My feet pounded against the asphalt road, my lungs heaved and wheezed, my muscles burned. I wanted desperately to stop running. Each step was agony. I felt like I would collapse at any second. Still, I ran.

The baying behind us compelled me to. Those mutant... things were out for blood and nothing would stop them.

“Keep running!” The man beside me, the one whose job it was to escort me through this hellhole, screamed at me. “Just a bit further! That intersection, up ahead! Turn left!” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him grab another grenade off his belt, pull the pin, and underhand it behind him at the monsters on our heels.

The street lit up in a blinding flash and I was nearly deafened by the ear-splitting bang that accompanied it. For a fraction of a second, our shadows stretched out in front of us along the road like specters, pitch-black and inhumanly-proportioned.

I could almost swear that I saw other shadows, laid out across the apartment complexes that lined the street. But that was impossible. There was no one else with us.

This whole place is impossible.

I used my arm to hook myself into the turn, swinging off of a light pole, left just like my guide said. I could see the light at the end of the street. Our salvation was there.

---

A few hours earlier...



The bar was as noisy as you could from such an establishment. It was the last place I expected to find someone as ‘elite’ as one of the Rangers, but it wasn’t like anything made much sense in New Atlanta anymore. I scanned the room, looking for anyone who matched the description that my liaison had given me.

I found him in one of the booths near the back.

He wasn’t much older than I was, perhaps thirty, with his dark hair tied in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He even had the scar. He was hunched over, poring over various papers strewn across the table, and there was a glass of some kind of liquor or another off to the side.

It wasn’t too hard to approach him, considering the crowd between us.

I cleared my throat. “Mister… Rackham?”

“Can I help you?” His eyes stayed on the papers in front of him, which I could see now were forms of some kind. His accent was impossible to place.

“William Hatch. I’m with the NA Post? I was told you could help with an article I’m writing.”

“Am I to assume this involves the Zone?” the Ranger queried, referring to what the majority of the city had become last year. It was officially called the New Atlanta Anomalous Phenomenon Quarantine Zone, after something that could only be called “The Event” turned the city into a death trap and the government cordoned it off behind a massive wall.

Even now, no one really knew what happened, and the Rangers were practically the only ones allowed in.

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to-“

“You want a ride-along.”

“I- I didn’t know that was even allowed.”

The Ranger, Rackham, looked up at me with a vaguely amused expression and gestured at the other side of the booth. I pulled out a digital recorder as I sat and set on the table. Rackham gave me a look, but nodded his assent anyway. “It’s not verboten, per se, but it’s not exactly advertised. We don’t let people in for a very good reason.”

“Well, it’s dangerous, right?”

“Incredibly. I take boffins in there all the time, and even they have to sign release forms.”

That made me pause for moment. “What kind of release forms?”

He snorted out a laugh at that. “You sure?”

I weighed my options carefully, but it was never really a choice for me. The lead was there, and I was going to follow it. “If the option’s there.”

“Standard stuff, really. ‘If I die horribly, it’s no one’s fault but my own’, ‘I do hereby permit the State to experiment on my body however the hell it wants to if I happen to snuff it’, yadda, yadda. Still sound like something you wanna do?” He gave me a look I couldn’t place over his glass.

“Uh…” I replied intelligently.

“Like I said, standard stuff.”

“Just give me the forms.” ‘Before I change my mind’ went unspoken.

“Head back to where you got that press badge of yours” – he typed something out on a tablet he pulled from his pocket – “and tell them you need an E-50.” He tapped something on the screen with a sense of finality. His tone of voice had completely changed. The jocular informality that had defined the entire meeting gave way to cold professionalism. “You follow their instructions to the letter; no ifs, no ands, no buts. I expect you at Gate Three in two hours; otherwise I’m leaving you out here. Got it?”

“Uh… yes, sir.”

“Good.” Rackham turned his attention back to his paperwork. “Off you go then.”

---

“Wall, Romeo-five. How copy?”

Not being privy to whatever radio frequency he was using, I couldn’t hear the response to Rackham’s questions, or if there were any at all.

Focused as I was on simply running for my life, I didn’t have the time or energy to care.

“Affirmative; I need arty 200 meters west of First and Strugatsky. Fire on my go only.”

The words managed to grab my attention enough to force me to stop and gape at the man. Is he insane?!

“Get that arse moving, civvy! Keep running!”

He didn’t need to tell me twice.

---

A few hours earlier…



Two hours, he gave me. It took that long just to get the permits. And the crash courses. And the equipment.

I strode out to The Wall. The massive concrete edifice towered above me, and the oppressive size just made me more tense. The weight of the gear I’d been issued didn’t help. I expected a flak-vest. Maybe a helmet. But full body armor?

