The broken barricade collapsed behind him. Kaodin didn't look back.
He sprinted across the open ground, lungs burning as the shrieks followed him through the collapsed building debris. The glow in his abdomen pulsed with each stride, feeding strength into his legs.
Splintered wood crackled as the barricade broke inwardly, its metal frame shrieking under repeated impacts. Kaodin's heels dug into the dirt, his breath scattering as he forced his stride longer.
Another impact. The wall beside him groaned, its joints shuddering as loose metal slammed against the frame.
Kaodin's calves trembled with each push against the softening earth. His ribs pressed inward with every ragged inhale, the air scraping against his throat.
Ahead, the ground sloped into a shallow depression where heat rippled above fractured earth. Dust eddies twisted lazily across the cracked surface.
There, against the dust-smudged horizon, was a silhouette. Kaodin's stride hitched for half a breath.
Movement? No. Just stillness; it was too still, like something with a humanoid figure was propped upright. It stood still…and inside…the muddied waters? Kaodin's ribs locked tight, a sharp pain crawling up his spine. Don't look. Don't breathe. The stench of rot and dried blood clung to the air, thick enough to taste. His stomach twisted. Not now. Keep moving.
His pulse hammered against his ribs, each breath shallow, as if the air itself had turned to poison.
His breath hitched, ribs locking mid-expansion.
"Help! Please, help!" his voice ragged.
His chest tightened as he pushed forward, legs burning. That thing, it isn't right. But whatever that thing is, it might scare off reanimated corpses—better to face the unknown than get chased by the snapping jaws behind him. He forced himself toward the silhouette, mud sucking at his feet with every desperate stride.
Kaodin's heels kicked up clumps of wet earth as the shrieks clawed closer. Concrete cracked under the creatures' weight behind him. The dirt darkened underfoot, turning slick, each step sinking deeper.
His right foot sank deeper than expected. The momentum carried him forward while his ankle stayed trapped. He pitched sideways, catching himself with his right palm pressed into the earth-and-water-and-whatever goo was underneath: cold moisture seeped through his fingers.
Yet, the mannequin-like silhouette ahead remained motionless.
He wrenched his foot free and stumbled forward. Each step pulled against the thickening mud, his boots growing heavier. The earlier heat had vanished, replaced by a chill rising from the wet-muddied legs and now-dried grey hand.
Why isn't it moving?
The shrieking grew closer. He heard the wet slap of bodies hitting mud, the creatures' uneven gait struggling against the terrain just as his own feet were.
The figure loomed in the haze. Arms hung stiff at its sides; sun-bleached fabric frayed like old bandages. What should have been skin glinted with a dull sheen: patches of something hardened across its surface, absorbing light without reflection.
Its head shifted in the haze, slow and deliberate. His boots sank deeper into the cold mud, weighing each step down. That inner pulse beneath his ribs coiled tight, not like retreat, but like muscles bracing against an unseen force.
Whatever stood before him remained still, yet its presence pressed against the air between them. His breath caught in his throat.
The figure's mouth opened. No sound emerged. The jaw simply hung, revealing darkness that seemed to extend beyond what the skull should contain.
Behind him, some creatures had drowned under the muddied waters, and some reached the basin's edge almost like they were waiting for his return. Their shrieks changed pitch, rising into something between hunger and recognition.
Kaodin angled sideways. Mud sucked at his boots, threatening to pull them loose. He grabbed at the laces, fingers slipping against the soaked fibers. His pulse hammered against his ribs as the glow in his gut sputtered. The mud sucked at his ankles, each step a battle. Then, there: a ridge climbing toward shattered pavement. Distant lights winked through the haze. Real people. Perhaps. he thought.
The strange scarecrow made of some unknown material burned in his peripheral vision. Behind him, the wet slap of hungry feet churned the swamp. He lunged for the slope, breath ragged. Make it. I Just…need….to…..make it.