Maurice dumped another backpack into the truck bed with a grunt. "Hey, Harry," he called out, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You got any water left?"
Across from him, Harry was loading supplies into another vehicle. He crouched beside his pack, rummaged through it, then tossed over a water jug.
Maurice caught it one-handed.
"That's my last one," Harry warned. "Don't go inhaling the whole thing."
"Yeah, yeah," Maurice muttered before taking a long drink anyway.
Then someone appeared beside him so suddenly he nearly inhaled the water.
He coughed violently. "What the hell, man—"
David stood there. "I need to tell you something."
Maurice lowered the jug slowly. "What is it?," he frowned.
David's eyes stayed fixed on him. "I found a dead body in the forest."
Maurice straightened. "A dead what?"
"The missing survivor," David said quietly. "The one Ava thought she miscounted."
A pause.
"There were fifty-one."
Maurice's expression hardened. "And you found the last one?"
David nodded once.
Maurice immediately grabbed the nearest rifle leaning against the truck. "Show me."
Something small pulled at the corner of David's mouth. Not quite a smile. "Follow me."
Then he glanced briefly toward the others nearby. "We shouldn't tell everyone yet. No reason to start a panic."
Maurice slung the rifle over his shoulder. "Yeah. Alright. I'm with you."
The two started heading toward the gates together.
Behind them, Harry looked up from the truck. "Hey!" he shouted. "Where the hell are you two going? We're about to move."
Maurice waved him off without turning around. "Be right back. Just checking something."
Emily walked up beside Harry just then. "Where're they going?"
Harry turned toward her—
Then nearly jumped when he noticed the sword in her hands. "Jesus Christ," he blurted. "Warn me before you point that thing around."
Emily immediately lowered it awkwardly. "Ooh—sorry. I'm still getting used to holding it."
Harry stared at the blade for another second. "…Still can't believe Ysa gave a minor a weapon."
Emily immediately shot him a look. "I'm not a minor," she said defensively. "I'm nineteen already. There are literally countries that consider nineteen an adult."
Harry snorted. "Yeah? Well, lucky for you, we ain't in those countries."
Emily rolled her eyes hard enough to hurt. "Oh my god."
Harry pointed vaguely at the sword in her hands. "If you're gonna insist you're an adult now, go get a job or pay taxes or something."
Emily stared at him in disbelief for a second. "Why do I even bother talking to you?"
Harry grinned shamelessly. "Because deep down you enjoy my company."
"Absolutely not." She walked past him and tossed her luggage into the trunk of the vehicle harder than necessary.
Harry watched the bag bounce once against the trunk.
Meanwhile, deeper within the forest, David led the way through the trees while Maurice followed close behind.
Both rifles were raised. Branches snapped softly beneath their boots as they moved through the undergrowth.
Maurice scanned the woods carefully. "Where'd you say you found the body?"
David kept walking ahead of him. "We're close," he said quietly. "Somewhere around here."
The forest grew denser the farther they went.
Then David spoke again. "Maurice."
Maurice glanced over briefly. "Yeah?"
David's voice came slower this time. "Do you fully trust me?"
Maurice frowned immediately. "That's a stupid question."
"Why's it stupid?" David asked without turning around. "Is that a no?"
Maurice scoffed. "We've been through hell together, brother."
A beat.
"I'd be damned if I still didn't trust you at this point."
For the first time since they entered the woods, David smiled faintly. "That's kinda sweet."
Maurice narrowed his eyes. "…You've been acting weird as hell since yesterday."
David noticed Maurice had slowed behind him and finally turned around. "You sure your head's alright?"
David looked at him quietly for a second. Then: "Yeah. I'm fine."
A pause.
"I'm just… real grateful to you."
Maurice blinked. "You are?"
David nodded faintly. "Yeah."
His voice tightened slightly near the end, like emotion caught in his throat.
That immediately changed Maurice's expression. "Hey." He stepped closer. "What's going on with you?"
Without thinking much about it, Maurice grabbed him briefly into a rough one-armed hug and patted his shoulder firmly. "You alright, brother?"
David stood still for a moment before nodding. "Yeah."
Then he looked ahead again. "By the way… we're close."
