I ran.
It was a clumsy, desperate flight, the kind that tightens your chest and turns every breath into a lash of fire. The soles of my boots slipped on asphalt coated in dust, broken glass, and dark stains I preferred not to identify. My arms pumped without rhythm, the steel bar striking my thigh with every stride.
The titan’s roar drilled through the air at my back. I didn’t turn around. I had learned my lesson in the building: some images aren’t worth archiving in memory.
The city, which only hours earlier had been a predictable set of concrete and traffic lights, now vomited fires, rubble, and echoes of panic from every corner. A façade collapsed to my right, spewing a thick cloud of dust and office paper. I covered my mouth with my forearm and kept moving.
The pressure in my chest was unbearable. The wound in my arm sent jolts of pain with every abrupt movement. The System kept spitting data in front of my eyes, oblivious to my agony.
[Threat distance: 67 meters.]
"I know," I panted.
[Estimated entity speed: 40 km/h.]
"Shut up," I muttered.
The truth is, I wasn’t angry at the System. I was furious with myself. The image of Elena, that woman I had barely met minutes before, kept returning to my mind with macabre clarity: her choked scream, the claws on her body, the human tide dragging me away. I couldn’t hold on to her. I couldn’t save her.
I had known her for ten minutes. Ten minutes. And she was dead because I had told her to trust me.
The sound of a traffic light being dragged across the ground brought me back to the present. I turned a corner and came upon a narrow street flanked by apartment buildings whose balconies hung like broken eyelids. The skeletal creatures peered out from the ledges, emitting wet clicking sounds as they watched the chaos. None of them lunged at me. They were distracted, obeying a pattern I still didn’t understand.
The holographic panel blinked urgently.
[Optimal survival route calculated.]
A bluish arrow projected onto the pavement, pointing to an alley between two service buildings. Overturned trash containers, hanging cables, and a carpet of ground glass. It wasn’t the most aesthetic path, but the System had earned a vote of confidence.
"You’d better be right, useless piece of junk," I muttered.
I turned the corner sharply. My lungs protested, and the pain in my right side forced me to slow down. Ten seconds. Twenty. The colossus’s bellow faded away, replaced by the roar of a structure collapsing in the distance. The ground vibrated one last time and fell silent.
I stopped next to a container and braced my hands on my knees, spitting thick saliva. The air tasted of smoke, concrete dust, and something sweet I didn’t want to analyze.
"Okay," I murmured between gasps. "I’m starting to see your usefulness."
The relief lasted a single breath.
When I resumed moving, I discovered the side road was not clear. Halfway down the street, an ambulance van stood sideways, blocking the way, its rear doors open and its engine off. The roof lights flickered weakly, like a dying insect.
Next to the vehicle, a figure was moving on the ground.
A young doctor, dark hair pulled back in a messy bun and blue scrubs stained with fresh blood, was trying to apply pressure to the abdomen of a man lying on the asphalt. Her hands trembled from the effort, and every so often she looked up toward the main avenue, as if expecting the horror to materialize at any moment.
"Please, help!" she shouted when she saw me appear.
Her eyes ran over me with distrust, assessing my sweaty appearance, the steel bar, and the blood soaking my forearm.
"What the hell is out there?!" she exclaimed, without stopping the pressure on the man’s wound.
"The end of the world, giant format," I answered curtly. "We have to move. Now."
The doctor pointed to her patient desperately.
"His guts are perforated. He can’t take a single step."
I glanced at the poor devil. The fabric of his shirt was soaked, and his breathing was an agonizing whistle. His skin was pale, almost gray, his lips dry. The red puddle under his body spread with poisonous slowness toward the sewer grate.
"He’s a deadly burden right now," I ruled coldly.
The look the girl gave me would have melted steel.
"You have breath to complain and intact arms. Help me lift him," she demanded.
The authoritative tone got on my nerves, especially because of the irrefutable logic. She wasn’t asking for a miracle; she was demanding the basics.
"Is he still conscious?" I asked.
"Barely."
"Ability to move?"
"None."
I checked the access to the alley. Clear, for the moment. The darkness didn’t guarantee safety, but at least there were no visible creatures lurking.
"How much time do we have?" I asked.
"For what?"
"For the monsters to pick up the scent of that red puddle and come finish the job."
The girl swallowed, understanding the gravity of my words.
"A matter of minutes," she admitted.
A wonderful Friday night plan: getting devoured in a filthy alley.
"We have to get him into the cab," she said, grabbing the man by the armpits.
"I’ll take the legs," I offered, moving closer.
"You’re going to break."
"Excuse me?"
She gestured with her chin toward my right forearm, still dripping blood after the encounter in the apartment. The pain from the alien claws throbbed powerfully, as if I had been branded with hot iron.
"You’re losing blood at a good rate," she said.
"I have adrenaline to spare to make up for it."
"And you’re lacking common sense. If you collapse halfway, all three of us are dead."
"Then pray my stubbornness is stronger than anemia."
I knelt beside the patient. The smell of blood and viscera hit me hard, but I didn’t let it defeat me. I slid my uninjured arm under the man’s knees and gritted my teeth as I used the injured one for support. The stab of pain was immediate, white, blinding.
"On the count of three, we lift him," I said.
The doctor tightened her grip.
"On two," she proposed.
"International protocol stipulates three."
"Panic stipulates that on three we’ll already have been eaten."
I fixed my gaze on her, amazed by her nerve. Despite the chaos, she didn’t let go of her authority or her sarcasm.
"Do you always have this overabundance of charm?" I asked.
"Exclusively during apocalypses and surrounded by incompetents."
Despite my racing pulse, a wry half-smile formed on my face.
"Gabriel," I introduced myself.
"Evelyn."
"A real pleasure, Evelyn."
"Save the courtesy for when we’re safe, Gabriel."
We coordinated the effort. One. Two. Straightening my back, I pulled the dead weight. A stab of white, blinding pain shot through the tendons of my lacerated arm, forcing a hoarse grunt from me.
"Shit...!" I grunted.
"Hold the lift and move!" Evelyn ordered, guiding the maneuver.
We hauled the man into the ambulance’s cargo area. My shoes slipped in a puddle of coolant, but we managed to lay him on the stretcher with one last effort. The patient let out a moan, but his eyes remained closed.