The first thing Harry noticed wasn't the infected.
It was the silence between the infected.
That was always how it started.
Not danger.
Not movement.
Absence.
A kind of wrong stillness that made his grip tighten around his rifle without him thinking about it. The kind of silence that didn't feel natural, but maintained. Like something had pressed a hand over the world and told it to stop breathing.
The town looked like every other dead settlement they had passed through in the last year.
Too many.
Too many to remember individually anymore. Too many that blurred together into a single endless stretch of ruin, rust, and bone-dry wind.
But this one felt… staged.
Not abandoned.
Arranged.
Even the way the wind moved felt wrong, like it had been directed down certain corridors instead of allowed to roam freely.
Harry slowed slightly as they moved between the outer buildings.