Maurice sniffed the air a second later and grimaced. "Yeah, no shit. I think I smell something rotting."
David led him farther through the trees until they reached a fallen trunk lying across the forest floor.
The moment they crossed to the other side—
Maurice froze.
The woman's body lay crumpled against the dirt. Bruised. Bloodied. Still.
Maurice immediately knelt beside her, setting his rifle down long enough to check for any sign of life.
Nothing. Her skin was cold. Her body stiff.
Maurice exhaled heavily through his nose. "…Damn."
He stayed crouched near the corpse, fingers digging through the damp earth. Years of survival had etched a simple truth into his bones: the dead never kept their secrets. You just had to be willing to listen.
He brushed aside wet leaves and mud near the woman's side—
Then something caught the light. A faint metallic glint.
Maurice frowned and dug it out from the dirt before wiping it against his jeans. His expression shifted immediately. "…Hey." He held it up slightly. "Isn't this your lighter?"
Behind him, David answered softly. "Thank you for your trust, brother."
Maurice froze.
The voice was wrong. It echoed as if rising from the bottom of a deep well, each word carrying the hollow resonance of an empty tomb. The sound was too deep, too vast to come from a human throat.
His skin crawled as a cold dread seeped into his bones, hairs on the back of his neck stood, his entire body felt like it wanted to jump out of his skin.
Then came the sound.
Crck.
Crckk.
A wet, tearing whisper. Like fabric slowly ripping from within. Bones grinding against bone.
Maurice's breathing slowed instinctively.
Behind him, something had grown taller as a shadow stretched over him.
Slowly—
Very slowly—
Maurice turned around.
"...David?" The hope in his voice was dying even as he said it.
Then he saw it.
Not David. Not human. Not a shrieker.
An abomination of shifting flesh and impossible geometry. Every part of it violated nature's laws The creature stood unnaturally tall and slender between the trees, its body twitching subtly beneath pale, damp skin. Underneath it—bones shifted.
Not cracking. Moving.
Sliding beneath the flesh like living things trying to rearrange themselves into the correct shape. Its arms were too long. Its posture almost human, but not quite. Every part of it looked unfinished, like it was still deciding what it wanted to become.
Maurice's breath caught in his throat.
But the worst part—
The thing had no eyes. No sockets. Only hollow darkness stretched across the upper half of its face, deep and endless, like staring into a pit with no bottom.
And beneath it—
Rows of small jagged teeth twitched slowly behind peeled-back skin, too many teeth packed too tightly together.
Then it breathed. A wet, uneven sound escaped it—a mixture of boiling liquid and heavy animal breathing.
Ghhhhhk—
Steam-like breath rolled from its mouth. Another exhale.
Ghhhhhhhkk—
Maurice froze harder with each sound. His body refused to move. His knees weakened. His heart slammed violently against his ribs so hard it hurt. Every instinct screamed at him to run—but terror rooted him in place.
The creature tilted its head. Then it lunged.
Maurice's scream tore through the forest—
—and was the last thing the woods heard.
~~~
Yve gathered the remaining sirens near the shoreline. The morning air still carried the smell of blood and fear.
"Alright," Yve called out, voice tired but steady. "We move in five minutes. Everyone get ready."
The survivors began preparing quietly. Checking weapons. Helping the injured. Loading what little they had left onto the tidecrafts.
Then a few sirens approached her. "Hey, Yve."
She turned toward them.
The older male siren at the front hesitated briefly before speaking. "We're not coming with you."
Yve blinked. "What?" Her eyes shifted between them. "Why? Where are you guys gonna go?"
"We've got relatives north of here," the siren explained. "We're gonna warn them. Make sure they're safe before this thing reaches them too."
Another siren stepped forward. "We just wanted to thank you first."
Yve frowned slightly. "For what?"
"For stepping up yesterday," he said honestly. "You kept us alive."
A quiet pause.
"Thank you, Yve."
The words hit harder than she expected. She looked away briefly before speaking again. "Are you guys sure about this? The ocean's still dangerous."
"Exactly why we gotta warn the others," the male siren replied. "Two villages already got wiped out. Maybe more."
