Chapter 9: Escape
Chapter 9: Escape
The pounding grew louder.
Oswin's breath came in short, shallow gasps as he pressed his back against the cold wall. The darkness around them felt thicker than before—heavy, suffocating. Each slam against the door echoed through the walls, rattling the barricades they had so desperately built.
Aria crouched beside him, cleaver gripped tightly in her trembling hands. The pale light of the single candle flickered across her face, casting jagged shadows that danced in rhythm with the frantic slams outside.
Oswin's breath came in shallow gasps, his heart hammering inside his chest. He clenched the violin bow so tightly that his fingers ached. His mind fought to stay calm, but the screams from the streets clawed at his thoughts—thousands of voices wailing in agony, begging, pleading—before twisting into something else, endless wails filled the streets—rising, falling—until they merged into one horrible chorus. Yet beneath the chaos, Oswin could hear it.
A pattern.
Footsteps.
Marching.
Thousands—no, tens of thousands—moving in perfect unison.
Hundreds. Thousands.
The entire city had been swallowed by madness.
Oswin squeezed the violin bow in his hands, his palms slick with sweat. His heart thudded against his ribcage, threatening to drown out the chaos outside. He could hear the frantic whispers of his own mind—half-formed prayers rising from a faith.
"Spirit King... Spirit King... protect us."
Oswin's breath caught in his throat. He glanced at Aria. Her wide brown eyes locked onto his, shimmering in the dim candlelight. The cleaver shook in her hands, but she gripped it tighter—refusing to let go.
He shifted his grip on the violin, fingers pressing against the strings. He didn't know if it would work—if the spirits would even listen—but it was the only weapon he had. His mind raced, every hymn he'd memorized from the book of Hymns of Water Spirits for Beginners. They were simple, prayers—meant to summon a handful of water or freeze water into ice or both.
Oswin music expertise could of course bring out stronger effects but they were still basic Hymns not suitable for combat against hundreds.
"Aria... no matter what happens, don't make a sound. Even if they come inside... even if they find us... stay quiet."
She stared at him, lips pressed into a tight line. Then—slowly—she nodded.
A window shattered somewhere on the ground floor, sending shards of glass cascading to the floor. A heavy thud followed—the sound of furniture tipping over, the impact rattling the walls. Corpses had broken in.
Loud footsteps of tens of people walking could be heard, the sound intensifying with each second.
The pounding on the study door of Fray's father's study echoed through the small room, each slam harder than the last—wood creaking, splinters cracking beneath the relentless force.
Oswin's breath caught in his throat.
Aria flinched at every sound—her small fingers clenched so tightly around the cleaver's handle that her knuckles had gone bone white. She hadn't made a single noise since they first crawled under the table, but Oswin could feel the panic radiating from her in waves.
Another slam.
Oswin's heart pounded against his ribs. He forced his breathing to steady, but the truth clawed at the edges of his mind.
They had trapped themselves.
He squeezed the violin bow so tightly his fingers ached, they could not escape even if they did, where would they go?
There was nowhere safe left.
The slamming grew louder—fists, feet, bodies—pounding against the door, Oswin's mind raced.
They had minutes—maybe seconds—before the barricades gave in.
A cold sweat trickled down his back. He could feel the walls closing in—the air thick with dust and fear.
"This was a mistake..." he muttered under his breath, voice barely above a whisper. "We should've—"
The room and the table that once provided them with safety now felt like a prison.
Oswin's throat tightened as he heard another slamming sound.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
He turned to Aria, his voice barely above a whisper, shaking with fear.
"Aria... should we make a run for it?"
Aria's wide brown eyes flicked toward him, her small chest rose and fell rapidly, but she didn't hesitate.
She gave a small, gentle nod.
Oswin's fingers trembled as he ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt, tying the makeshift bag around the violin and bow. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest.
He glanced at Aria—her small frame barely visible in the flickering candlelight. She clutched the cleaver close to her chest, her face pale but determined.
