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Summary
Clickers always sounded closer than they were.
Jisung had learned that years ago.
The sharp, stuttering clicks echoed through the empty street, bouncing off cracked windows and abandoned storefronts. Somewhere behind him, Changbin muttered, "I hate that sound."
"You're so brave," Jisung whispered.
"I'll push you into one."
"You say that every patrol."
"And one day I'll mean it."
Jisung snorted quietly, tightening his grip on the rifle slung across his chest. Even through their masks, The air smelled damp. Mold. Rot. Cordyceps.
The fungus had taken the world twenty years ago. Cities crumbled, governments disappeared, and people learned to fear a cough as much as a bite.
A click sounded again.
Closer this time.
Jisung's smile disappeared.
"Movement," he murmured.
Three figures stepped out of the darkness.
Two infected.
One still looked almost human.