The general had paired August with Rosek, which was surprising considering how badly they’d messed things up together last time. How bad I messed things up would be more accurate. This is just a second chance for Rosek to prove she can babysit the rookie. Regardless of the general’s reasons, August was glad to have the imposing mech suit by his side.

The asphalt street flaked and peeled like the dried riverbeds they’d shown in class throughout August’s childhood. If not for his sturdy boots, banging his toe into the countless jutting pieces of it would have caused a world of irritating pain.

Rows of dark buildings loomed over them from both sides, almost reaching for each other at their peaks. Half the windows were broken, and the rest were black and lifeless. He refused to look at them. He knew it was impossible, but each window presented the opportunity for some grinning creature to peer back and wave in that nonchalant confidence shared by ghouls and ghosts—at least according to the Gilzak family and their horror movies.

Rosek showed no signs of fear. Why would she? It would take more than a few dolo to crack that suit open, and there didn’t seem to be any of them for miles. The general had been right. The city was an empty, discarded husk of its former being.

He couldn’t get a read of the colonel’s face. Narrowed eyes scanned left to right behind her hairline-cracked, dark-tinted visor, expressionless. He felt like baggage. The squad’s mission is to take out the nest, but Rosek’s is to make sure I don’t do anything stupid. It was no different than sitting at the kid’s table while the adults belabored in the other room about politics or economics. The adults of the squad—the colonels—had to take out the nest. August just had to avoid screwing it up. He’d already come close.

The size of the city was the biggest shock. The buildings were about half the height of the ones under the dome. School taught every city in the vintage era were the ones that had amalgamated beneath the dome and that even those buildings only rose to about a quarter the height of their modern counterparts. It reminded him of something Manny used to say. “You don’t really know something until you see it for yourself.” He’d said the line twice in August’s presence.

The first time had been when he’d found the old wreck of his Montag Phoenix. Every authority figure in his life had warned him not to trust vintage era machinery. They were known for exploding and malfunctioning in all sorts of ghastly ways. After working on the engine for a couple of months, he’d planted the key in the ignition, looked August in the eye after weathering another objection, and spoke the line. The second time he’d used the line was right before he’d finally cracked the code on one of their neighborhood’s biggest questions: Was Dolly Morgan’s hair naturally red?

One thing his teachers got right was how much space the vintage folk used to waste. The buildings were easily high enough to support upper districts, but there were no signs of any. Everything was ground-level. Back home, only the poor districts accessed their shops, living quarters, parking lots, and whatever else on the ground. Everything else happened halfway up the buildings. The aircars zipped about in an organized fashion. Sidewalks clung to building walls and gave access to any door an upper district citizen would need in his or her day-to-day life. Restaurants and bars offered patios, usually supported by a thick net beneath them to catch any discarded litter. That was only added recently after the lower district folk finally mustered the courage and ability to organize and voice their frustrations of the raining trash. August looked up at the vintage buildings' blank walls, barren of sidewalks, entrances, and maybe most shocking of all, advertisements, and suddenly became homesick. So much wasted space, he thought.

His knee smashed into something metallic. It sent a clang to echo up between steel and concrete. He snapped to attention and leaned back to maintain balance. Rosek took three quick steps his way. They were almost as loud as the clang. “What is it?” She asked.

“Nothing,” August said. A strange contraption lay toppled before him—a metal bin coated in faded red paint with a single wheel at the front and two handles at its rear. He lifted it and set it on the little wood legs in the back that were an extension of the handles. “We could use this, actually.” A hopeful smile crept onto his face.

“Why would you want to lug an ugly thing like that around?” Rosek asked.

August tilted it forward so that it stood ninety degrees to the street and teetered on its wheel. The crusty bones of old concrete poured onto the shattered asphalt in a whisper that shook up a cloud of dust. “We can use it to carry whatever we find.” He couldn’t say why, but the idea of using a tool from the vintage era excited him, especially considering they were in an authentic vintage city.

