The world tilted. Ezra's head spun, his vision blurred, and just as his knees buckled, something yanked him backward. Strong arms hoisted him off the ground, and before he could react, he found himself flung over a broad shoulder.
"Kid, you've got rocks for brains, you know that?" a familiar, gruff voice growled. The world sped by in a dizzy blur as Shirley carried him away. "Sitting there like a damn statue while death's knockin' on your door. What were you thinkin'?"
"Shirley…?" Ezra's voice was weak, his head throbbing as blood rushed downward.
"Could you… maybe not carry me like this? I'm already half-dead—don't make it worse."
Shirley snorted. "Half-dead? Try fully dumb. You passed out the second I grabbed you. You're lucky I don't leave you for the vultures."
Ezra opened his mouth to retort, but unconsciousness swallowed him before he could form the words.
When Ezra finally came to, nausea churned in his gut. Memories of the encounter rushed back, and he shuddered. He'd been face-to-face with something straight out of a nightmare—and lived. Barely.
He was propped against a crumbling brick wall in a narrow alleyway. Rain dripped from fractured rooftops above, creating small puddles around him. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and his body felt like it had been tossed into a grinder.
Shirley stood nearby, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with sinewy muscle built from years of hard labor. His graying hair was tied into a loose bun, and a thick beard framed his stern face. His once-white shirt was stained with grime, sweat, and old blood.
"Welcome back to the land of the livin'," Shirley said. He tossed a dented can of soup toward Ezra, who fumbled to catch it.
"Figured you'd wake up eventually. Thought I'd have to slap you around some."
Ezra groaned, sitting up slowly. "Please don't. I think I've been slapped around enough today." He cracked the can open with trembling fingers and drank straight from it, wincing at the sour metallic taste but too hungry to care.
"You scared the hell outta me back there," Shirley muttered, more to himself than to Ezra.
Ezra blinked in surprise. "You? Scared?
You're not serious."
"Don't get smart with me, kid," Shirley snapped, though there was no real heat in his tone. "You've got no idea what's out there. Things are gettin' worse by the hour. Those monsters? They're crawlin' outta every crack and crevice in this city."
Ezra frowned, his gaze dropping to the wet ground. "I didn't think it could get any worse."
"Oh, it can," Shirley said grimly. "And it will if we don't keep movin'. Backup's late—again. We can't just sit here twiddlin' our thumbs."
"Backup?" Ezra asked, narrowing his eyes. "Who are we even waiting for?"
"People who're supposed to keep us alive," Shirley growled, his frustration evident. "But they're takin' their sweet time, and we're sittin' ducks out here. Let's move."
The city was a shadow of its former self. Smoke curled into the darkened sky, ash falling like grimy snow. Streets were choked with debris—shattered glass, crumpled metal, and broken concrete. Shops had been looted, their interiors gutted, shelves overturned and empty.
Worse still, the monsters were everywhere. Their glowing eyes swept over the rubble, their hulking forms prowling with predatory intent. Ezra kept his head low, every nerve on edge.
"You keep laggin' behind, and I'll leave you for 'em," Shirley muttered, glancing over his shoulder.
"Sorry," Ezra mumbled, quickening his pace.
Shirley carried a rucksack slung over one shoulder and a makeshift weapon—a crude axe that looked more like it belonged in a scrapyard than a battlefield. Sweat and grime streaked his stained shirt, and his brows furrowed as he scanned their surroundings.
"What's wrong?" Ezra asked quietly.
"Backup should've been here hours ago," Shirley muttered. "They're later than a preacher at a bar."
Ezra rolled his eyes. "Do you ever just… say things normally?"
Shirley shot him a look. "Do you ever not get yourself into trouble?"
Point taken. Ezra sighed and trudged along behind him.
Hours passed, and still, no one came.
The monsters grew bolder, their guttural growls echoing closer with each passing moment. The once-dark sky churned with thick storm clouds, and soon, heavy rain began to fall in unrelenting sheets. The streets turned slick, water pooling in jagged potholes and cracks.
"There," Shirley said, pointing to a partially collapsed building. "Move it, kid. We'll hole up there for the night."
The building was damp and reeked of mold, but it was better than nothing. Rain battered the walls, the sound masking the distant snarls of the creatures outside. Broken furniture and shattered glass littered the floor, and the faint smell of mildew clung to every surface.
Shirley dropped his rucksack onto a broken table and sank onto an overturned crate with a heavy sigh. Ezra paced restlessly, his boots squelching against the damp floor as he glanced out of the grimy, rain-streaked windows.
Shirley leaned back, running a hand through his damp beard. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm.
"There's a small medicine kit in my bag. Patch yourself up."
Ezra shook his head weakly. "It's fine. Don't worry about me."
Shirley's sharp glare pinned him in place, his eyes narrowing beneath furrowed brows.
"I'm not worrying about you, kid. I'm worrying about you bleeding all over the place and drawing in creatures I don't want sniffing around us."
Ezra hesitated, then sighed in defeat. "Fair point."
I mean, I can heal myself, so I don't really think I need this… but since he offered, I might as well.
He reached over, grabbed the worn-out bag, and began rummaging through it. The small, battered first-aid kit was tucked inside, its edges frayed and stained from years of use.
With trembling fingers, Ezra pulled out a roll of bandages and a small antiseptic bottle.
As he started cleaning his wounds, the sting of antiseptic made him wince. The sharp smell filled the small space, mixing with the damp mildew scent of the building. His hands shook slightly, but he pressed on, wrapping the bandages tightly around the worst of his injuries.
Shirley watched him from his seat, his sharp eyes softening slightly. For all his gruffness, there was a flicker of something else—concern, perhaps—hidden behind his tired expression.
"Make sure you wrap those tight. We've got enough problems without you droppin' dead on me."
Ezra gave a small nod, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "Thanks… I think."
Shirley grunted, leaning back further against the crate, his axe propped within arm's reach.
Outside, the storm grew fiercer, rain hammering against the shattered windows and broken roof tiles. The faint glow of distant fires flickered on the horizon, casting an orange hue against the roiling clouds.
Ezra leaned against the opposite wall, his head tilting back as he exhaled slowly. His bandaged hands rested in his lap, still trembling slightly from exhaustion and lingering pain.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the relentless drum of rain and the occasional distant growl of unseen monsters.
For now, they were safe—or as safe as anyone could be in a city slowly being devoured by chaos.
Neither spoke. They didn't need to.
The storm raged on, and the two of them—one bruised, the other weary—sat in the damp shadows of their temporary refuge, waiting for dawn to bring whatever came next.