Yve's jaw tightened slightly. Then she nodded. "…Alright."
A beat.
"Just stay safe."
The sirens hugged her briefly before heading toward the tidecrafts.
And then another group approached.
Then another.
And another.
One by one, more survivors chose different paths. Some wanted to warn distant relatives. Some wanted isolation to grieve. Some simply looked too broken to follow another leader anywhere.
Yve didn't try to force them. She understood too well. The ocean wasn't safe anymore. But neither was the surface. All she could really do was say goodbye.
Soon, tidecrafts began lifting from the sand one after another, streaking across the sea in different directions.
Yve stood there watching until they became distant lights.
Then Raine quietly walked beside her. "Hey…"
Yve glanced over weakly. "Hey."
"You alright?"
Yve gave a tired shrug. "Yeah." Then she looked back at her. "And you?"
"I'm good."
Raine exhaled slowly, though neither of them fully believed the answer.
Yve reached over and took her hands gently. "I know you're worried," she said softly. "But we'll be fine as long as we stay together."
Raine looked into her eyes for a moment before nodding faintly. "Yeah…" Then her expression shifted slightly. "…I was thinking maybe I should go home too."
Yve's face fell. "Raine…"
"It was just a thought," Raine said quickly. "I just… miss my mom." She looked down briefly. "This was supposed to be a fun vacation. Staying with you guys at Reefville."
Guilt hit Yve instantly. "I'm sorry." She pulled Raine into a hug.
Raine hugged her back tightly. "But I'm not leaving you right now," she murmured. "My conscience would eat me alive if I left when you needed me most."
Yve closed her eyes briefly. "Thank you."
A pause.
"I don't know what I would've done without you."
Raine pulled back slightly and forced a faint smile. "Let's get moving."
Yve glanced toward the tidecraft. "You sure? There's still an extra one. You could head home."
Raine shook her head immediately. "No. I'm good." Then she looked out toward the horizon. "…Honestly, I think I need to stay as far away from the ocean as possible right now."
Yve frowned slightly. "Why?"
Raine swallowed. "I could feel them…the animals." Her gaze stayed fixed on the sea. "The fear."
Yve's expression slowly changed as realization settled in. After a moment, Yve nodded quietly. "…Come on."
She gently guided Raine toward the nearest tidecraft. "Let's get you onboard."
Once the remaining sirens were secured inside the tidecrafts, the final checks were completed in silence. Doors sealed. Harnesses locked. Systems stabilized.
A quiet signal passed through the fleet. Then the lead tidecraft powered up.
Raine steadied herself, then issued a clear command to the Pegacampus units guiding the formation.
"Move."
At once, the aquatic-hybrid aerial beasts responded. The Pegacampus' surged forward in synchronized motion, their movements smooth and deliberate, pulling the convoy into formation.
The tidecrafts lifted higher. Above the open expanse, the convoy stabilized into a wide aerial arc, each craft maintaining distance while staying within formation range.
Raine looked ahead. Yve sat beside her, watching the horizon tighten into the direction of the manor.
~~~
Harry stood beside the vehicle, arms half-crossed, watching the gates like it might suddenly answer him.
Inside the back seat, Harrison leaned toward the open window. "Any sign of them yet?"
Harry shook his head. "Nothing. They said they were just checking something. Didn't say what."
Harrison exhaled slowly. "Then we wait a bit longer."
Up front, Emily shifted in the passenger seat, carefully adjusting the sword in her hands. "I think I should put this in the trunk," she said.
Harry didn't even look at her at first. "Yeah. You think?" He finally glanced over. "Please do. That thing is not a toy, and you're holding it like it is."
Emily lifted an eyebrow. "Is that really a smart thing you want to say to someone currently holding a sharp stick?"
Harry paused. Then sighed through his nose. "…Fair point."
Behind the convoy, Jordan rolled down his window from the other car. "What's taking them so long?"
Harry spread his hands slightly. "If I had an answer, I wouldn't be standing here looking like an idiot."
Jordan grunted. Then rolled the window back up without another word.
Inside the car, Harlene held Harrison's hands firmly, grounding him in the quiet. "You alright?" she asked.