“How much do you think we’re going to find?” Rosek looked around with a disgusted look on her face that said she didn’t share August’s excitement. “There won’t be any Slupman energy gels out here, that’s for sure. Any food these people had is long expired. Their tools are useless to us.” She shook her head behind the cracked visor. “I don’t know why the general insists on wasting so much time here.”

“I’m bringing it anyway,” August said. “We might not find anything, but if we do, we’ll be happy to have a means of carrying it. Unless you order me to leave it behind, that is.”

She considered it. “Suit yourself.”

They moved on. August beamed as he pushed the wobbly thing along.

A span of shattered glass doors stretched to their left. Inside was a dark room with hundreds of aisles of mostly empty shelving—the unmistakable look of a department store. They weren’t much different under the dome. He’d been dragged through shopping sprees that lasted half the day far too many times in his younger years with his mother and a couple of aunts. The family had barely any money, yet they always managed to escape the windowless buildings with heaping bags of loot.

The pair of squadmates wordlessly agreed to enter the store. If there was anything useful to be found, this would be the place. August lifted the little push-carriage over a fence of jagged glass and bounced it back onto its saggy tire, marking the off-white floor with a black streak.

The mech suit clicked, and the internal mechanism whirred. “Let’s split up and see what we can find,” Rosek said as she exited. “The sooner we get to the rendezvous point, the better.”

Clothes damp with sweat clung to her small stature. She always looked so vulnerable when leaving her suit, like a chick leaving an egg. August knew she had as much training as the rest of the squad, and she’d earned the title of colonel, but standing there outside the dome with no armor and nothing but a pistol at her belt for protection would be enough to make anyone appear vulnerable.

“You should probably stay in your suit if you want us to split up,” August said. He remembered his place and added, “Colonel.”

One side of her mouth smiled. “There aren’t any bugs here, in case you haven’t noticed. They don’t come to the cities, let alone the interior of buildings. Nothing for them to eat.”

There is now. August kept the thought to himself and nodded. He didn’t like the idea of splitting up, especially with one of them being in a vulnerable state, but she was right. They hadn’t seen, heard, or even smelled any signs of dolorium since entering the city. Rosek had already disappeared into an aisle.

He chose an aisle not too far from hers. The shelves were mostly empty. Some were littered with empty boxes painted with obnoxious fonts in the vintage language that August couldn’t read. Some boxes displayed pictures of what they’d sold—light bulbs, various hand tools, pillowcases, strange electronics whose purposes were lost on August.

The rookie weaved through aisles, always keeping his ears open for Rosek’s soft footfalls and never allowing himself to stray too far from her. He’d set the push-carriage down at the mouth of the first aisle. It would only be helpful if they found anything, and the chances of that were looking slim at best.

Hairs stood on the back of his neck each time he reached the far wall of the store at the end of the aisles farthest from the entrance. It was nearly black as night, and colder back there, too.

He escaped the mostly empty rows and browsed the shelves that circled the jungle of aisles along the store's four walls. He spied Rosek turning the corner into another aisle every now and then, always empty-handed. She was getting smaller each time he saw her, shrinking as the distance between them grew. He didn’t like it, but he’d probably get an earful about not following orders and not having to watch over her like a child or something of the like, so he kept his distance and maintained a subtle watch.

A green bag slumped onto the floor with only its bottom remaining on the shelf. He hoisted it, ripped the top open, and smelled earth. He peered inside. Dark brown soil, still damp somehow, with white specks here and there sent a pleasant smell into the dead air. It was a long and difficult process to buy even a cup of earth under the dome. And why would you even want to? He thought of Belmont’s grandmother and the legal problems she’d faced for simply growing some food and medicine. The one bag alone contained what would have probably been enough dirt for her entire operation.

He lost interest in the green bag once the vehicles caught his eye. He glanced back toward Rosek. She’d said they should separate and that there was nothing to worry about. She was his superior. He didn’t like it, but she was probably right. He risked growing the distance and went to inspect the vehicles.