And the waivers I had to sign. ‘Sudden cessation of existence’? ‘Unexpected intersection with previously-solid matter’? It felt like I was reading bad science fiction. But I was here for a reason. Why go for ‘just’ an interview if I could get a first-hand look myself? If my dad could cover warzones, I could cover The Zone.

Rackham was waiting at the gate, just like he’d said. If anything, his gear was even more extensive; the only thing not covered by some kind of armor was his head, but a massive armored helmet rested at his feet. He was fiddling with something, I couldn’t tell what.

“Hey, you made it!” The irreverence he’d had when I first walked up to him was back. It was kind of off-putting, how strongly he came off, but at least it made him kind of approachable. “I wondered if the waivers would drive you off; not that I’d blame you for calling this off.”

“Thanks for taking me in there.”

“I have a patrol tonight anyway. We’ll swing through the calmer areas for an hour or two before I drop you off back here; and before you ask, no. I’m not letting you in all the way. I’m not exaggerating when I say the other side of that wall is one of the most dangerous places in the universe; even the boffins stay near the edges.” He grabbed the helmet and slipped it on. “Got everything you need?”

I held up my camcorder.

“They did give you a sidearm, right?” I grimaced a bit at that. The heavy pistol felt out of place, strapped to my chest; most of the I spent getting ready for this was spent learning how to use it. I indicated it with a pat.

“Is it really necessary?”

“Ideally, no. If things go my way tonight, you’ll be turning that back in just the way you got it. If it gets to a point where you’ve gotta use that thing, I’ll be dead, or good as, and you’ll be fucked. But that may very well be the thing that saves your life.” Rackham was once again dead serious.

“Now, let’s set some ground rules. Number one; once we’re through that gate, I am God. You do what I say, when, and how. No questions.

“Number two; stay in the light. I don’t care if you want to get a better angle on somethin’, or you just see somethin’ shiny. There are things that go bump in the night in there, and they hunt in the shadows. They take you, and it’s game over.

“Got that?”

“Seems simple enough.”

“You say that now. Come on.” He shouldered what I could now see was a rifle of some kind. “Two goin’ in!”

Someone at the top of the wall called out a response I couldn’t quite catch, and the gate rumbled to life. Rackham was through it before it even finished. “In or out, civvy? Come on!” He waved at me. “They gotta close the gate now, move your arse!”

I had to sprint to make it through before the gate slammed shut; he wasn’t kidding. Once inside, I saw the light Rackham had been talking about; lamps dotted the center of each street, another one every few yards for as far as I could see. They glowed a bright electric-white.

“One last thing. If things go south, there are safe points set up at the major intersections. We’ll never be more than a klick from one; I’ll swing us around past the one thataway” – he pointed down a street to our left – “so you know what to look for. I tell you to run, you head for the nearest one.”

I laughed nervously. “Are you expecting something to happen?”

“Shit always happens.”

“Great.”

“Don’t worry, kid. You got me with you. I haven’t lost anyone yet.” He beckoned me to follow him down the street he’d indicated. “Come on, let’s get this started.”

We walked a ways, him swiveling his head like some giant bird, while I filmed everything I could. The city was more or less in livable condition, which was both surprising and not. On one hand, it’d been less than two years since New Atlanta had been abandoned, so of course everything would still be in good condition; none of it had had time to deteriorate to noticeable degree.

On the other hand, what little information that had trickled down through the rumors and disinformation, had engendered in me an expectation that there would be something obviously wrong. I expected bizarre geometries, or floating rocks, or something.

The disconnect, between the pristine shops around us and what this place was, was extremely unsettling.

Rackham must have sensed my unease.

“You know, you never did quite tell me what this article of yours was.” He gave me a sidelong glance before he turned back to scanning the street.

“My editor… sixteen months ago, the city just… died. No one knows why, or how, or even what it’s become-“

“And the Post wants to be the heroes that change that, huh?” Way to kill my buildup, pal. “Can’t say I disapprove, though.” He stuffed a stick of gum in mouth before tossing the package at me. “People got a right to know, and it’s not we’re hiding anything. To be honest, we barely know anything ourselves.

“And you, why are you here? Bit far for a civvy like you to go for just a paycheck.”

“If I told you I thought was duty as a journalist, would you believe me?”

“Maybe.”

We passed a clothing store in silence. Through the windows, I could see that the shelves were still stocked. Wait… what was that? I aimed my camcorder where I’d just seen a flash of movement, hoping to capture… I didn’t know what.

“Hey! What’d I tell you? No wandering off!” I realized I’d walked up to the store without noticing, nearly out of range of the lamps. Grinning sheepishly, I jogged up beside my guide.

