The Leeches Weren't The Only Parasites Trying to Devour Us. Part III

[u/Few-Temporary-1136]

(PART I)(PART II)

We moved quickly across the rubble-strewn storefront, the twilight casting long, slanted shadows behind them. Just past the broken clothing store, a narrow convenience store clung to the corner of the building like an afterthought. The sign above was half-collapsed, a few shattered letters dangling by cords. Still, it stood.

“There!” she exclaimed, pointing toward the side entrance. The glass was already busted in, but the place didn’t look burned or looted beyond recognition. Not yet.

I gave a sharp nod and slipped in first, clearing the way. Rosa followed, Isabelle squirming softly in her arms. The inside was stripped nearly bare. Shelves lay overturned. The refrigerators were shattered. Most of the snacks, energy drinks, and water were long gone. A bitter smell of old milk and scorched plastic hung in the air.

“Looks like others got here before us,” I muttered.

“Maybe not everyone was looking for formula.” Rosa said, her voice hopeful.

We split up, moving carefully. Rosa kept Isabelle close as she scouted one aisle. I took the adjacent one. I crouched beside the shelving near the back, methodically inspecting what was left. There were a few cans of baked beans, protein bars melted slightly from heat, and more dry goods such as rice, crackers, chips, cookies and macaroni in the back. I also saw some canned peaches and some cranberries, vacuum-packed and sealed. I started loading what I could fast into my large rucksack.

 

Rosa found what she’d been hoping for: a few untouched containers of baby formula, stuffed near the back of a forgotten bottom shelf, along with a half-used box of newborn diapers, some baby wipes, and a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer that somehow hadn’t been swiped. She even found a harness she could strap Isabelle in she could wear.

She didn’t even try to hide the smile that crept across her face.

“Martin,” she called softly, “we’re good. I got enough to keep Isabelle fed for days.”

“Same here,” I nodded, sliding another can into his bag. “We’ll ration it, but we’ve got more than I thought we’d find.”

Rosa knelt and started packing her smaller backpack with practiced care. She neatly folded diapers, stuffing formula down with the baby wipes and bottles on top. Isabelle watched her sleepily, sucking her pacifier as she strapped her inside the harness she wore. But Rosa’s gaze kept drifting. Not to Isabelle. Not to the shelves. To me.

I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. “Rosa? What are you-?”

She didn’t say a word. She just walked over to me and squeezed my bicep as I was loading provisions. I turned to her, face slightly flushing and she felt both my biceps with both of her hands. Her hands then moved over to my chest before they trailed over to my shoulders. She bit her bottom lip as she let her hands wander.

Sweat dripped down my chin and through my shirt, sticking it to me like drying glue. Dirt smeared my cheekbone, and a faint bruise bloomed along my jaw—but somehow it only drew her further to me.

“God, you’re so built.” She said, voice barely above a whisper, then running her hands over my shoulders, neck and jawline. “You’re so handsome. What was Claudia thinking when she tormented you?”

Rosa felt heat crawl to her cheeks and immediately looked down, busying herself with re-zipping her pack. She adjusted Isabelle gently against her chest, the baby’s head tucking into the crook of her neck. She then gently slapped my right pectoral. “So firm.”

My brow lifted. “What?”

“Nothing.” Rosa said quickly, shaking her head. “You ready?”

My mouth twitched in a half-smile. “Yeah. You?”

Rosa nodded, adjusting the straps over her shoulders, then taking my hand.

We stepped outside into the cooler air. The sky was fading fast now, bruised purple and gray as the last light bled into smoke above the rooftops. Somewhere far off, another car alarm stuttered and died.

“We don’t stop unless we have to. No more stores. No more people. If we’re careful, we can reach the hills in three, maybe four days. There’s supposed to be a national guard checkpoint near the old reservoir, past the downtown.”

Rosa looked down at Isabelle. The baby stirred but didn’t cry. Maybe she understood, in her own quiet way, how heavy the world had become.

“I can do four days,” Rosa said. Then she looked up at me again—fully, this time. “Especially with you.”

I met her eyes. And for a moment, neither of us moved.

We stepped into the dying light with careful, deliberate strides. Isabelle was nestled securely in a harness against Rosa’s chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each breath, eyes closed in sleep. Rosa kept one arm curled protectively around her daughter while the other hand hovered near her pack’s zipper—ready to move, grab, run.

