust it through the fractured glass, driving the tip deep into the beast's throat.
The rod was hollow. Blood began to pour out through it like water from a weakened spout, dark and thick, carrying the scent of iron and death.
Voma kicked the car door open, grabbed the girl by arm, and sprinted straight toward the designated location without a moment's hesitation.
It was obvious that the wolf he had just slain was not the only one lurking in this area. A whole pack of them was still prowling nearby, their predatory eyes glinting in the shadows.
One of the wolves caught sight of them. It threw back its head and howled, the mournful yet menacing cry slicing through the air like a blade, signaling its companions.
The pack responded instantly. They began their pursuit, closing the distance with alarming speed. No matter how desperately they ran, a high school girl and an injured young man could never hope to outrun creatures born for the hunt.
Fortunately, the wolves were scattered across the area. Instead of attacking all at once in a unified front, they came in from different angles, splitting their numbers without realizing it. That small stroke of fortune gave the pair precious moments to survive.
One wolf managed to catch up to them. Its jaws gaped wide, revealing rows of dagger-like fangs aimed at the girl's neck. But before it could clamp down, Voma thrust his iron rod forward, driving it straight into the beast's chest. The impact pierced its heart. The wolf collapsed mid-leap, dead before it hit the ground.
Without wasting a single motion, both Voma and the girl spun on their heels and kept running.
The girl glanced at Voma. He was gasping for air, the pain in his arm making his movements stiff. She gritted her teeth, then reached her hand out toward him.
"Give it to me."
Voma's eyes flickered toward her. After a brief pause, he handed her the bloodstained iron rod, still warm from the last kill.
In truth, she could have left him behind long ago. Her legs were uninjured, her breathing steady enough to carry her further ahead if she wanted. Voma, on the other hand, was barely holding together.
His wounds were far worse than he let on. Every step was an act of defiance against the agony weighing down his body. The pain, the fear, and the exhaustion were pressing against him like an ocean's current, threatening to drag him under. The fact that he could still run was nothing short of a miracle.
She did not know why she had not abandoned this stranger to save herself. But deep down, she understood the truth. She could not.
The girl tightened her grip on the rod, turned toward the approaching threat, and swung it in a wide arc. The wolf that had been ready to lunge at them flinched back, its predatory momentum broken by her defiance.
When it tried again, Voma lashed out with a sharp kick, sending the beast sprawling across the ground. That momentary reprieve was all they needed to keep moving.
Following the girl's directions, the gap between them and their destination shrank with each desperate stride.
Any wolf that targeted her was intercepted the same way. Voma would hurl them aside with brutal kicks, preventing them from ever touching her.
In a sense, she had become the bait, drawing the wolves' aggression so that Voma could strike them down. It was a deadly dance, one born of necessity and instinct.
But this time, the pattern broke. Perhaps the pack had begun to understand who the real threat was. One wolf shifted its target, lunging not at the girl but directly at Voma.
The sudden change caught him off guard. Its claws raked across his body before he could fully react.
On any other day, in any other fight, that wolf would have been dead before it even touched him. But now, with his body battered and his reflexes dulled under the crushing weight of injury and exhaustion, his guard had faltered.
And in that instant, he suffered a blow that he could not ignore.