“Sorry. What about you? Why are you here?”

Rackham seemed to think for a second. “Honestly? ‘Bout the same as you, I guess. Duty and that jazz. My frankly obscene paychecks don’t hurt, but someone had tromp around in here. I figured it might as well be me.”

“Why?”

“Well, ‘side from kicking monster arse on a daily basis, folks like me are the closest the boffins have to field researchers. Our value is we pack enough firepower and training to actually have a chance in here; we’re the only ones who manage to live long enough to grab samples. Most Rangers are damn-near superhuman, in my opinion.”

“And you?”

“Hah! Make no mistake; I wouldn’t be here if the brass thought I couldn’t handle it.” He pointed at a Khan’s Hardware to our right. “Check that out. See those?”

At first I thought that maybe whatever Rackham was pointing out had moved away or something, which did nothing to make me feel less uneasy. But then I saw them.

They floated at about chest-height, a dozen little lights. Like someone had tossed a handful of LEDs in the air. I made sure to film them with the camcorder. Most of them were electric-blue, but I spotted a couple red and green one as well.

They stood out against shadows, perfectly visible.

“What are those?”

“We call ‘em will-o’-the-wisps. No idea what they are. They’re not actively malicious, but we’ve lost folks trying to chase them down.” I heard the ‘pop’ of a gum-bubble bursting. “Don’t trust lights you can’t see the source of.”

I shot him a worried look.

“Welcome to the Zone, kid.”



The safepoint turned out to be a massive concrete bunker. It dominated the center of the intersection, a squat brick covered in lights and guns. I could see armored doors sunk into walls, but there were no windows.

“Alright. So here’s how this works. That thing stuck to your left wrist? That’s your key.” Rackham walked up to the door nearest to us and beckoned me closer. “You ever need to get inside one of these, you walk, or run, up to the door, and put your wrist up to this sensor.” He indicated a panel beside the door.

“And bam. You’ve got thirty seconds after the door opens to get inside before it slams shut. In there, you’ve got everything you need to survive a night in here; guns, light, food, a radio to scream for help. Trust me, though, not something you want to experience.”

“What do the guns drive off?” I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Stuff like that.” He pointed back the way we’d come. Me and my big mouth.

I turned to look and instantly regretted it. Approaching us was a group of huge, hairy creatures that looked decidedly unfriendly.

“Just stay behind me.” Rackham shouldered his gun as I did as I was told.

“What are those?”

“Shamblers.” The gun roared. The burst of gunfire tore into one of the beasts, dropping it dead while the other two charged. Rackham’s gun clicked, and then fired again. This time it barked when he pulled the trigger, and it was like he hit them with a shotgun.

The last of them dropped just a couple of yards from us.

“Near as the boffins can tell, they’re mutant dogs.”

“That’s impossible.” I felt amazingly calm, considering what just happened. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“This whole place is impossible, kid.” He knelt at the carcass. “It’s not the most Darwinian definition, I’ll grant you that, but the anatomy is canine, and the boffins have pulled Chihuahua from some of these things’ DNA. I’m surprised, though.”

“About what?”

“These things are pack-hunters. This group should have been three or four times this size at least.” He started down another street. “Wonder what happened to the rest.

“Come on. There’s more to see.”

---

“Now!”

Distant thumps came from the direction of the wall, I couldn’t count. I could just start to make out the shape of the bunker ahead. I ran faster, spurred on.

The street exploded behind us, taking out dozens of shamblers. They still kept coming.

“SHIT!” Rackham shoved me forward, but came to a stop himself. “Keep going!”

“What are you doing?!”

“Buying you time!”

I kept running. The rifle roared.

---

We turned into a more residential are of the city, the streets were beginning to be dominated by apartments.

“You must have theories. About The Event?”

He snorted at that. “Two million people just up and snuffing it, out of the blue, for no reason? I have no. Fucking. Clue. Your guess is as good as mine. As for where all this” – the Ranger swept an arm out, as though to indicate the world at large – “comes from, I gave up tryin’ to put an explanation to it. I just work here.”

“You don’t even know if the quarantine’s working, do you?”

“God, I hope so. There’s shit in here you wouldn’t believe. Will-os? Shamblers? That’s tame, compared to some of the stuff I’ve seen deeper in. I’ve read some of the stuff those conspiracy nut-jobs put on the internet.

“And you know what? It’s all wrong. They’re not thinkin’ anywhere near strange enough. It’s like physics just said ‘screw it’ and went off somewhere.” He chuckled. “There just are no words, kid. To be honest, there are days I’m half-convinced God’s just fuckin’ with us.”

Something caught my eye, near a corner store. I pointed it out. “What’s that?”