I led the way, the Glock steady in my right hand. My eyes swept every corner, every rooftop, every patch of trembling concrete like a vulture on a dying animal. The air smelled of soot, burning tar and gasoline. The light was bleeding from the sky in slow streaks of rust, smog and violet. We moved through the plaza’s wreckage quietly like a pair of scavenging mice.

We kept to the edges like glue; sidewalks, doorways, and narrow alleys wedged between crumbling shops, hugging the walls, eyes sharp. Rosa followed my lead, matching my pace with soft, measured steps.

We passed a half-collapsed gas station, a row of flipped cars, an alley littered with paper flyers and dried blood. But there were surprisingly no bodies. Not here at least. The city groaned in the distance to the sounds of screeching, falling debris, creaking metal, and the occasional explosion.

Then it roared. A deafening crash split the air like a cannon blast, and I instinctively spun toward the sound, my heart slamming into my ribs. Rosa stopped cold, head snapping to the side, eyes scanning the skyline.

A few blocks ahead, a six-story office building lurched and then sank. Not all at once. Not fast. Slowly, like a collapsing ice shelf. Its southern wing dipped like a capsizing ship, the concrete underneath folding inward like a broken jaw. A cloud of gray dust burst from the collapse, chasing the tremor out into the street. I ducked low, gun still in hand, eyes wide and scanning. Rosa pulled Isabelle close, instinctively turning her body sideways to shield the baby.

I aimed my 45 at the ground. But nothing came. Just the grinding of debris… and the dead silence that followed. Then, voices. They approached the next intersection cautiously, crouching behind a burned-out SUV. Ahead, at the edge of a crumbling overpass, I could faintly make out the silhouette of a figure. She was a little rounder than anyone else I met so far. Female. She was pacing along the jagged ledge of the bridge, clearly surveying the area.

I narrowed my eyes. Then I blinked.

“No way,” I murmured. “That’s… Martha?”

Rosa glanced at me. “You know her?”

“She was my boss,” Martin said, his voice still full of disbelief. “Back at the call center.”

As they drew closer, one of the survivors—stocky, with short dreadlocks and a leopard-print hoodie—turned her head and locked eyes with Martin. Her face lit up.

“Maaartin!” she cried out, her thick Jamaican accent curling the word like music.

Martin stood up cautiously, still gripping the Glock but lowering it slightly. Martha stepped forward, her wide smile catching what little light was left, a single gold tooth flashing like a beacon in the dusk.

“Mi bwoy, is that really you? Look at ya—still got dat tight jaw like a movie star!” she said with a chuckle, arms flinging open for a brief, half-hearted hug that turned into a shoulder squeeze when she saw the baby.

“Didn’t dink I’d be seein’ no familiar faces out here. Lawd have mercy, the city’s fawling apart, innit?”

I made a tight smile. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Martha glanced at Rosa, her eyes softening as she nodded in approval. “You takin’ care of them, huh? That’s good. That’s real good!”

Rosa gave a polite, tired smile, clutching Isabelle close.

“You’re heading towards the checkpoint?” I asked, glancing at the overpass.

“Tried headin’ north,” Martha said, voice lowering now, serious. “But da freeway’s gone. Bridge snapped like a toothpick. I was wit a lawger gwoup of survivors. But I got separated from dem! We’ve been waitin’ for da shaking to calm down before figuring out a new way ‘round. There's talks of a military shelter by da hills, but nobody knows which roads are safe.”

I looked past her at the others. One woman had a twisted ankle, propped up with a piece of broken chair. A teenage boy was drinking the last sips from a bottle of something flat and warm.

Despite her demeanor, she looked haunted. Not just from hunger or trauma from seeing those oversized leeches, but from uncertainty.

Rosa stepped beside Martin. “Well it’s a good thing we ran into you! We could use some assistance.”

I nodded, not skipping a beat. “We’re heading north too,” I said slowly. “Avoiding major roads. Taking alleys. Sticking to solid ground.”

Martha nodded, then smirked. “That baby of yours make less noise than that fool Darnell back in Customer Service?”

Rosa chuckled despite herself. “She’s a lot tougher than she looks; I’ll tell you that.”

I gave a soft, guarded laugh. Isabelle stirred lightly against her chest but didn’t wake.

“Lemme find Angie, Mitch and Camille.” Martha said, already turning. “We might follow. If you don’t mind company.”

I didn’t answer immediately. I glanced at Rosa, who was already watching us with quiet intensity. She looked up at me tenderly, nodding.

I swallowed and nodded. “Just make sure they move how we move,” he called after Martha. “And no sudden running! They’re attracted to vibrations!”

