Adrenaline coursed through Ryne's veins, sharpening his senses. He and Hank exchanged a glance, another of their silent agreements passing between them.
"Should we head back?" Hank asked quietly, eyeing off the wall behind them.
"No. They're just another set of obstacles in our path," Ryne replied.
He restrained his overwhelming fear, but his thoughts crept through to the surface.
If they catch us, we're dead meat.
"Right!" Hank shouted, hyping himself up.
They readied themselves, their legs bent and their bodies low, tense like springs ready to release.
A gust of wind blew through the overgrown grass and weeds. Silence followed the wind.
Here they come!
The Busters ran towards them, kicking up dirt and dust. Ryne and Hank leaped into action, their parkour skills becoming their only defence.
Swiftly, they evaded the Busters' reach. The Busters lunged, their spiked fists colliding with thin air, as Ryne and Hank somersaulted, twisted, and leaped over their outstretched arms. They performed their dance of survival, a macabre performance in the face of impending doom. Clear of their opponents, they rushed for the school building.
Before the Busters caught up, they propelled themselves up the concrete walls of the building, using guttering, window ledges, and pockets of crumbling concrete as their hand and footholds. Behind the dust-covered windows, empty classrooms sat, aged and forgotten, with wires hanging from the walls and ceilings where scavengers had salvaged old tech.
"We'll catch them on the roof!" a Buster yelled as they crashed through the front entrance below.
Hank struggled to make part of the climb. His body plummeted towards the ground. Ryne braced his feet on a window ledge while he pulled Hank up to the next rise.
Through the empty school building, the sound of clanging metal echoed like a rusty bell. Something the Busters did to gather more of their kind.
They're like rodents or roaches. Always more around than you can see.
Finally, they reached the top of the building, but mesh fencing prevented their advance. The mesh fencing covered all of the edges of the school roof except for one section to their right. They shimmied along, using the guttering as support before pulling themselves onto the roof through the rusted fence. The rusted metal scraped Ryne's skin, and he winced.
Hank's larger frame suffered worse as the fencing tore at his body. Gasping for breath, they surveyed their surroundings.
Trying to prevent suicides? At least accidental deaths.
A lowered courtyard sat in the centre of the building, blocked off from the rest of the school. Sections of the roof where the entrances to the courtyard once were had collapsed due to the passage of time.
Bathed in the eerie glow from the waning moon, an evergreen tree stood solemnly in the centre. Its gnarled branches stretched towards the heavens, as if desperately seeking a world outside its reach.
Ryne looked on in awe.
The tree's roots defiantly cracked through the floor of the courtyard. Like skeletal fingers, the roots pushed themselves down through the school and into the depths of the earth, defying the boundaries imposed upon them. The jagged fissures they created on the mossy concrete floor around the tree stretched across the courtyard like dark veins.
"I knew you'd like it," Hank said in a bragging tone.
"I do. You outdid yourself this time!"
"Not yet, I haven't."
Hank limped, holding his side as he slid his backpack off his shoulders. From the front pocket, he brought out compact portable floodlights and directed them to the wall in front of him. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he opened the main compartment and reached into his backpack, revealing an arsenal of colorful spray cans.
His fingers danced over the array of caps, carefully selecting the perfect combination to bring his creative vision to life.
Ignoring the imminent danger that lurked in the shadows of the school, Hank stepped towards the wall of the hidden space, a blank canvas awaiting his artistic touch. He pulled a respirator over his head and fastened it over his mouth.
"Always gotta be safe, right?" Hank asked, his voice muffled by the respirator.
Ryne nodded in return, anxiously looking around for the more prominent dangers lurking below.
With each press of the nozzles, vibrant hues erupted from the cans, mingling in mid-air and cascading onto the cold, lifeless wall.
A mix of blues, browns, and greens came together to reveal the shape of Hank's imagination.
Hank paused. He questioned his next steps in the process and ran his fingers over the deep cracks marring the wall's surface.
Ryne grabbed a can and handed it to him, gesturing to the cracks themselves. Using the cracks as a guide, Hank created a natural flow of tendril-like tree roots with a mix of dark brown and black. Every stroke breathed life into the mural.
Time stood still as Hank poured his heart into the artwork, his fingers moving with the precision of a master. Each shade and texture melded together, creating a breathtaking spectacle that defied the darkness that slowly enveloped the world outside.
But the menacing presence of the Busters drew closer, scattering the tranquility of the moment. Their gruff voices echoed through the empty corridors below, searching for the intruders who dared to trespass upon their territory. Panic surged within Ryne, threatening to consume his every thought.
We need to leave. He should tell Hank to stop, but...
Hank's eyes glistened with joy, undeterred by the risk of remaining at their location. He continued his work. He injected his creation with a sense of urgency, as if channeling his emotions, pain, and adrenaline onto the wall.
Meanwhile, the Busters' footsteps grew louder, their muffled curses carried on the wind. As time went on, the number of footsteps pattering around the floors below them increased.
Hank refused to yield. With a final flourish, he added the last delicate details to the mural, his breath hitching as he stepped back to admire his masterpiece.
The footsteps which were once below now echoed around them, and Ryne saw glints of metal through the debris blocking access to the courtyard.
The graffiti, finished, breathed with a life of its own. Hank conjured an ethereal tree, its limbs stretched upwards with a grace that defied the grimness of its surroundings. Its roots, depicted in hues of deep browns and blacks, delved into the heart of a fractured planet that used the scars of the wall for more impactful imagery.
The colours danced between shadows and light; blues and greens intertwined, creating an otherworldly glow that illuminated the tree's branches.
"I call it Mother Nature's Strength. Proving that even in this broken world, nature will always find a way to survive."
"It's amazing, but we really have to go!" Ryne urged.
Hank nodded and packed up his tools before slinging his backpack over his shoulders.
Heavy thuds against metal rang from above. With one last glance at Hank's creation, they turned and leapt up from the courtyard and onto the roof.