The other two hundred? They became the course.
“I don’t want to fight,” Kaelen said, raising his empty hands. His only weapon was a hooked knife, more useful for climbing than combat.
Kaelen didn’t wait. He sprinted toward the canyon of glass.
A rusted pipeline, half-buried in the tar, jutted out ahead. He leaped, caught it, and swung his body hard, twisting in mid-air. The Shambler lunged. Its pseudopod of hot tar splashed just past his heel, but Kaelen’s momentum carried him onto a narrow ridge of fractured concrete.