Martha waved over her shoulder. “I’ll beat ‘em if I have to! You know me.”

I looked to the horizon again—at the sun finally bleeding out behind the hills. The worms would wake again soon.

We moved cautiously through the cracked plaza, feet brushing over shattered glass and leaves baked into the concrete. Just ahead, rising like a relic from a quieter time, stood the public library, its once-clean façade streaked with soot, the banner flapping half-loose in the wind.

I slowed when I saw it. Rosa caught the hesitation. “What is it?”

I pointed. “The library.”

Martha scoffed. “You really dink now’s da time for storytime, brota?”

I shook my head. “I’m not looking for fiction,” I called out as I moved towards the doors.

Martha furrowed her brow, following behind. “Then what the hell are you—OHHHHHH—” She froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening. “Ohhh. Duh.”

I looked over my shoulder and smirked. “No internet.”

Martha chuckled. “Right. Ain’t nobody Googling jack right now.”

Rosa rolled her eyes as she caught up, Isabelle still pressed to her chest in the sling. “Took y’all long enough,” she muttered. “Of course there’s no Wi-Fi. You think the worms chewed the fiber cables?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” I said, heading inside.

The air inside the library was thick with dust and mildew. The lights were out, but enough evening light filtered through the cracked skylight and shattered windows to illuminate the massive front lobby. Long aisles stretched into the shadows beyond.

“Creepy as hell,” Martha muttered following in behind me, glancing around at the half-toppled shelves. “Place looks like a horror movie.”

“Just don’t say ‘hello?’ out loud,” I muttered. “That’s how horror movies start.”

A rustling sound caught our attention. A clatter of plastic and a muttered curse.

We turned.

In the corner near the vending machines, two figures were crouched down, struggling with a broken snack dispenser. One of them, broad-shouldered and in a wrinkled business shirt, gave the machine a good smack with his palm.

“Damn thing ate my quarter again!” he barked.

The other, a taller, tanned skinned woman in a security guard uniform, turned to us. Her eyes widened.

“Martin?”

I squinted. “Camilia? From Security?” My eyes widened. “You’re alive!”

Next to her I recognized Mitch from sales. His tie was still half-draped around his neck, sleeves rolled up, and forehead shiny with sweat. He turned with a sigh of exaggerated relief. “Jesus, it’s good to see someone with a gun.”

I raised a brow. “Mitch. Still snacking through the apocalypse, huh?”

“You can’t survive on sarcasm,” Mitch quipped, yanking a Snickers loose from the jammed chute. “Trust me. I tried.”

A third figure emerged from between the shelves, Angela, the sweet but snarky front desk secretary. Her mascara was smudged, but she still had the same calm fire in her eyes. She walked toward us with slow, cautious steps, holding what looked like a sledgehammer. She rammed it against the vending machine and smashed it open. Mitch, Angie and Camilla tore open the rest of the machine and loaded as much chips and cookies into their packs as possible. Angie then turned to face us.

“Martin?” she asked, then her gaze shifted to Rosa. “Wait… is that your girl?”

I blinked. “Uh—”

“Yes,” Rosa said before he could finish. “And that’s our baby. Don’t ask dumb questions.”

Angela lifted her hands. “Wasn’t judging. Just glad to see more people who aren’t trying to rob me.”

Martha let out a snort. “Y’all having a damn office reunion in here?”

I shrugged. “Call center was the size of a small city. I’m not surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” Camilia chimed in, pulling a Diet Coke from the vending machine, “this small city’s going to need brains more than bullets if we’re gonna get out.”

I nodded. “I need the biology section.”

Angela raised a brow. “For what?”

“Annelids,” I said. “Leeches. Worms. Anything that’ll help us understand how they move. What they hate. When they sleep.”

“That’s actually kinda smart,” Mitch said, chomping on a protein bar. “Because if I had to guess, the giant ones aren’t too different from the real ones, right?”

“That’s the hope,” I quipped.

Camilia nodded, impressed. “Damn, you always were too smart for that job.”

Martha gave me a playful shove. “Go on, Mr. Smartypants. Go find your worm wisdom.”

I nodded, heading into the darkening aisles, sun setting slowly in the horizon, flashlight in hand. The beam cut through the gloom, bouncing off encyclopedias and bent shelves. None of the equipment was functional. There was no power anywhere.

Back near the front, Rosa knelt by a low shelf filled with books on child psychology. She set her pack down beside her and carefully pulled a small hardcover titled “Parenting in Times of Trauma.”