They were the same green color as the bag. Each had four black tires, a black steering wheel, and yellow seats. They were small—less than half the size of the Montag Phoenix. No wonder they wasted space back then. They had so much to spare. The vehicles had no roofs or doors. Each had a strange platform that jutted out from the bottom. He tilted the nearest vehicle, was surprised by its light weight, and noticed a massive blade fixed beneath the platform. He lowered the vehicle to its wheels. What the Hel is this, some sort of slaughter machine?

Again, his interest was diverted. A single gun hung on a high rack above a cascade of empty ones. Nice. It looked heavy. It was made of metal and wood, as vintage as could be. Bolt action. He’d always wanted one as a decoration on his apartment wall ever since he’d seen them in school books. He knew the general would never let him lug it along on their mission. Somehow, he’d have to remember this location, and somehow, one day, he’d have to get permission to leave the dome for purposes of leisure to retrieve it.

Leaving the dome for leisure was not something that ever happened. There was nothing leisurely about walking out into dolo territory. A sigh slipped out of him. He stood before the vintage gun and appreciated it like a fine piece of art. This was most likely the last time he’d ever see a weapon like it and possibly the last time he’d ever see anything resembling art considering his destination after the city.

A deep voice called his name. It was little more than a whisper, but it sent a pang of fear through his bones. It sounded like his father’s voice. Impossible. He spun and scanned his surroundings with wild eyes. Nothing. He wanted to call out to Rosek, but it would be best not to announce his exact location if there were anything sinister. Did it even say Ace? Was it just the wind? The wind had howled a ghostly chorus all through their night in the church, so it wasn’t out of the question.

He remembered his training and relaxed. There were no dolo in the city, let alone the store. If there were any dolo, they didn’t know his name. And if for some ungodly reason there were dolo that knew his name, they had no biological means of articulating it. The wind. Just the wind.

He moved back toward the entrance to close the distance on Rosek. He spotted a couple of fishing poles on racks similar to the one that held the gun. A spool of line came in a package that hung off the rod. He rose to the tips of his toes and swiped it. If he could just find a hook, he’d be good. Bait would be plentiful outside. August had always loved to fish, but Manny never wanted anything to do with it. The vintage folk used to fish as a means of acquiring food. The idea excited August. He’d read about the kinds of fish available to the vintage folk—fat juicy creatures that could grow up to a foot or longer. The only thing available under the dome was rust snappers. They were ugly, frowning fish that never grew much longer than August’s middle finger and not much thicker either. Eating them would make one sick, considering the polluted state of their environment. Drainage rivers beneath the dome… August grimaced. I could smell it from here.

He dropped the fishing pole in the push carriage, and his heart jolted as he looked down the aisle. He expected the figure to be Rosek, but as fractions of seconds passed, the silhouette rotted and devolved into the shape of a slouching man. His back faced August. He stood in the dark patch at the end of the aisle, still seemingly oblivious to anyone’s presence, including his own.

The man stood there in the dark, absently swaying as if just keeping balance took all his effort. He wore everyday vintage era clothing—blue denim jeans and a plaid shirt. Both articles were riddled with rips and wear. He had barely any hair left, and what was left was long, thin, and sparse.

He turned around, not because he seemed to hear or sense anything, but for no reason at all and with no sense of urgency, as if he were artificial intelligence in a video game and was simply programmed to turn toward that direction at that moment.

Milky eyes stared past August, who stood frozen in fear and shock. They did not notice him. August looked the body up and down and nearly let out a whimper when he saw the leaking gash across the man’s stomach. His clothes beneath the wound were sodden with black rot. The jaw hung open like an old man on his deathbed who no longer had the strength to hold it closed. The black had leaked down to his knees. August gagged. He hoped the click in his throat hadn’t been loud enough for the man to hear. He wondered if the man even had the ability to hear. He looked dead. There didn’t seem to be any human functions left on him.

“Wait until you see what I’ve just found,” Rosek’s call came like a thousand blades in his ears. “You’ll definitely get a kick out of this.”

