Chapter 636: Chapter 636: Persistence (Part 6)

After several blocks—if they could still be called that—Don’s voice cut through all the noise present.

"I’m going higher to get a better view!"

He didn’t wait for a response.

He planted one foot hard, redirected his momentum, and launched forward—then angled sharply toward a nearby building.

His hand hit the shattered edge of a window frame, fingers digging in as his other hand followed.

Glass crunched under his grip, pressing shallow lines across his skin, but he didn’t slow.

He climbed.

Fast.

Each movement was direct—handhold, pull, step, repeat—scaling the outer wall in seconds.

Loose fragments broke away under his weight, clattering down behind him, but he kept going until he reached the upper levels and hauled himself over the edge.

The rooftop opened wide.

It had once been clean, structured—polished tiles, a rectangular pool set into the center, a small bar area off to one side with overturned stools and shattered bottles.

Now it was a mess. The water in the pool had turned dark, surface broken by dead bodies.

Blood spread out in uneven trails, slipping over the edge in thin lines that dripped down the building’s side.

Bodies lay across the space. Some still. Some not entirely.

Don didn’t stop.

He stepped past them without looking down, boots leaving faint prints across the stained surface as he moved to the edge. His head lifted, scanning fast—left, right, forward.

Searching.

Finding.

"There!" he shouted, voice carrying over the noise below. "North-east! I don’t see any hordes that way!"

Below, Olynk’s voice came back through the comms, immediate. "Keep going ahead to scout!"

Don glanced down once, then back out over the city. "Distance!?"

"Two hundred to four hundred meters!"

That was enough.

Don moved.

He didn’t bother with the stairs. He sprinted straight for the edge and jumped.

The drop lasted a fraction of a second before he hit the next rooftop, knees bending on impact before he pushed forward again.

He crossed it in seconds, leaping gaps between buildings without hesitation. Some roofs sat lower, forcing him to drop and roll before rising again.

Others climbed higher, requiring a quick pull-up or a shift in direction to keep momentum.

The city stretched out around him in pieces.

Sections burned. Others sat eerily still, windows blown out, interiors exposed.

Streets below were scattered with bodies—some intact, others barely recognizable. In certain pockets, the air carried a foul edge that even distance couldn’t mask.

Flies gathered in thick clusters, lifting in bursts when something disturbed them.

Somewhere far off, someone screamed.

It didn’t last long.

Don kept moving.

Above, the jets circled again, tighter this time. He caught glimpses of them between buildings—fast enough that tracking them hurt more than it helped.

Missiles dropped in streaks, cutting through the air before slamming into targets below.

BOOM!~

One struck a towering sprout that had wrapped itself around a high-rise.

The explosion tore through it, shredding thick vine-like structures that snapped and recoiled as if alive.

Pieces fell away, crashing into the street below and crushing whatever remained beneath them.

Another missile followed shortly after, striking a separate structure that had begun to spread across multiple buildings.

Fire rolled outward on impact, consuming sections of it before it could retract.

Don didn’t slow.

He cleared another gap, landed on a narrower rooftop, then pushed off again toward the next.

His breathing stayed controlled, though mild strain began to creep into his limbs. He ignored it.

Focus forward.

Always forward.

Eventually, he reached a point where the noise dipped—just slightly.

Not gone, but reduced enough to notice. He slowed, then stopped near the edge of another building and looked down.

The street below was... strange.

A few military vehicles lined it—parked at uneven angles, some partially mounted onto curbs, others left in the middle of the road.

Every window was shattered.

Glass littered the ground around them in thick layers.

But there were no major impacts.

No crushed frames. No overturned hulls.

Just... abandoned.

Bodies lay scattered between them. Not whole. Not even close. Limbs torn away, torsos opened, uniforms soaked through and darkened.

Some were pressed up against the vehicles as if they’d tried to use them for cover.

Others lay out in the open, twisted into positions that didn’t make sense.

Don’s eyes narrowed.

His gaze shifted across the area, scanning corners, rooftops, alleyways.

His body stayed still, but every sense reached outward, searching for movement, for sound—anything out of place.

Nothing immediate.

At least, nothing he could see.

That didn’t mean it was clear.

Don kept scanning the area for several more seconds.

Nothing moved between the vehicles. No dragging footsteps.

No distant growls. No shifting silhouettes in windows above them.

Just the low crackle of distant fires and the occasional rumble from somewhere deeper in the city.

The jets were farther now, though their presence still lingered overhead like a storm waiting to turn back.

He turned toward the others and raised his voice.

"Over here!"

Below, Olynk immediately looked up toward the rooftop edge where Don stood. He gave one short nod. "Copy!"

Their comms still functioned, technically. Static bled through nearly every transmission now, sometimes swallowing half a sentence before spitting the rest back distorted.

It had become easier to just yell.

Olynk stayed in front as they moved down the street toward Don’s position, rifle held low but ready.