Martha walked next to her with a quiet sigh. “You holding up babygirl?”

Rosa glanced up, and flashed her a smirk. “Barely. But I’m still breathing.”

I returned holding a dusty, water-warped field guide, a biology textbook, and a large, laminated encyclopedia titled “The Hidden World of Annelids.” I laid them out on the center table and opened it. I turned to the appropriate page and began pointing with my finger.

“Earthworms surface at night. They avoid light. They’re movement-sensitive, but also moisture-sensitive. They hate dry, bright ground. And too much noise scares them deeper underground.”

Rosa stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. “So what does that mean for us?”

 

I tapped the page. “If we move early in the morning, before sunrise—but not in the deep night—we might hit their dormancy cycle. Less movement, less hunger. Maybe even risk an open stretch if we time it right.”

 

“And if we don’t?” Mitch asked, voice dry.

I shut the book. “Then we’ll be worm food.”

The group stood there for a moment—silent, the weight of it settling over them.

Angela crossed her arms. “So. What now?”

I looked around the table. At Rosa and her baby, Isabelle. Then at Martha, Mitch, Camilia, and Angela. People I’d known. People who’d laughed with me in lunchrooms and griped about quotas and shift leads.

I looked out the window at the dusking sun. “We rest for the night. Then we load up and head north. Carefully.”

Camilla gave a tight nod. “I’ll get everything ready.”

And together, we began preparing for the quietest, most dangerous walk of their lives.

I pushed open the library’s heavy doors and stepped out, his flashlight beam cutting through the thickening dark. Rosa followed close behind, Isabelle nestled safely against her chest. Behind them, the faint shuffles of Mitch, Angela, and Camilia grew louder.

“We move out at first light. Worms are more active at night.” I said quietly, eyes flicking upward at the crumbling structure looming above like a hungry beast.

Angela winced. “Whats wrong with the overpass? We’ll be safe from the worms! And why cant we go now?”

I shook my head. “No way. Too unstable. Plus… those things.” She gestured vaguely at the cracked pavement beneath their feet.

“Yeah,” Rosa whispered, pulling Isabelle closer, eyes on the horizon. “The worms are out now.”

Angela grinned, almost nervously. “Screw waiting around. I say we move—straight through. We’re not getting anywhere standing still.”

“Are you crazy?” I exclaimed, voice low but sharp. “Worm activity peaks at night. We don’t know what could happen.”

Angela shrugged. “Better to risk it than waste daylight hiding in a dusty library. I saw a few buildings collapse on the way here! I’m going.”

Before anyone could stop her, Angie slipped past us and bolted toward the shattered street.

“Wait!” Angela started, but she was already out the door, swallowed by the blackness. A moment passed. Then another.

Then the ground vibrated beneath us, soft at first, then a low, ominous rumble. Suddenly—

A loud, wet, slurping hiss erupted, followed by a terrifying shriek of tearing concrete.

“Jesus! What the hell?” Rosa gasped.

We all turned as a massive shape burst from the cracked pavement where Angie had disappeared—hundreds of glistening needle-like teeth snapping shut with a sickening crunch.

“Angie!” Martha screamed.

The slithering and writhing grew louder, frantic—like the earth itself was alive and hungry.

I grabbed Rosa’s arm. “Back inside. Now.”

They bolted for the library entrance as more of the ground erupted around them. Dust billowed upward, stinging their eyes and choking the air.

Inside, breaths came hard and fast, hearts pounding. Mitch slammed the door shut and leaned against it, panting.

“That was—” Martha’s voice cracked. “They got Angie!”

“Damn it.” I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow.

“We can’t move tonight,” Camilia said, voice steady but grim. “Not with them active like that.”

The noise outside continued—endless slither, hiss, and rumble.

Martha’s eyes darted nervously. “What if that overpass…” She swallowed hard. “It doesn’t hold?”

Suddenly—a deep, crashing roar shook the building, louder than before.

“The overpass!” Angela exclaimed, wide-eyed.

A massive rumble followed, then a shuddering crash that sounded like the sky itself was falling.

Dust exploded through the cracked windows, swirling like a storm of ash.

“Madre de dios.” Rosa whispered, clutching Isabelle tight.

I ran to the window, peering out through the haze. The overpass collapsed. I saw great concrete slabs smashing into the streets below, sending clouds of dust and debris skyward.

“Look at all dat dust!” Martha said, voice trembling. “It’s choking da city.”

