The stale air of the abandoned mall hung heavy with dust and decay. I clutched my backpack closer, the rustle of salvaged chips and the weight of canned goods inside providing little comfort as I heard the distinctive clicking sounds echoing through the collapsed food court. Those sounds meant only one thing – the Crawlers were hunting.

My flashlight beam caught fragments of shattered glass and torn signage, casting long shadows across what used to be humanity's temple of consumerism. Now it was just another tomb. The sun's harsh UV rays couldn't penetrate this deep into the structure, which made it safer from the blistering heat but also perfect hunting grounds for the mutants.

A can of beans slipped from my overstuffed bag, clattering across the tile floor. The sound reverberated through the empty space like a dinner bell. The clicking stopped – a worse sign than the noise itself. They were listening, orienting.

I assessed my options quickly: the service corridor to my left, which might lead to a loading dock, or the escalators ahead, leading to the upper level where I knew there was roof access. The Crawlers were fast on level ground but struggled with vertical surfaces. My hand instinctively went to the modified nail gun strapped to my thigh – my last resort weapon, effective but noisy.

The first Crawler emerged from behind a toppled vending machine, its elongated limbs clicking against the floor as it moved. What might have once been human was now stretched and twisted, skin pulled taught over an impossible frame, eyes evolved for the darkness. Two more appeared behind it, moving in that horrible synchronized way they had developed.

I backed away slowly, careful not to make sudden movements. The small pouch of salt in my pocket felt heavy – my real prize from today's scavenging run. More valuable than gold in this broken world, where preserving food meant the difference between life and death. The government's food distribution centers had run dry months ago, assuming they were ever meant to help us in the first place.

The lead Crawler's head snapped toward me, jaw unhinging to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. I didn't wait for what came next. I turned and sprinted for the escalators, the creatures' shrieks piercing the stale air behind me. Their clicks transformed into a frenzied percussion as they gave chase.

The steps of the dead escalator loomed ahead, my only chance at survival. But as I reached them, a horrifying realization struck me – there was fresh blood on the handrail. Someone else had tried this escape route recently.