Chapter 229: Chapter 229 - A Hunter in Long Island
Malcolm held still and listened, but nothing came back. There was no scrape, no screech, nor the telltale sign of clicks, yet the silence made his jaw tighten as he pulled the strap of his backpack closer to his shoulder.
"We’re leaving."
Archie and Harry hesitated, both shaking their heads as Arnulf stepped in.
"Wouldn’t we be safer inside if there’s a hunter?"
Malcolm didn’t answer right away and moved to the entrance, scanning the street. Walkers littered the road, some walking aimlessly while others, whose bodies were already deteriorating, stood frozen in place.
"If we fire inside, the walkers trap us," he said while watching the street.
"What if we hide here?" Harry asked. "Just until it’s gone."
Malcolm shook his head.
"If it’s in the area, then we’re already the target. We need to go now."
A screech cut through the air, sharp and close, making everyone flinch.
"Move."
They broke out together as something slammed hard against a roof nearby, the impact ringing through metal while Malcolm cut toward a car and dropped behind it, the others crashing in beside him before forcing themselves still under his raised hand.
"Don’t move."
They froze, breathing uneven as Malcolm leaned just enough to look over the hood and caught a glimpse of something low and grey crossing the rooftop before it disappeared just as fast.
He dropped and looked at the men.
The walkers started stirring because of the sound and are moving toward their position.
"Let’s move," he muttered as they ran past the walkers and into the open street. Malcolm glanced to the side and caught a glimpse of something grey moving across the roof.
He stopped.
The men stopped with him, crouching behind a car. The walkers who had seen them were coming, but they had already made enough distance.
Another screech cut through the air.
From the distance, Malcolm saw a twitcher about ten meters away, sprinting toward them in long strides.
"Shit... oh God... oh God..." Archie muttered from the side as all of them cursed under their breath.
"Malcolm," Arnulf said, his voice tight.
Malcolm ran through the paths in his head, but every route would expose them to the hunter. And all of them on the street is dangerous.
"Stand by," he muttered.
The twitcher closed the distance.
Malcolm moved first and sprinted toward it, the machete coming up as he met it mid-run and cut clean through its neck, the body still carrying forward on momentum before dropping hard across the ground.
He held the follow-through, his hand still raised, the blade stained with dark fluid as he froze in place.
Something moved behind him.
Fast.
The hunter reacted to the sound, its claws cutting through cement and the walker’s torso with a sharp scrape that made his scalp tighten. He felt it close, too close, close enough that the air around him shifted.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t breathe.
His eyes stayed on the machete held mid-air, knowing he couldn’t reach for the shotgun strapped across his chest, knowing the blade in his hand wouldn’t do anything.
Not against that.
A leg stepped into view, too thin, skin stretched tight over bone as it passed him in a slow stride.
Thinner than the ones he had seen before.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Its head tilted, then shifted, sweeping left and right as the sound sharpened, more focused, like it was closing in.
Malcolm held.
His chest burned.
His arms burned.
He ignored it.
Two walkers drifted into the space, their dragging steps cutting through the silence as they moved toward him, and the hunter reacted instantly, snapping toward the nearest one and launching in a blur before tearing through it and throwing the body aside.
Silence came back as the hunter stepped over the torn body and inspected it, its head lowering before giving a small shake.
Too close.
Another walker drifted in from the side with its eyes fixing on him as it closed the distance.
Malcolm felt the pressure build in his lungs as his body pushed for air, his chest tightening as he forced it down because he knew he couldn’t move, not now, not while the hunter was still within reach.
One shift would give him away.
One breath would turn it.
The walker came closer, dragging its feet, its arm lifting as it reached for him, and Malcolm’s grip tightened on the machete as his arm twitched once before locking again, every instinct telling him to move while he held himself still.
The clicking started again.
The hunter’s head shifted as it listened, narrowing the space as the walker leaned in, less than a meter between them, and Malcolm held.
He moves; he’ll die.
The opposite, he’ll die too.
Then—
Bang.
Then a gunshot cracked through the air.
The hunter pivoted instantly and launched toward the sound, its body crossing past him and toward the men he had told to stay put.
Malcolm moved.
He pulled in a hard breath and pushed himself up in the same motion, driving the machete into the walker in front of him and forcing it down before turning toward the source.
The car.
All three pressed against it, bodies tight to the metal.
Harry held the gun. Arnulf looked white and Archie closed his eyes and pushing his body face against the car.
The hunter slowed.
Then started toward them again, the clicking returning as it moved slowly trying to locate any movement.
Malcolm dropped the machete and pulled the shotgun from his chest, bringing it up as he stepped out just enough to draw its attention.
"Shit," he muttered.
Everything would hear that shot.
Everything would come yet he got no choice.
He fired into the air.
The blast echoed across the street.
The hunter stopped.
Turned.
Locked at him.
It screeched.
Then launched.
Straight at him.
Malcolm held his ground, feet planted as he tracked it through the rear sight, the distance closing fast as its body stretched forward in long strides, low and fast as it built speed.
It leapt.
He fired.
The blast hit center mass and drove it hard into the ground.
He drew in a deep breath and held it for a second, the shotgun steady in his hands even after the recoil, even after he knew the shot had landed center on its chest.
"Malcolm!"
Archie ran toward him, then slowed as he saw the body on the ground, his steps stopping short.
"It’s dead?" he asked.
Malcolm lowered the shotgun a few inches and gave a small nod.
Harry stepped closer, circling it, his eyes fixed.
"What the hell is this thing?"
Arnulf came in from the side and nudged it with the tip of his machete.
"It was breathing," he muttered. "I saw his chest moving as if breathing."
Malcolm glanced at it. "Hunters are alive," he said. "If that’s what you mean."
A beat passed.
"You weren’t kidding," Archie said, his voice tighter now. "About it being dangerous."
"Look at the hands," he added, leaning slightly but not too close. "Those aren’t normal."
"Claws," Harry said. "Looks like the bones that shifted into claws."
"Don’t touch it," Malcolm cut in. "It carries venom in those," he added, his voice low.
Archie stepped back immediately, a shiver running through him.
"Fuck." Harry breathe.
Malcolm turned.
The street had changed.
Every undead within hearing is moving towards them.
"We’re fucked."
