Chapter 37

• The silence was the first thing that hit you.
• We stood at the edge of the financial district, a graveyard of glass and steel towers that clawed at the gray sky like the skeletal fingers of dead giants. There was no wind. No birds. No distant moans of the infected. There was just a profound, unnatural stillness that felt heavier and more threatening than any sound.
• “Alright, listen up,” Reese’s voice was a low, guttural whisper, sharp enough to cut glass. She tossed a canvas bag onto the hood of a rusted-out car. It landed with a soft, muffled thud. “This is Shrieker territory. From this point on, sound is your enemy. You talk, you cough, you even breathe too loud… they will be on you before you can scream.”