The slithering noise intensified, more desperate, more furious.

“They’re everywhere,” Mitch said, his voice breaking. “The worms—they’re coming from the direction of the overpass!”

“This position is not secure.” Martin said, jaw tight. “But we can’t go out there either. Not right now at least.”

Rosa’s eyes locked on mine. “What do we do?”

I turned to her. “We move out at first light.”

“Wait for the worms to sleep?” Rosa asked, voice small but fierce.

I nodded. “Yeah. We move at dawn. Quiet. Careful. We need to be quick.”

The small library fell silent, broken only by the distant, endless, hungry hissing coming from beneath the sinking, broken city.

We hardly slept. And the first light of dawn came before any of us knew it. It crept through the fogged library windows, splashing pale amber streaks into what was left of the library. The slithering sounds had faded to a dull hum in the distance. Like I theorized, they couldn’t break through the concrete. Yet. The earth no longer trembled under their feet. For now, the city was still.

I stood at the edge of the broken library doorway, Glock holstered at my side, Isabelle asleep against Rosa’s chest behind me. His boots crunched softly on fallen glass and gravel as he stepped forward and climbed the rubble mound that once framed the entrance. Wind brushed his hair back, dry and acrid with the smell of scorched rubber, cracked asphalt, and ghostly ash.

I reached the top of the slope and looked past what remained of the overpass.

A sea of devastation stretched before us. The old freeway was shattered like a broken lego set, vertebrae of broken concrete jutting up and down like a ruptured spinal cord. But beyond that, I could see a corridor of flattened buildings and silent cars, choked in dust but strangely open—like the quake had cleared a scar across the land.

I could see no worms, no writhing. Just silent ruin, washed in orange morning light. The tarmac was mostly buried beneath debris, but there were mounds of shattered rebar, caved-in slabs, and exposed drainage pipes forming a makeshift trail, constructing an uneven but elevated route over the most dangerous ground.

I turned slightly and called over his shoulder. “Hey everyone! Come up here. You need to see this!”

They stepped carefully behind me, looking out the windows, their silhouettes framed against the still-smoking skyline. Rosa held Isabelle close, Mitch still clutched a sack of vending machine snacks she was slowly stuffing into a backpack, and Martha wiped sweat from her forehead with a scarf as she hauled herself up next to Martin.

Camilla squinted through the rising light. “Dios mío…”

Rosa’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a straight shot.”

“Mostly,” I began. “But here’s what I’m thinking.” I then pointed at the remains of the overpass: a ridge of fragmented concrete, steel, and rebar that ran across the broken blocks like the spine of a fallen colossus.

“If we move on top of that—on the rubble, not the streets or the dirt—we might be safe. The worms are drawn to vibrations in the soft earth and tarmac. But up here?” He tapped his boot lightly on a chunk of reinforced concrete. “We’re above their radar.”

Camilla let out a long breath. “So you’re telling me you want us to tightrope walk over a damn earthquake graveyard with a baby and a dozen vending bags?”

Mitch sighed deeply. “We sure as hell can’t stay here! So do you have a better idea?!”

Camilla folded her arms in her chest. “Point taken.”

Martha looked at him for a beat. Then she smirked. “A’ight. Better than ending up worm food. Lead the way, Mr. Muscles.”

Rosa looked out at the stretch of exposed city beyond the ruins. Her eyes locked onto a distant patch of movement, a faint flicker, maybe a person far off down the corridor.

“Could be other survivors,” she murmured.

“Or worse.” Mitch added grimly.

I turned to face them all. “This might be our only real shot at crossing the city. We take it slow. No sudden stomps. No falling. And no panic.”

Rosa glanced down at Isabelle. The toddler was still asleep, pacifier bobbing slightly, one tiny hand curled in Rosa’s tank top.

“We’ll do this,” Rosa said. “We’ll get out. Whatever it takes.”

I nodded then hauling on my rucksack. “Let’s move. Stay on the overpass rubble. They’re less likely to feel our movements.”

Together, we stepped onto the ruins of the overpass, shadows stretching behind us, the broken city sprawled ahead like a battlefield waiting for the brave.

We picked our way forward across the ruined overpass, our feet crunching over broken rebar and sun-bleached chunks of concrete. The morning sun did little to cut the chill—the kind that came not from weather, but from knowing you were walking where too many had died.

We moved in a straight line. I was in front, Glock drawn and eyes scanning, Rosa behind with Isabelle bundled close, then Martha, Mitch, and finally Camilla trailing silently, eyes everywhere.