The rotten man stiffened, and his head twitched in her direction, now with the alertness of a hunting hawk. His milky eyes faded until they were dreadful black pools in his pale-greenish face. Despite their utter darkness, the eyes were lucid like the eyes of a soldier in the heat of battle. The rest of his body lurched in Rosek’s direction, and he was off.

His shoulder slammed into the point of shelves as he skirted the corner of the aisle disappearing from August’s view. How he managed to stay on his feet with his wild, inhuman steps baffled August and made him nauseous at the same time.

August followed it, staying on the opposite opening of the aisle, the light-touched opening. He peered through the rows of empty shelving and followed the creature. It danced an awful shuffle as it moved toward Rosek. Its arms flailed, and its feet dragged. During one step, the foot snapped as an eager stride landed heavy on its toes. The creature took no notice and simply dragged its broken foot along while its ankle bore the brunt of the step.

Rosek skirted another aisle, still empty-handed. Three more man-like creatures skulked from the shadows behind, hunting her. “Rosek! Behind!” August shouted.

She turned, and her face went pale when she saw them. She ran into the darkness of the nearest aisle, on a collision course with the first creature August had spotted. August stood frozen, listening. Every creature, along with Rosek, was out of sight, hidden somewhere within the aisles. Footsteps stormed his way. It was Rosek. She’d escaped on the bright side of the store about three aisles closer than she’d been before. Her pistol was drawn. Her eyes were wide, and they locked onto August. She came his way. August readied his gun, which had fully charged during their walk in the sun.

Rosek opened her mouth to speak. The first creature jumped from an aisle to intercept her. It roared as they tumbled to the floor in a mess of limbs, some rotted, some fresh. Rosek struggled, but the creature showed great strength, and the strength that had gained Rosek so many promotions, was decimated with the absence of her mech suit. Now she was just a woman in light-weight clothing—a strong, military-trained woman, but still just a woman up against a twisted, feral mockery of humanity.

August dashed forward and threw a heavy kick into the man’s kidneys. It rolled off the colonel, and Rosek shimmied and pushed herself back, still on her bottom. The creature crawled back and groped at her with what could only be described as lust in its eyes.

Hilde Rosek let out a scream. August jumped on the creature’s back just as its festering fingertips brushed the exposed skin of the colonel’s calf. His weight slowed the monster, but just barely. It gave Rosek enough time to get to her feet. The creature moaned. August’s skin prickled as fetid breath rose like cold steam to his nostrils. It wasn’t the wind, after all.

The creature continued to pull itself toward the shaking Rosek despite the combined weight of August and his armor on its back. Rosek shouted. “Get off! I’m gonna blast him.”

August’s blood turned cold. “But he’s a… he’s a person.”

“Are you kidding me?” Spittle rained from her mouth as she yelled. “That’s not even close to being a person. Get off! That’s an order!”

She’s right. Of course, she’s right. What am I thinking? He rolled off. The blast came before he could even get his bearings. Rosek stood over the monster. The tip of her pistol smoked as gore splattered in a putrid mosaic on the off-white floor. Pieces of brain and viscous blood mixed with the thick layer of dust and made a gut-churning pudding.

“The others are coming,” Rosek said. “Get up and help me.”

“Get your suit,” August said, moving to her side and readying the skybeam. “I’ll hold them off.”

She shook her head. “There aren’t many of them. We’ve got this.”

He wanted to ask her what she’d found in one of the aisles that had been so funny that she’d needed to shout out to him. It wasn’t the time. He stared at the dark aisles and wondered where they’d come from. He knew they were coming. They moaned and groaned, and some even growled like animals. Their feet scuffed and slid along the floor here and there. They’d separated. His eyes jumped from aisle to aisle, and he aimed his gun wherever he looked. Rosek stood calm. Only her eyes moved.

The composure of a colonel had wavered in her while the creature had been upon her. That was understandable. But she’d regained it quickly, far quicker than August would have had he been in her shoes. Now she waited, calm and seemingly unbothered by the inhuman corpse-like creatures that sniffed for them. He could hear them sniffing. Their sinuses must’ve been inflamed or clogged with mucus or gore. Their sniffing wasn’t clean and airy like that of a dog. It was wet and gurgled. Just the sound of it made August feel like his own lungs weren’t getting enough air. He took a deep breath and regretted it when he got a lungful of corpse fumes.

