“Not a rotter,” the damp, horrified boy muttered to himself. “Something else. Oh God, oh God. Something else!” His voice pitched up at the end, and he wanted to run. But he couldn’t go back up; there was nothing left but the sky. Couldn’t go down, because he’d never make it past … whatever that was.

The creature rallied itself and sprang.

Rector squealed, and with all the instinct of the not-quite-suicidal, he dove out of the thing’s way. Straight off the side and into the mystery below. He closed his eyes and waited for the end, wondering which breath would be his last, hoping it came quick, and it wasn’t so bad that he’d remember it on the other side. Hoping he didn’t stick around as a rotter.

The ground caught him.

It met him with a whump that stunned him, knocking out what was left of his breath. The fall hadn’t been far at all, and he almost felt cheated by the need to keep running.

Rector dragged himself to his feet, shaking all the way, and spun left and right.

He’d dropped only a flight or two, and landed in the mulchy, decaying rubble of the collapsed building, its floors having pancaked years before and gone soft with time and humidity. There were worse places he could’ve hit, but at that moment, he had a hard time thinking of any.

He crawled off the rubble and rolled out into the street. He knew good and well he’d made too much noise, but what could he do? The thing behind him, up on the stairs, was making more noise still, so Rector hoped that any nearby rotters would seek out the bigger, more vocal meal.

Once more, with bleeding head, scraped hands, and battered knees, he shoved one foot in front of the other on the uphill slope.

“Hey!” The voice was an outright shout this time, no longer keeping low.

Rector responded, “Not you again!” even though it was a lie, and he could’ve cried with relief just to hear another human being.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know!” Rector called back, his voice creeping back toward hysterical territory.

“This way!”

“Which way?” He still couldn’t see, didn’t know where he was, and had nothing to go on except the idea that uphill was where he wanted to be. But a rustling and roaring from the wreckage of the fallen building told him he needed to pick a direction and commit to it.