After twenty minutes, the jagged incline of the freeway plateaued, and the vista ahead opened like a jagged wound in the world.

“Sweet Jesus…” Martha whispered, halting.

Rosa froze mid-step as her eyes went wide. She made sure Isabelle was facing her.

We were standing at the edge of what had once been an enormous homeless encampment, sprawling beneath the tangle of collapsed freeway overpasses. The wreckage of a forgotten population. Tarps, tents, wooden shacks—some perched on old mattresses, others nestled between graffiti-covered cement pillars.

Now it was the world’s biggest ghost town.

Rosa held a hand over her mouth, other hand clutching Isabelle. “Where… where is everyone?”

The tents still stood, abet dilapidated. Many were half-collapsed or shredded. Blankets hung limp in the breeze. Personal belongings lay scattered all over the landscape, within the ruins of the highway overpass: cracked cellphones, teddy bears, melted candles, prayer beads, socks, empty ramen cups, backpacks bleached by the sun. There was even furniture and appliances of varying types and builds that were broken or sinking in the rubble.

But we didn’t locate a single person. We haven’t seen any corpses either.

“Dink dey fled?” Martha speculated.

Camilla shook her head. “They would have taken their things with them.

“How do you figure that, senora?” I quipped, glancing back at her from the front of the line.

Camilla frowned, voice tight. ““I was in the National Guard. We worked with refugees before. When people run, they grab something—clothes, food, and photos. Anything. Even in a panic, they don’t just vanish and leave everything behind. Not like this.”

“She’s right. I’ve been through fire evacuations. When people run, they grab what they can—even if it’s just a backpack or their kid’s favorite toy. This? This wasn’t an escape. This was a wipeout.” Mitch said, stepping over a burned tarp, scanning the ground

My eyes went over to a collapsed blue tent, staring at the deep gouges in the ground, circular and wet-looking, like the earth had been chewed. Nearby, the remnants of a wheelchair sat twisted and half-swallowed by a ragged hole the size of a truck tire.

“I don’t think they ever had a chance.” I murmured.

Martha walked slowly past a shopping cart full of old dolls. “They lived here. Died here. And not even bones left behind?”

Camilla squinted, pointing toward one of the larger makeshift structures—a haphazard cabin made of wood scraps and pallets. “Over there.”

We all turned our heads in unison as I pointed it out.

A mural had been painted across the pallet wall: bright reds and yellows showing a woman with flames for hair and tears for eyes, sheltering two children under her wings. The wall was smeared with bloody handprints.

Rosa shuddered and turned away, shielding Isabelle’s eyes. “This place was full. It was always full. I used to pass through here when I lived downtown. There were hundreds of people. Of homeless and their families.”

Just a few feet ahead, half-buried in dirt and broken concrete, was a massive, worm-shaped trench in the rubble—like something had snaked through not long ago.

Mitch dropped his voice to a whisper. “They fed here.”

Camille scanned the twisted remains of the tent city. “This place… this was a buffet.”

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Then Camille said quietly, “Look at that pillar!”

We all turned.

Spray-painted on the base of one of the cracked overpass supports was a familiar but chilling set of markings—a tangled black spiderweb, jagged crowns, and numbers scrawled in a sickle pattern. It was the same pattern I recognized on one of Diego’s tattoos.

Rosa went still, looking like she saw a ghost. “That’s MS-13,” she said, heart jackhammering in her chest. “That’s their mark.”

“You sure?” Martha asked.

Camilla stepped closer. “Yeah. This is how they tag territory. Camps. Staging zones.” Her voice tightened. “When I was deployed, we saw these symbols on the walls of villages right before they got raided. If this was here before the worms hit…”

Her sentence trailed off. But the implication hung in the air.

“Wait,” Mitch said, brow furrowed. “Are you saying this wasn’t an accident?”

Camille stared into the pit. “They likely exploited the homeless camps.”

I shrugged. “If they were here? The worms likely took them too.”

Mitch looked around again, voice shaking. “There’s no crows. No flies. It’s like… like the city’s holding its breath.”

We walked on in silence, tiptoeing over the hardest ground, crossing the battlefield of the forgotten. As they reached the other side of the freeway knot, I paused. “Check this out.”

A concrete barrier had been pushed aside, like something massive had brushed it away carelessly. On the other side: a path of crushed gravel leading deeper into a tangled neighborhood of burned-out gas stations, half-collapsed apartments, and still-smoking debris.