One wandered out into the light. It looked around stupidly, smelling at the air like a cat with food cooking in the other room. August took aim and fired. The beam materialized and speared through the creature’s head. The insides cooked, built pressure, and the head blew. Human skulls took far less kindly to MoShun beams than dolo chitin. He wanted to retch.

Rosek’s pistol went off. Another creature dropped. This one hadn’t fully made it out of the aisle before the colonel’s sharp eyes had spotted it. “Nice shot,” August said. He got nothing in return. There was still one more. One more that we know of.

“Any idea what these things are?” August asked after a few moments of silence. Even the creature had quieted. He’d only asked the question because the haunting thought that the monster had learned to stay quiet released a swarm of hornets in his stomach.

“Keep your eyes peeled and your mouth shut,” Rosek snapped.

His shoulders dropped. He nodded.

“There it is,” Rosek grinned as she took aim. The third creature had emerged from the aisle near the strange bladed vehicles. She fired. “Dammit.” Miss. The creature saw them now. It knew where they were. That same look of lust burned in its eyes. It charged them.

August was ready. He would take the shot if Rosek missed again. Something in her body language, though, told him that she wanted the kill, and a rookie would be wise not to take a kill from a colonel.

Something heavy fell upon August’s back just as Rosek fired. “Dammit, come on!” Rosek shouted as she missed again.

August rolled and wrestled on the floor. Another had come from behind. This one was a woman, or at least had been a woman once upon a time. Her moans were shrill and chilling. Her eyes had the same black look as the others. She bit at him with rotten teeth and scratched at him with black nails. He’d never been so grateful for his armor.

Rosek screamed. It was a similar cry to the one she’d let out before. August glanced. The creature she’d missed twice was on her now. She was in the same position as he was but without the safety of the armor.

The monster that straddled him let out a tooth rattling shriek. She sat over his hips as if they were making love, but what they were making was the furthest thing from love August had ever encountered. The creature looked down at him and grinned. She darted her head downward like a bird of prey, thirsting for his blood. Is there anything outside the dome that doesn’t want to feed on my flesh?

He caught her by the throat as her head came down. She wailed. He risked a glance at Rosek. The colonel was in trouble. The man-thing on her was the biggest one yet. Nearly two heads taller than the first one he’d seen and twice as thick. She struggled beneath him, but the man-thing dropped a flurry of wild ape-like punches. Rosek stopped moving as many of the punches connected.

The woman-thing on August had used the lubricating rot on her neck to slip from his grasp, leaving his gore-coated hand empty. Her head darted forward again, and her teeth clamped on the area between his neck and shoulder. She tried to bite, but her teeth only screeched along the cermet armor. He heard a few of them snap while the ones that stayed intact sent a shrill sound like nails on a chalkboard to reverberate through his suit. He screamed.

It let go and sat up on his hips again. A black tongue lolled from her mouth to test the taste on her lips. Unsatisfied, she got up and made her way toward Rosek. August lay confused for a moment but quickly came to.

He got up and shot the woman-thing in the back of the head with his pistol. The skybeam had made too much of a mess, and he wanted to conserve the battery. She dropped. He dashed to where the monstrous corpse writhed savagely on the motionless form of Rosek. He aimed and fired. The smaller pistol beam pierced the creature’s shoulder. It turned to face him, and he shot again. Perfect. The beam bit into the creature’s brow and came out the other side. Both shots showered Rosek with gore, but the monster was dead. But it was already dead.

He looked around to make sure no others were sneaking around, then went straight to Rosek. She was battered but breathing. He lifted her shoulders, and she shuddered from her daze. Her wild eyes darted around until they finally settled on August. Her hardened colonel’s face receded ten years, and she let herself weep, and she dropped her face onto his armored chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. He wanted to weep with her. What sort of nightmare had they just lived through? It didn’t matter. They had lived through it.