His eyes kept moving across alleys, windows, wrecks—never staying in one place long.

Behind him, Charles kept pace with more effort than he wanted to show. His wings were folded tightly behind him now, the injured one trembling every few steps.

Every so often pain crossed his face hard enough that he grit his teeth and looked away slightly, trying not to show it.

K-4 remained behind Charles, pace slowed just enough to cover him if something rushed from behind.

His head tilted slightly every now and then, listening rather than looking, attention spread farther than the rest of them could manage.

It only took them a short while to reach the building Don had climbed.

The moment they entered the street below, Don dropped from above.

THUD!~

The ground cracked lightly under the impact, small fractures spreading beneath his boots before stopping.

He had clearly controlled the landing. A harder drop would have sounded like an explosion down here, and after everything they had already seen, none of them wanted more attention.

Don straightened immediately.

Olynk’s gaze moved first toward the bodies littering the street.

Torn uniforms. Missing limbs. Some looked like they had tried to crawl before dying.

Charles focused more on the vehicles themselves, eyes narrowing as he examined the condition of the convoy.

K-4 stayed still for half a second, listening again.

Nothing.

Don spoke while already moving.

"I don’t know what happened here, but if these cars still work we need to leave before that changes."

He walked straight toward the least damaged vehicle in the line, boots crunching over broken glass.

The military truck sat crooked near the curb, windshield and windows shattered completely but body mostly intact.

He pulled the driver-side door open.

Inside sat a dead soldier.

The body slumped sideways against the seatbelt, head tilted at an awkward angle.

Unlike the others outside, he wasn’t torn apart. No missing flesh.

No brutal damage. But blood leaked from every opening on his face—eyes, nose, mouth, ears—dried dark against pale skin.

Don stared only long enough to confirm the man wasn’t moving.

Then he reached in and turned the ignition.

For half a second nothing happened.

Then—

VRRRRMMM!~

The engine roared to life.

Everyone’s attention snapped toward it instantly.

Don grabbed the dead soldier by the vest and dragged him out without ceremony.

The corpse hit the pavement heavily, one arm folding underneath itself as blood smeared across the concrete.

Almost immediately, Olynk frowned.

"Hey!" His voice came rough and tired. "Show them some respect... they’re not infected."

Don looked at him briefly.

"You say that like people wanted to get infected."

There wasn’t much emotion in the reply. Just exhaustion. Irritation.

He stepped into the driver’s seat after saying it, one hand already adjusting mirrors out of habit even though half of them were cracked.

Truthfully, he understood why Olynk reacted that way.

He just didn’t care enough right now to pretend otherwise.

The situation kept changing every few minutes. New threats. New variables. New things no one had answers for. Every second spent standing still felt worse than the last.

Charles glanced between the two men before speaking quietly.

"Let’s go."

He moved first, opening the rear door carefully so his damaged wing wouldn’t strike the frame.

He slid inside with a restrained grimace, shoulders lowering slightly once seated.

Olynk hesitated another moment near the dead soldier on the ground before finally climbing in beside Charles.

K-4 entered last, rifle still in hand. He took the front passenger seat and shut the door hard behind him.

The moment everyone was inside, Don pressed the accelerator.

The vehicle lurched forward.

TIRES SCRREEECH!~

Broken glass crunched beneath the wheels as they moved through the ruined street.

The suspension groaned every time they rolled over debris or pieces of collapsed concrete.

Wind pushed through the shattered windows constantly now, carrying smoke, dust, and the foul smell hanging over large parts of the city.

Nobody relaxed.

Not even slightly.

As they drove, all of them kept watching outside through the broken windows. Olynk scanned rooftops and intersections.

Charles stared at the bodies lining the sidewalks with a troubled expression he couldn’t fully hide. K-4 watched reflections in storefront glass almost as much as the streets themselves.

None of them understood what had happened here.

Infected?

Horde?

Something else?

The uncertainty sat heavy in the vehicle.

Bodies appeared everywhere they looked. Some looked mauled apart violently, ribs exposed or torsos split open.

Others appeared untouched except for blood pouring from their faces like the soldier Don had dragged out earlier. A few still held weapons in dead hands.

The deeper they drove, the stranger it felt.

No active fighting nearby.

No visible infected.

Just aftermath.

Don kept one hand tight on the wheel while his eyes moved constantly between the road and the surrounding buildings.

Burned-out stores passed by one after another. Some still had alarms faintly blaring from inside. Others stood open and dark.

Then something ahead caught his eye.

Immediately, his foot eased off the accelerator.

She cried openly, both hands pressed over her eyes while blood covered the front of her clothes and dripped down her arms in uneven streaks.

Her shoulders shook with each sob and she raised her hands to cover her eyes. One shoe was missing.

The entire vehicle changed instantly.

Olynk straightened.

Charles froze.

K-4’s grip tightened around his rifle.