The fire escape ladder groaned under Sarah's weight as she swung onto it first, her boots finding purchase on the rusted rungs. The duffel bag of weapons threw off her balance, but she adjusted with a grunt, descending with the shotgun still gripped in one hand.
Quinn watched from above, his pulse hammering in his throat. The rooftop behind them echoed with the scrape of claws on gravel, too close. He didn't look back.
Sarah moved fast, her descent controlled but urgent. Then her boot slipped.
A wet patch of rust sent her lurching sideways. The duffel bag swung violently, pulling her off-center. For a heart-stopping second, her fingers scrambled for grip, the shotgun's barrel scraping sparks against the metal railing.
Quinn didn't think. He dropped onto the ladder after her, the old bolts screaming in protest. Reaching down, he clamped a hand on her shoulder, hauling her back against the railing.
"Got you," he hissed through clenched teeth, his shoulder burning with the strain.
Sarah steadied herself with a sharp exhale. "Damn bag," she muttered, shaking out her wrist before continuing down.
They hit the alley floor in near-silence, boots scuffing against cracked pavement. The stench of rotting garbage and wet brick enveloped them, but the immediate darkness held no movement. No hisses. No whispers.
Sarah pressed against the alley wall, scanning the street beyond. The Whisperers' snarls still echoed from the rooftop, but they hadn't spotted the escape yet.
"Clear?" Quinn whispered.
Sarah nodded once, already moving. "For now."
They kept to the shadows, skirting dumpsters and shattered storefronts. Every flicker of movement, a rat or a shifting curtain, set Quinn's teeth on edge. The laptop in his pack felt like a lead weight, but the coordinates etched into his arm burned hotter.
Ahead, a ranch-style house sat dark and silent, its garage door slightly ajar.
Sarah didn't hesitate. She ducked low, slipping inside with Quinn on her heels. The garage smelled of oil and dust, the air thick with the kind of stillness that came from abandonment.
Quinn pulled the door shut behind them, plunging them into near-total darkness.
Sarah flicked her cigarette lighter to life, the small flame casting jagged shadows across the cluttered space. "Safe. For a minute."
She moved the flame slowly, illuminating tool racks and stacked boxes. The light caught on something large under a tarp, boxy and metallic.
Pulling the tarp back revealed a car.
And the keys were still in the ignition.
Sarah's lighter flame wavered as she exhaled sharply. "No way."
Quinn was already moving, his boots crunching on loose gravel as he circled the vehicle. Four inflated tires. No visible damage. He yanked the driver's door open. The interior smelled of old leather and pine air freshener.
Sarah moved to the passenger side, her fingers brushing the hood. "Half these houses got looted first week," she muttered. "How'd this get missed?"
Quinn slid behind the wheel. The seat groaned under his weight. His finger hovered over the ignition.
Sarah's hand clamped his wrist. "Wait." She nodded toward the interior door leading to the house. "Someone left it ready to go."
The realization settled between them. This wasn't abandoned. This was staged.
Quinn's combat-honed senses prickled. His free hand drifted toward his K-Bar. "Check the backseat."
Sarah leaned in, the lighter's glow revealing empty footwells. Then the interior door swung open.
A child stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by dim light from the house.
"Hands where I can see them." The girl's voice was calm, but the AK-47 in her small hands wasn't.
Quinn slowly raised his hands. Sarah snorted, keeping her grip on the tire iron at her belt.
"Listen, kid..."
"Don't call me kid." The rifle barrel lifted. "I'm Helen."
A spark of recognition flared in Quinn's mind—the name stitched on the bloodstained backpack he'd found hours ago. "Helen McLean?" he asked, keeping his hands raised.
The girl's eyes widened. The barrel wavered, just for a second. "How do you know that?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Whatever. We're borrowing the car. Go back to your..."
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. Sarah cried out, stumbling back against the workbench as blood bloomed across her thigh. The shot had been precise, high enough to cripple but not kill.
Helen's voice shook, but her aim didn't. "I told you I wasn't playing."
Quinn was halfway out of the car when Helen swung the rifle toward him. "Don't!" she warned. Blood dripped from Sarah's leg onto the concrete.
Sarah gasped through clenched teeth. "You little..."
Another shot rang out, this time into the ceiling. Plaster rained down. "Next one goes between your eyes!" Helen's composure cracked just enough to reveal the terrified child beneath.
Outside, the gunshots' echoes faded, then were answered. A chorus of snarls and scraping limbs erupted from the alley. The garage door trembled under sudden impact.
Quinn's knife was in his hand before the first claw tore through the metal. "They're here."
Helen's bravado vanished. The rifle dipped as her head whipped toward the noise.
Sarah lunged, seizing the distraction to yank the girl into a headlock. "Keys. Now."
Helen thrashed, but Quinn was already turning the ignition. The engine roared to life as the garage door split open, revealing a tide of Whisperers.
"Move!" Quinn shouted.
Sarah shoved Helen into the backseat and dove for the passenger side. Tires screeched as they reversed into the alley, crushing two creatures beneath the wheels.
The horde surged after them.
Helen scrambled upright, reloading with practiced speed. She fired through the shattered rear windshield. One shot, one Whisperer tumbling into the road.
Quinn wrenched the wheel, swerving around an overturned truck. Hands clawed at Sarah's window. She smashed them with her tire iron.
A Whisperer landed on the hood, its broken teeth gnashing at the windshield. Helen put a bullet between its eyes without blinking.
"Left!" Sarah barked.
Quinn veered hard. The car mounted the sidewalk, clipping a fire hydrant. The Whisperer clinging to the roof flew off, its spine snapping against a lamppost.
For five blocks, it was pure chaos. Helen's rifle picked off stragglers. Sarah bashed grasping hands with the tire iron. Quinn steered through a gauntlet of snarling mouths.
Then open road.
The engine sputtered. The gas gauge hovered near empty.
Helen collapsed against the seat, her breath ragged. The rifle slipped from her hands.
Quinn stared at her. "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
The girl wiped her nose with a bloody sleeve. "Same place you learned to stab. School."
Sarah barked a pained laugh, clutching her wounded leg. "Kid's got a point."
Quinn checked the coordinates on his arm. "We're not done yet."