Apocalypse Bound: A Transmigrator's Fate

Chapter 2: First Blood

First Blood

Maren’s boots struck the alley floor with a dull impact. The metal ladder swayed once behind her before settling. Cool evening air carried the heavy stink of smoke, spilled fuel, and meat left too long in the heat. She pressed her spine against the rough brick wall and forced her breathing into a steady rhythm. Distant screams rose and fell across the city in uneven waves. Closer sounds demanded her full attention. Shuffling footsteps scraped across asphalt near the alley mouth. A low, wet moan drifted toward her on the weak breeze.

She kept the kitchen knife ready in her right hand. The broken chair leg stayed firm in her left. Two figures lurched into view from the street beyond. Their skin had taken on the color of wet ash. One still wore a torn delivery uniform with a faded company logo across the chest. The other dragged a ruined leg that bent inward at an impossible angle. Both turned toward the noise of her landing.

Maren closed the distance in three rapid steps. She drove the knife upward beneath the first creature’s chin. The blade sank deep through soft tissue until it met resistance. Thick black fluid poured over her wrist and ran in slow streams down her forearm. The body jerked once, then went limp. She pulled the knife free with a wet sound and turned to the second creature. The damaged leg made its movements clumsy and slow. She swung the chair leg hard against the side of its skull. Bone gave way under the force. The creature stumbled sideways into a metal dumpster and collapsed in a heap. It remained still.

Her breathing stayed even. The strange calm that had settled over her inside the apartment continued to hold. She cleaned the knife on the delivery uniform and searched both bodies with quick, practiced motions. A ring of keys hung from the first one’s belt. A half-crushed energy bar and a cheap plastic lighter sat in a side pocket. She took every useful item without hesitation.

The alley opened onto a narrow side street lined with parked cars and darkened shops. Many vehicle doors stood open. A few engines still ticked as residual heat left the metal. A pharmacy occupied the corner, its broad glass door cracked yet closed. Maren approached at a low run, keeping close to the building walls. She tested the handle and found it locked. One of the keys from the dead delivery man, a small silver one, slid into the lock and turned. The door opened with a soft click that still seemed too loud in the surrounding quiet.

Inside the pharmacy the air held the sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with dust and a faint sweetness that had begun to turn. Shelves stood in disarray. Packages of medicine and supplies lay scattered across the floor tiles. She worked with steady efficiency, packing the backpack with rolls of bandages, bottles of painkillers, tubes of antibiotic ointment, sealed antiseptic wipes, and as many plastic bottles of water as the bag could hold without becoming unwieldy. A heavy black flashlight rested under the counter near the register. She added it along with two unopened packs of batteries. Behind the counter she discovered a short crowbar with a worn rubber grip. The solid weight felt reliable. She left the broken chair leg on the floor and slid the crowbar through a belt loop.

Outside once more, the light continued to fade. Broad strokes of orange and deep red stretched across the western sky. Thick columns of smoke rose from multiple points across the city. Abandoned cars blocked sections of the road, some with hazard lights still blinking weakly against the growing dusk. Maren kept close to the buildings whenever the path allowed. She examined every reflection in the remaining shop windows before crossing any open stretch of pavement. The streets carried a wrongness she could not yet fully name. The ordinary shape of the world had been stripped away, leaving something raw and relentless in its place.

A woman’s scream tore through the air from two blocks north. The sound climbed high and sharp before ending in an abrupt wet gurgle. Maren held her course. Curiosity held the same power to end her life as the creatures that now claimed the streets. Height and a clearer view of the surrounding blocks had become necessary before the last of the daylight vanished.

An older apartment building with an external fire escape rose ahead on the right. The lowest metal platform hung just within reach if she first climbed onto the roof of a parked van. She checked the street in both directions, then pulled herself onto the van’s roof. The thin metal dented under her weight. She stretched for the bottom rung of the ladder and hauled her body upward. The rungs felt cold and slightly slick beneath her palms. She climbed with careful testing of each step until she reached the third-floor landing and crouched behind the metal railing.

From this elevation the city revealed itself in fractured pieces. Fires burned without restraint in the distance. Groups of the infected moved between vehicles in slow, uneven currents. A few living people still fled along the sidewalks. Most failed to remain on their feet for long. Maren stayed low and examined the neighboring rooftops with deliberate attention.

Two figures occupied the flat roof of the building directly across the narrow street. One held a long rifle fitted with a scope. The other gripped a baseball bat tightly wrapped in wire and metal studs. Both watched the streets below with the stillness of people who had already paid for their lessons in blood. The one with the rifle turned and looked straight across the gap at her position.

The rifle rose in a smooth arc. The dark circle of the barrel settled on the center of her chest. She kept both hands open and visible, empty of weapons for the moment. The figure behind the scope held the aim without movement. Time stretched. In the street below, a car alarm began to shriek without warning. The electronic wail pulled an immediate cluster of the infected towards the roadway that separated the two buildings.

The barrel remained fixed on her. Her pulse beat hard in her throat and at her wrists. No safe path existed that would not drop her among the growing number of creatures gathering below. The person on the opposite roof adjusted their stance by a fraction. The barrel dipped slightly, then returned to center on her heart.

A second figure shifted behind the rifleman. The one carrying the wired bat stepped closer and spoke words that failed to reach her over the alarm. The rifle held its position without change. In the street beneath them, additional infected pushed forward from side alleys and shattered storefronts. Their numbers increased with every passing moment. Maren remained still and waited for the shot that would determine whether her new life ended before true nightfall.