𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐄, e.williams¹

ii - pittsburgh fucking sucks

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The hunters here were like cockroaches; they never truly disappeared. You killed one, three more would come charging around the corner with no warning, their hands gripping a gun or some other type of weapon. They were both ruthless and annoying. I could immediately see why my dad had wanted to avoid them at all costs.

We were still a good ways away from the bridge, but closer than we had been this morning. The apartment complex we had managed to find ourselves in had hunters lurking on every floor.

"Dad," I hissed, not taking my eyes off the trio of men on the stairwell behind us. "They're coming up the stairs."

"Shit," my dad muttered, not knowing where to look. Between the three approaching men and the two in the room across from us, we were bound to be discovered lurking behind a rotting wardrobe in the middle of the hallway.

I shuffled on my knees, growing more panicked as I watched the hunters climb the steps and shorten the distance that separated us. "What're we going to do?" When he didn't say anything I added on an urgent "Dad!"

"Do you still have the lighter I gave you back in Brooklyn?" he asked, swinging his backpack in front of him. He pulled out a concoction of things from the big main compartment.

"Uh, yeah. Why?" I whispered as I reached for it, handing the small silver lighter to him. He took it hastily, only bothering to look up to see how close the hunters behind me were. "Dad! Why do you need it?!" He just continued fumbling with the supplies in his hands.

I let out an exasperated sigh, growing both panicked and agitated. As I shifted in my spot on the floor, I grabbed at my pistol. But a hand stopped me from pulling it out of its holster.

"Don't waste your bullets," my dad said, holding up a Molotov cocktail. With that, the flaming bottle was thrown over my head, exploding against one of the men's shirts. Screaming replaced their low talking.

"Let's go," Dad said, hauling me to my feet. "We can't stay here."

Releasing my arm, he grabbed his pistol and pocketed my lighter. We moved further up the green-walled corridor, practically hopping from one source of cover to the next. When we slipped behind a stack of mattresses, the two hunters from earlier rounded the corner, one with a bat and the other with a shotgun.

A shell from the firearm was immediately discharged in our direction, barely missing my dad, who dove left and barreled behind a rotting dresser that had been stripped of its drawers. His face was drawn in a scowl when he poked his head over as the hunter with the gun reloaded, firing bullets of his own and hitting both men square in the chest.

Eyes as wide as saucers, I stood from my spot behind the mattresses, feeling utterly useless. Times like these made me wonder why my dad had even bothered teaching me how to use a gun properly. "Looks like you got 'em," I said finally, staring down at the blood soaking the beige carpet.

My dad only nodded, reaching down to take the shotgun from the dead hunter. As he checked the ammo, he took the rifle off his shoulder and handed it to me.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, standing there stiffly with the larger gun. "I don't even use my pistol, Dad."

"Well," he started, also grabbing the bat from the floor, "soon you're going to have to."

Shaking my head, I slung the gun over my backpack strap. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.

As we patted down the dead hunters, taking anything that might be of use, more voices came from down the hallway. There were too many to count, and it sparked my anxiety again. Ducking by a pile of suitcases, I leaned against the wall and asked for the second time in the past five minutes, "What are we going to do?"

"We're gonna have to book it," my dad said, trying to get a good idea about where the hunters were.

"Book it?!" I snapped, looking at him as if he were crazy. And, well, with that idea I suppose he might be. "That's never going to work."

Dad ignored my jab at his suggestion, placing a hand on my upper back. His eyes stayed glued to the space in front of us, waiting for a person to walk through one of the doorframes. "Whan I say run, you fucking sprint to that window, understood?"

I followed his line of sight, spotting the window that led to a balcony. It was inside the only room that hunters didn't occupy. Quickly putting my thick curls into a ponytail behind my neck, I nodded. "Yep, got it."

"Good," my dad said, now handing me the bat he had taken and urging me ahead. "Take this."

Balking, I wrapped my fingers around the wooden handle, looking over my shoulder at him. "What?"

"Run," he instructed, completely catching me off guard.

"What?" I repeated, brows furrowing.

"RUN!" he shoved me towards the room and stood, shooting at the exposed hunters with skilled precision.

I stumbled on the carpet, my heart thundering in my chest as the hunters finally became aware of the trespassers in their territory. Regaining my balance, I bolted toward the bedroom, ignoring the shouting and the sound of bullets meeting flesh and bone.

"Get the girl!" I heard someone yell as I slid to my knees and skidded across the bedroom floor, my legs burning with the impact. Going as quickly as my body would let me, I reached for the door, catching a glimpse of my dad. He was practically already pinned down, the hunters flanking his position. But I also saw a large man charging toward me, his yellowed teeth bared and white fists curled around an ax.

Tossing the bat to the side, I grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut, throwing myself against the hard surface and switching the rusted lock.