𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐄, e.williams¹

i - the burning streets of hell

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It was hot. Really, really hot. The kind that made you want to crawl out of your own skin and drown yourself in water. With the sun glaring down on our necks and the clouds nowhere in sight, the Pittsburgh streets were like an oven. It was miserable. And made my dad and I relish every gust of air that passed us by.

"God, that breeze feels good," I heard my dad say from somewhere to my left. He sounded as relieved as I was to feel the wind that weaved through the buildings around us. I looked over at him, watching as he withdrew a map from his backpack while we walked. His graying black hair hung over his eyebrows as he sighed. "We've still got a long way to go, kid."

"I know," I breathed, rolling my tense shoulders under the long-sleeve cream-colored henley I wore. "That's how it always is."

Dad folded the piece of paper back up before shoving it into the butt pocket of his jeans. "We need to hurry. If we don't make it out of this city by at least sunset..."

Then we'll have to deal with hunters. He didn't have to say it for me to understand what he was getting at. It had taken a lot of convincing for my dad to finally agree to leave New York City in search of another settlement. Living in a holed-up apartment that—by some miracle—hadn't been damaged by bombs was incredibly suffocating. Especially after my mom and brother passed and Dad started to cut off all contact with anything outside of the little studio apartment that had once belonged to a painter.

"We'll make it," I tried to reassure, kicking a thumb-sized rock into the brick wall of a bakery. It broke upon impact.

Giving only a grunt in response, we continued through the dark city in silence, only the sound of our breathing and footsteps keeping us company. Even though there were plenty of things we could have talked about, quiet was our immediate default.

Upon noon, we were still, unfortunately, in the heart of the city. My dad and I had underestimated the size of Pittsburgh and it was biting us in the ass.

Letting out a sigh, I looked at the back of my dad's head, who had managed to get a few yards ahead. "I can't even remember what we're supposed to be looking for."

"A bridge," he reminded, readjusting his bag as he walked.

I nodded even though he couldn't see and let my eyes roam the street around me. Shops and parking garages surrounded us, their windows shattered and over-infested with plants. It wasn't very different from New York. Well, other than the clan of hunters that laid claim to this area.

Back in 'The Big Apple,' the only faction there had been FEDRA, but they were long gone by the time I was old enough to even comprehend what kind of world I lived in.

Too drawn back into my thoughts of the apartment we had left behind, I didn't hear the sound of gunfire until bullets shattered glass. Freezing, my gaze snapped to my dad, watching as he stopped and listened, pistol already in his hand. When the popping ceased, he turned back around and gestured me over.

"Stay close," he said roughly, the crease between his brows deepening. "I've been told the hunters here are ruthless. More ruthless than others, and I don't want to cross them. If you see or hear anything, let me know, understand?"

I swallowed hard. "Yeah, okay. I understand."

We continued on, my heart thundering in my ribcage. The waiting game was the worst. Whether or not we were going to run into these hunters was a question I didn't want to know the answer to.

Our silence was no longer comforting. Instead, it only ate at me from the inside out. I was afraid to breathe too loudly, check my watch, or even fiddle with the dog tags around my neck. The thick uneasiness followed me like a rain cloud.

"There it is," Dad said, breaking my focus away from our surroundings to where he pointed. A large yellow bridge poked through a few tall buildings. "That's where we're headed."

"I see it," I affirmed.

Dad looked around, deciding on how to get to our desired location. He started toward a laundromat. "Come on, we're gonna cut through here."

Sweat slid down my temples as I followed him into the building, thankful to be out of the sweltering sun. Though the humidity clung to us like sand on wet feet.

After packing up a few scattered supplies, we traveled through the brick walls easily, no signs of hunters or infected to waste our bullets on. As we continued our trip up to the roof, I pushed up my sleeves in a desperate attempt to cool off.

"Blake," my dad warned, stopping when he noticed the change in my appearance. "Roll them back down."

Frowning, I did as he said, covering the wound on my left outer forearm. "Why though? It's just us. We're far away from the hunters or anyone else." I paused. "And it's hot, Dad."

"I don't care," he snapped, turning fully toward me. I've started to notice that every time I mentioned the bite on my arm that he grew impatient and irritated. I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued on. "Someone could see, and the consequences of that would be bad. We're not risking it."

Blowing out a puff of air, I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans, deciding I wasn't going to start an argument here. "Fine."