“What I was just talkin’ about. Whatever you do, stay away from those.” The thing in question was a black cloud, as dark as the shadows around us, but still somehow perfectly visible. It reminded me of smoke. “We call ‘em ghosts. Remember when I told you there were things that go bump in the night in here? That’s one of ‘em.”

“You mean that used to be a person?”

“Maybe, maybe not. They have a taste for people, though.” He pointed a flashlight at it and it almost seemed to shudder before simply disappearing. Like a skip in a video, there one instant and gone the next. “You find yourself near a group of those things and you can’t get away, pop a flare. You’ve got a few on your left thigh.

“We’re startin’ get in a bit too deep for my liking, so we’re gonna start heading back. You got what you need?”

I considered the camcorder in my hand. “I think so.”

“Well, then let’s get goin’.”



We hadn’t gotten more than a block when we heard it; a deep, menacing growling that seemed to come from all around us.

“Uh… Rackham?”

“Shh!” The Ranger seemed to be looking in three directions at once, his head turning like crazy. “Wall, Romeo-Five. I think we’ve got some kind of infestation in sector nine.” He listened for a second. “Numbers unknown. Yeah. Got it, out.

“Will, I need to stick close to me now. Do not leave my side until I tell you otherwise.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re being shadowed. No idea what. For now, we keep heading out like we planned. Don’t worry; you’ll be fine.”

A new noise joined the growls. It sounded like the footsteps of a large animal. I couldn’t pinpoint where-

“Shit.” What now? Rackham motioned to our right, down an unlit side street. Shamblers. A lot of shamblers. “Something’s wrong, there’s too many of them here.”

“I thought you said they were pack-hunters”

“By the dozen. There has to be at least a hundred here. Something’s riling them.”

“What do we do?”

Rackham lowered his rifle and grabbed something off his belt. “There’s a safe point a few hundred meters from here. On my signal, run for it, all the way down Fourth Street until you hit Strugatsky. You run, fast than you ever have in your life. Got it?”

“Y- yeah.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.” He grabbed whatever it was that he was hold with his other hand, and pulled. I heard a very ominous click and realized it was a grenade. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“RUN!” He tossed the grenade at the mob. We both ran for our lives.

---

“You want some of this, you bastards?! Huh?! Come on!” Rackham’s taunts were only matched in volume by his gunfire.

The bunker had to be less than a hundred yards away, but I simply wasn’t cut out to run like this. I was at the end of my rope and it really was a question of if I was going to make it.

The street went dark.

“AHH!” That was Rackham screaming.

Everything became absolutely silent.

“Flares. I need a flare.” I mumbled to myself. Stuffing the camcorder in a vest pocket, I groped blindly at my leg for a flare.

I felt something at my back.

“Who’s there?” Light, I needed light. The flare was in my hand, and I clearly felt a twist cap. I wrenched it, and sighed with relief when the tube erupted with an orange flame. It was just bright enough to see the buildings on either side of the street.

The silence was becoming deafening.

Something grabbed my leg. I whirled around to find nothing. I snatched the pistol out of its holster. “Rackham!?” I was completely turned around. Even the lights on the bunker had gone out.

“Rackham? Can you hear me?” Shadows swirled at the edge of the light. As the flare dimmed, they got closer.

I tossed the dying stick on the ground to free my hands for the next. The shadows got even closer.

I picked a direction and ran, fumbling for the next flare. I managed to light it too.

“Stay away. You hear me?!” Something grabbed at my leg again, and I tripped. The flare went flying. I rolled on my back, thinking that a shambler had gotten me.

Nothing.

Nothing but black smoke. Ghosts.

The flare went out.

---

The city was marginally safer during the day. Creatures like ghosts and letches stuck to the interiors of buildings, and even there, congregated at the centers, away from the windows that allowed in the sunlight.

A Ranger and a civilian had gone missing last night.

Everyone had heard the artillery fire, the explosions of the shells going off. But after that, nothing.

Artyom was one of the Rangers sent in to look for them. They started where the shells had hit and worked their way outwards.

“Find anything, Artyom?” That was Miller, another Ranger, though he’d been on his way out from a deep patrol, rather than called in like Artyom, and volunteered to stay and help in the search.

Artyom had indeed found something. A discarded Kalashnikov-250 rifle, covered in blood and engraved with a familiar name. “Thaddeus’ rifle. I think this is where it happened.”

“Got something!” Karl called from further down the street. Artyom and Miller ran to meet him. That something turned out to be spent flares, a dropped handgun, and a camcorder.

The camcorder and pistol were covered in what looked to be soot.

It was Artyom who voiced their thoughts.

“Just what the hell happened here?”