Harrison let out a long breath, eyes drifting toward the manor outside the window. "Yeah…" he said softly. "Just… funny. Last night like this, sitting by the old place. Feels unreal." His gaze lingered on the dark silhouette of the manor walls. "Never thought I'd actually leave it."
Harlene followed his line of sight, then gave a small shrug. "You'll adjust."
Harrison gave a faint, tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I always do."
A beat passed between them.
Harlene leaned back slightly. "I still don't get it," she said. "The survivors are in a new place. We could stay. Why are we even moving out in the first place?"
Harrison's grip tightened gently around her hands. "You know why." His voice wasn't harsh. Just final.
Harlene exhaled through her nose. "Yeah, yeah…" She rolled her eyes, but didn't pull away.
A few minutes of peaceful silence stretched across the manor grounds. The morning air was cold—almost too still. Wind brushed through the grass in slow, drifting waves, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Harry leaned on the car, rifle lowered but ready, eyes unfocused as he scanned the gate without really seeing it.
Then—
A sharp screech tore through the calm. Metal on concrete.
Harry snapped his head toward the entrance. "What the—"
A truck slammed straight into the gates. Impact echoed through the compound. The reinforced metal buckled, then tore apart under the force as the gates swung wide and collapsed inward.
A convoy surged through the opening. Vehicles poured into the manor grounds in formation—fast, controlled, coordinated.
Harry immediately raised his rifle. "Contact!" he shouted.
The rest reacted instantly.
Weapons came up across the vehicles. Harrison, Harlene, Jordan, Emily, Esteban—everyone spilling out or leaning out with tension snapping into place.
The convoy rolled forward and then stopped directly in front of them. Dozens of survivors filled the space between engines and grass. One vehicle had a mounted machine gun fixed on its hood, still idling, still tracking.
The lead car door opened. A man stepped out. Calm. Almost relaxed. He raised one hand in greeting. "Well," he said, smiling faintly. "Hello there."
Harry didn't lower his rifle. "Who the hell are you people?"
The man tilted his head slightly, amused. "Wow. Not even a welcome?"
Behind him, more doors opened. His group stepped out—organized, armed, alert. Rifles already trained in return. The balance shifted immediately.
The man's smile didn't fade. Just widened slightly. "Relax," he said, hands still up. Then he gave a small, theatrical dip of his head. "The name's Dan." He even gestured lightly with his hand, like they were meeting at a gathering instead of a standoff.
Harry didn't move. "Step back," he said flatly, rifle steady.
Dan let out a quiet chuckle and glanced over his shoulder at his own group, amused like this was already entertaining to him.
Harrison stepped forward instead. "Get out of my house."
Dan turned his head slightly, grin still intact. "Whoa, whoa," he said, raising a hand higher. "Put the gun down, old man. I just came to ask a question."
Harry tightened his grip. "What is it?"
Dan started walking slowly, circling just enough to make it uncomfortable—like he was measuring the space, not respecting it. "You don't happen to know a group that recently raided a factory, do you?"
The way he said it wasn't casual anymore. It carried weight.
Harry's expression shifted. Just slightly. But enough.
Dan caught it immediately. He leaned in a fraction. "Well, kid… do you?"
Harry's hands trembled. The rifle wavered for a split second—then steadied again. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Dan clicked his tongue. Then—suddenly—
A light slap landed against Harry's cheek. Not hard. Not meant to hurt. Just to test him.
Harry's jaw clenched.
Dan smiled wider. "Why don't you just tell me what I want, and we all walk away happy?"
"I ain't telling you anything," Harry said. His voice was firm. But his eyes betrayed him. Fear sat behind them, controlled but visible.
Dan exhaled through his nose like he was mildly disappointed. "Tough luck, kid." He turned slightly toward his group. "This one's got spine," he said, almost proud. "I like him."
A few faint chuckles rolled through his people.
Then Dan's gaze drifted and locked onto Harlene.
She was already aiming at him—arms steady, but her expression tightened the moment she realized she'd been singled out.
Dan tilted his head slightly, studying her like she was something newly discovered. "Tsk… tsk… tsk." He walked forward without urgency, unbothered by the rifles pointed at him. "Look at this beauty," he murmured.