Another slam rattled the door.
They were nearly out of time.
Oswin and aria swiftly got out of Table's safety.
With shaking hands, he kicked the bookshelf blocking the window away from the window. The heavy wood scraped across the floor, revealing the cold night air beyond the glass.
He climbed onto the desk, his breath shallow as he pushed the window open wider. The night was thick with smoke, carrying the distant screams from the streets.
His stomach twisted.
They had no idea what was waiting below.
Oswin gripped the edge of the window frame, swinging one leg over. The cold wind bit at his skin as he dangled from the sill, his legs barely reaching the rusted drainage pipe running down the side of the house.
The pipe groaned under his weight, but it held.
He glanced up.
"Come on... Aria."
Aria crawled onto the desk, her movements small and careful. The cleaver was still clutched tightly in one hand.
For a moment, Oswin saw the fear in her eyes—the same fear clawing at his own chest.
But she didn't hesitate.
She climbed out—silent as always—sliding onto the pipe with small, delicate fingers. Her frame barely made a sound as she clung to the cold metal.
Oswin's heart ached.
She shouldn't have to go through this.
Oswin and Aria stood frozen on the narrow drainage pipe, their bodies pressed tightly against the cold brick wall of the house. The pipe trembled beneath their weight, groaning softly with every shift.
Below them, the streets were a sea of twisted bodies.
The corpses stood shoulder to shoulder—packed into the narrow alleys like cattle—heads twitching in slow, erratic jerks. Black veins bulged beneath their pale skin, throbbing with an unnatural rhythm. Clumps of dark green moss clung to their faces, their necks, their hands—growing in patches as if feeding on the flesh itself.
They didn't shuffle or stumble like the mindless dead Oswin had seen in movies.
They stood still.
Waiting.
Listening.
Their shallow breaths filled the night air, rising and falling in perfect unison—thousands of voices breathing as one.
The sight made Oswin's stomach churn.
It wasn't madness.
It was control.
Oswin took a good look at the Street to assume the number of corpses—they were in thousands.
A big black box like thing on the streets below caught Oswin's eye.
Oswin's eyes locked onto the distant shape—a large automobile parked a few streets down, its dark frame barely visible through the haze of smoke. It was bigger than any automobile he'd seen on the city streets—heavier, built for rough terrain. These vehicles were rare, reserved for military patrols or the wealthy who needed to travel across the countryside. Its steel frame rested on thick rubber tires, reinforced with metal rims to survive uneven terrain outside the city.
The engine housing jutted out at the front, and at its center was a metal hand crank—standard in this world where car keys had not yet been invented. Automobiles required someone to manually turn the crank to start the engine, often needing several rotations before the pistons fired to life.
Oswin's heart pounded faster. If they could reach that car... if it had petrol... they could escape.
But the hand crank posed another problem—starting the engine would take time, time they didn't have. The corpses below stood motionless, listening for any sound. The moment the engine roared to life, every corpse in the area would come for them.
Oswin clenched his jaw. It was a gamble—a single spark of hope in a city drowning in death.
He glanced at Aria, who clung to the drainage pipe beside him, her wide brown eyes flicking between him and the automobile. She was waiting for him to decide.
They had no other choice.
Oswin's fingers tightened around the pipe.
"We're going for it."
Aria raised one trembling finger and traced a flowing motion through the air—a small, delicate curve.
Oswin's breath caught.
Petrol.
Even in the middle of this nightmare, she was still thinking ahead—still trying to warn him.
He swallowed hard, glancing back at the distant automobile. There was no way to tell if the tank was full or bone dry. It could be nothing more than a hunk of metal waiting to get them killed.
Oswin's throat tightened, but he forced down the doubt clawing at his mind.
"It's our only gamble."
Aria's wide brown eyes locked onto his—fear and trust woven together in the flickering candlelight.
She nodded once.
Oswin's grip on the pipe tightened.
They would take the risk.
They had to.