Chapter Text
Somwhere on the East Coast
Washington DC
The survivors prepare for a harsh winter. They had constituted makeshift fortifications, barricading buildings, suffering a daily life dictated by the search for water and water, which was getting rarer with each passing day. There wasn't enough room for everyone , and while most of the people who had managed to survive so far were trying to coexist with everyone else in peace , some had begun to purge the territories they considered their own. If the threat of the infected was not enough, now everyone lived in fear that if they did not get killed by a former inhabitant, they could also be killed by someone sufficiently aware of their actions.
It was during a stormy evening, black clouds rolling in a sky without stars or the moon, that a elongated shadow stood out from the darkness of the roof it dominated. A faint glow illuminated the infected malformed face, his tongue hanging out like an oversized rope. A pestilential smell rose from his being, scenting the air like a rotting corpse. The smell soon attracted various scavengers, from flies to crows, but especially the infected. His eyes yellowed with illness, added to his pale skin taking on greenish tints in certain places, gave him an air as threatening as pathetic. His teeth twisted by the fights and his diet demonstrated with certainty , that he was one of those creatures having survived the first desperate attempts of the army to get rid of them. The survival rate of a special infected was definitely higher than that of simple Commons, but they risked starvation and death, with nothing to put in their mouths.
A thud on the cracked concrete seized his attention. He shifted his head calmly in the direction of the newcomer. Despite his apparent resemblance to the Hunter of the South, the one now standing in front of him was a mutated form, more suited to hunting in the dark, the snow and the cold. His legs were distorted and enlarged over time, to make him digitigrade. This adaptation made him able to walk in snow and ice by distributing his weight more evenly, allowing him to reach greater running speed. Its hands had developed retractable claws, effective at scaling trees and slashing its prey. His skin, as white as snow, was depigmented to the point of making him sensitive to the rays of the sun.
Blind, he used sounds and smells to locate his future victims, which made him incompatible with the hordes , far too noisy. Smaller than the Smoker was, this did not prevent the Northern Hunter from having a lean and efficient musculature. His hunting technique depending on his ability to leap, his skills in the matter far exceeded that of his urban cousins. The fault laid on an environment that wasn't practical to this type of travel, unlike cities. The forests of Alaska offered little cover for himself, but his skin mimicked snow and moss well enough to allow for ambush. From now on, this cover did not exist, so they had to, like many here, adapt . Urban hunting was very different from hunting in the forest. The survivors too. They were so much harder to fool, but easier to take down. Releasing a plume of smoke from the pores of his skin, he patiently allow his sidekick scent the air, as if to make sure of his presence.
Visibly irritated, the predator straightened from his slumped position, and snorted like a beast. He reached his companion side without being able to appreciate the dizzying view. It was rare for prey to escape the Hunter. Maybe it was better to rest. They had barely reached the city, after more than two months of walking. They were tired and admittedly hungry, but maybe that could wait one more night. Deciding it was time to secure a building sheltered from the scorching sunlight, he left the comforts of the flat, tarred roofs and headed inside. Yes , he decided , it could wait until sleep left their feet , like a specter haunting the living .