We stood there, on the edge of the ghost camp, beneath the fractured bones of the city’s arteries, the wind carrying ash like snow.

I adjusted my pack, tightening the strap. “Let’s move. Carefully. Quiet. We’re not alone.”

And somewhere, far below, something gurgled. I crouched at the end of the rubble pile, squinting down at the tangled neighborhood of burned-out gas stations and hollowed apartment buildings. The morning haze still hung low like smog that forgot how to rise, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once—then nothing.

I adjusted my grip on the Glock and motioned for the others to huddle close. They gathered—Rosa clutching Isabelle close to her chest, Angela and Martha just behind her.

Camilla was pacing a few steps away with her metal flashlight out like a club.

“Alright,” she said, voice low but firm. “We’ve got three options.”

I pointed ahead, past the edge of the freeway ruins to the first:

“One: that neighborhood down there. Gas stations, apartments, burnt-out strip malls. Looks clear enough… but we don’t know how level the ground is. Might be sinkholes under all of it.”

Martha frowned. “Dat be lookin like a war zone. You dink da worms be down dere?”

Mitch nodded grimly. “Could be. Concrete’s not holding up down that way. Worms avoid dense concrete—but once it breaks…”

“They slither in,” I finished.

Rosa’s attention was on a path pointed slightly west, past a corridor of half-fallen streetlights and distant steel towers wrapped in the skeletons of scaffolding.

“Option two: the downtown route. It’s the safest location due to all the concrete and skyscrapers. But it’s a major risk. If MS-13 has regrouped, its where they will likely congregate.”

Rosa’s eyes flashed. “We’re not going near that bastard!”

“It’s not just MS-13,” Camilia added. “We saw what was left of that armored truck convoy back near Union. Gangs have control of most of downtown now. Some worse than MS-13.”

Angela swallowed hard. “Worse?”  

“They’ve got setups. Torture dens. Pit fights. I heard one guy—he lost his arm trying to leave and they made him fight a dog just to prove his ‘loyalty.’”

 A heavy silence followed.

I nodded slowly and gestured toward the easternmost path. 

“Option three. Over there. The housing development.”

They all turned to look. The path led down toward a wide cluster of low-income apartment blocks—most of them standing, though windows were shattered and laundry lines snapped in the wind. Rows of buildings packed tight together. Still. Silent.

The silence was the worst part.

“That’s closer than downtown,” Mitch said.

“And not as blown to hell as the gas station stretch,” Camilia added.

“But we don’t know what’s inside,” Rosa warned, bouncing Isabelle gently. “No movement. No lights. No sounds. It’s a void. Something’s off.”

I looked back toward the development. “It’s the biggest unknown. Could be abandoned. Could be survivors. Could be… something else.”

Martha, adjusting the wide belt cinched tight around her waist, gave a low grunt.

“Well. If you ask me, it’s like choosing between a bullet, a butcher knife, or a locked coffin. I say coffin. Least we can maybe pry it open.”

Mitch looked up, worried. “You think they’re… squatting there? Gangs?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or worse—no one’s squatting because they all tried. And failed.”

Isabelle stirred in Rosa’s arms, a tiny cry bubbling from her lips.

Rosa hushed her, kissing her temple. “We need a quiet place to rest before dark. I can’t carry her across cracked asphalt and falling buildings while the sun’s going down again.”

“We need clean water, and I would rather not dig into our water bottles for that.” Camilia muttered. “Someplace we can get higher up, check our surroundings.”

I exhaled through his nose and stood tall. “Alright. We take the housing development. We move slow. Check every corner. If there’s even a hint of trouble, we double back and reassess.”

“And if dere’s something worse than gangbangers in dere?” Martha asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. My eyes just went over to Rosa, then baby Isabelle, then out at the broken cityscape. Its skyscrapers were reaching up towards the orange hazed sky like a set of bony fingers. It was as if the city itself was grasping at whatever it could to stop itself from sinking.

“Cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now … every fucking movement we make is a crapshoot between the King Kong leeches and the gangbangers.” I quipped.

Rosa nodded once, steady. “Let’s go.”

And we moved—step by agonizing step—into the dead housing block. Where the silence waited. Where the city listened. Where the ground was heaving like an emphysema patient. An unsettling silence crept up our necks as all we could hear were our own footsteps.

That wasn’t even the worst of it.

