Chapter 35 Clapping Cheeks Amidst Danger

• Claps echoed in the distance—slow, steady pulses that weren’t loud enough to draw the wax moths’ attention, yet insistent enough to pique curiosity. The black-armored soldiers moved in formation along the vine-choked walls of a derelict building, rifles raised. At a silent command from their leader, they halted at the structure’s corner, preparing for whatever lay beyond.
• Just as they readied themselves to rush in, the echo of shotgun shells being loaded made their hearts jolt. Instantly on alert, they realized they were surrounded by a different band of survivors—far less welcoming than the last group. Some perched on rooftops, others crouched in nearby alleys, all hidden behind wax-coated masks and training weapons on the soldiers. A dozen pairs of eyes glinted in the murk. Remarkably, that rhythmic clapping persisted, but no one spared it a glance.
• Time passed in a tense stalemate before they finally understood the source of the sound. Beneath the stifling hush of the apocalypse, two figures coupled in a corner—coated in sticky wax, stifling any moans to avoid the moths’ keen hearing. The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances as the thrusts and wet slaps continued without pause.