They walk down the middle of the road, the buildings arching over them, nothing is moving, the wind has died down to nothing. As the PCs progress down the street, their eyes dart from side to side: cinemas, shops and barbers line the streets.
The radio then screams static, but there is nothing around.
And yet they can hear something, vague sounds off in the distance. Something large, crashing through an empty street.
The air is still, lifeless. The sounds grow louder as they draw closer.
Until finally they come to the edge of an intersection, they see it.
It lurches across the open square, its weight cracking the ground with every step, huge and bulging like a living cancer growth, all red-purple striations, with rows of swollen eyes and mouths dripping pus. It stalked unsteadily forward on tall stilt legs that might once have been leg-bones, once upon a time. It stops abruptly as something else enters the square from the other side. The two monster howl and squall at each other, terrible sounds, like two great beasts disputing territory. The hideous racket calls others. They burst out of side streets and the shells of broken buildings, huge monstrosities that could never have survived and prospered in a sane and rational world.
All their movements are sudden, erratic, disturbing. Their raised cries are awful, actually painful to the human ear. They strike at each other, or at nothing, or charged each other head-on, like rutting stags. They do not move or act like sane things. One only has to watch them to know that their minds have gone bad, their spirits broken by this terrible place, this end of all things. They look as though they are sick inside, everything gone to rot and corruption, dying by inches.