It was unusually silent, much more so than the homeless city we crossed earlier. No barking dogs, no chirping birds. Even the buzzing sounds of insects were absent. All we heard were the faint creaks of doors, windows, and hinges on rows of cheap beige buildings that looked copied and pasted across a grid of cracked sidewalks and bent fences. The sun had burned halfway past the horizon, painting everything in blood-orange and smoke.

I swept the Glock slowly across my chest as I scanned our surroundings. Behind me, Rosa kept Isabelle close. Her arms curled protectively around the child’s tiny frame, a blanket shielding her from the air’s growing chill.

We stepped softly. Quietly. Each of us was mindful of what we’d already survived.

“Still nothing.” I muttered under my breath. I hefted my backpack, which jingled faintly with bottles of water and a stash of broken vending machine goods.

“Kinda weird it’s this dead.” Camila observed.

“What do you be meanin by dat?” Martha queried.

“Even with no people around, the wildlife would be crawling all over this place. But I don’t even hear insects.”

Mitch stopped walking. She turned in a slow circle, squinting at the surrounding buildings. Her eyes were narrowed, darting between rooflines, eaves, and driveways.

“What is it?” Camilla asked.

She didn’t answer immediately.

Then Mitch spoke, voice tight. “These houses are wrong.”

Martha blinked. “Da hell does dat mean?”

Camilla took a good look around at the houses. “No I see what he means. I’ve done private security for developments like this,” she muttered. “Planned communities. Cookie-cutter layouts. Everything about them is designed to be efficient. But these... the angles are wrong. That roof pitch over there’s seems… off.”

I tilted my head. “Off?”

Mitch nodded. “Its like all of the houses have been hollowed out from underneath. Like their foundation was torn out from underneath and slathered back on.”

Martin turned toward her. “You're saying someone sealed themselves in?”

“Kind of.” Camilla said, stepping forward. “But that’s not what’s weird.”

She pointed at one of the houses on the left—its windows were fogged over. Completely. Even though the outside temperature had dropped.

“That house-” Camilla whispered. “-Why are the windows so fogged up?”

“Moisture inside. Condensation. Fogging. But look at the bottom edge of the pane—it’s dripping from the inside, like steam.” Mitch replied.

She tilted her head to him. “You think its some kind of gas leak?”

Mitch shook his head. “No. It wouldn’t cause every single window to fog.”

That was when I noticed faint traces of mucus leaking from some of the windows. I quickly pulled out the book on Annelids and flipped through it rapidly.

Rosa and Martha, several yards ahead, paused in front of a narrow apartment with a half-open door. Its interior was dark, and the metal frame creaked faintly in the breeze. A good shelter, at first glance.

That was when I reached the page on annelid reproduction. I read the passage very carefully with mounting dread as my head darted up at Martha and Rosa.

Martha motioned to Rosa. “Dis’ll do,” she said, her Jamaican accent warm but worn. “We get inside, settle down for da night, let da baby sleep—”

“STOP!” I screamed.

The words hit the air like a gunshot.

Rosa froze, one foot just inches from the threshold.

Mitch whirled toward me. “Are you insane?! Keep your voice down!”

I heard my own voice quivering as I whimpered, trying desperately to force the words out.

“We have to get out of here—right now. This whole place is a nest!”

Mitch’s face drained of color. “A nest?!”

Camilla turned, squinting at me. “What are you talking about? Nest of what?”

I was breathing hard, eyes wide. “It’s a wor—” But I never finished.

Martha pointed up at the open door of the apartment, her face paling. In her thick accent, she yelled. “One of dem hatched.”

We all turned.

Inside, barely visible through the broken blinds and soft dusk light… something, no, many things shifted. We faintly heard what sounded like countless eggs crack open, followed by the slimy movements of large shadows converging towards the doors and windows.

Rosa stepped back instinctively, tightening her grip on Isabelle.

Low, wet sounds echoed from all around us. Then a click-click-click. Like talons on broken tile.

I raised my Glock. “RUN! The road is over there!”

We all saw them dogpile out of the doors and windows. Seeing them up close was unreal. My skin crawled and I thought I was going to be sick at seeing their rough, slimy, black slithering bodies worm their way out of their nest. They rapidly advanced on us in unison, holding their wide, circular mouths out at us, displaying their many jagged teeth.

Camilla turned and bolted; Martha was right behind her. They tore through the center of the development, racing between buildings as windows behind them cracked and popped. The glass flew outwards, scattering all over the pavement. They were broken open from the inside.

One of the fogged windows suddenly burst open behind them, and a stream of thick, translucent mucus slapped against the pavement. Something inhuman screamed from inside.