Warehouse Blood

Eli dragging a janitor through blood-slick pallets began with the smell Eli Voss had come to hate most: not rot, not smoke, but wet metal. It meant meteor tissue was close. It meant the infected were changing again. By chapter 4 of the world's death, he had learned that nothing in the new ecosystem stayed solved. A barricade worked until crawlers learned to climb it. Fire worked until spitters learned to sweat retardant mucus. Mercy worked until hungry men discovered what they could buy with someone else's fear. Before 2038, Eli had been a low-status warehouse night worker in Chicago, a man supervisors trusted with keys but not decisions.