Harrison stepped in immediately. "Stay away from my wife."
Dan didn't even look at him properly. He shoved Harrison aside with a casual push.
Emily caught him before he hit the ground.
"Harlene," Harrison snapped, recovering fast.
Harlene didn't back down. She straightened, raising her weapon again. "You take one more step, I shoot."
Dan smiled. For a second, it almost looked like amusement. "This family's got balls," he said.
Then the smile vanished.
Fast.
In one sharp motion, he knocked the weapon aside—metal clattering to the ground.
Before anyone could react, his hand struck her. A clean, brutal slap.
Harlene stumbled and fell hard onto the ground.
"Mom!"
"Harlene!"
Harrison and Emily shouted at the same time.
They moved instantly—
But stopped.
Click.
Click-click.
The sound of safeties disengaging. Rifles rising.
Harrison froze mid-step, breathing hard, forced to hold position as the standoff tightened into something far more dangerous.
Dan crouched beside Harlene, her face a canvas of violence—red, swollen, and already bruising where his palm had landed. She cradled her jaw, her breath coming in ragged, pained gasps.
"See," Dan said, his voice a low, conversational rumble that was somehow more terrifying than a shout. "I don't like it when ladies point their guns at me." He reached out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they cupped her chin. Then his grip tightened like a steel trap, and he used her face as a lever to pull himself to his feet.
Harlene grunted, a raw sound of pure hatred. "Fuck you!" She spat, a thick glob of saliva landing squarely on his cheek.
Dan didn't flinch. He wiped the spit away with the back of his hand, his movements slow, deliberate. He looked down at her, then at the ground, and let out a long, weary sigh. "This won't do at all."
The words were still hanging in the air when he moved. His arms coiled around Harlene's neck, a gesture that looked almost like an embrace—
SNAP!
The sound was clean, final, brutally loud in the sudden silence. Harlene's body went limp. He let her fall, her head hitting the ground with a dull thud.
"MOM!!!"
Emily's scream was a raw, torn thing, a sound of pure childlike agony that ripped through the air. Then she lunged, sword rising to the air as she ran towards Dan.
But Dan was already turning. He met Emily's desperate, grief-fueled charge with a simple sidestep, his foot hooking her ankle. She went down hard, the sword clattering from her grasp. Before she could even register the fall, his boot slammed into the side of her head. Her body went slack.
Harrison saw it all. His wife, his daughter, fallen in the space of three heartbeats. A sound tore from his throat, something between a roar and a sob. He charged, blind with rage, fists swinging.
Dan didn't even bother to dodge. He simply raised the sword he'd taken from Emily and met Harrison's rush. The blade slit Harrison's throat with a soft, wet sound.
Harrison's momentum carried him forward onto the steel. He made a horrible, gurgling noise, his eyes wide with disbelief, choking on his own blood as he collapsed to his knees, then face-first into the dirt.
Then the sword in Dan's hand suddenly changed. His grip tightened instinctively—but the blade turned unbearably heavy, like its mass had doubled in an instant. Heat surged up the steel and into his palms.
Dan's expression shifted for the first time—just a flicker of discomfort. "—What the—"
The sword began to vibrate. A low, unstable tremor ran through the air around it, like pressure building beneath the surface of reality itself.
Then it tore free.
It ripped out of his grasp violently, slicing across his palms on the way out. Dan recoiled with a sharp hiss, more from shock than pain.
The blade shot upward.
Fast. It carved a line through the air—dragging smoke and faint firelight behind it like a burning signature across the sky.
Everyone froze. Heads turned upward in unison.
The sword climbed higher, shrinking into the distance, leaving behind a fading streak of embered light that lingered in the air like a scar.
Silence followed.
Dan stared at his bleeding hands. Then at the sky. "…Interesting," he murmured under his breath.
A few moments later, Dan said, voice calm again—like the moment with the sword had never happened. "Take them."
His group moved instantly.
The standoff collapsed into coordinated motion.
Harry barely had time to raise his rifle before someone was on him—weapon knocked aside, arms pinned, balance broken in a clean, practiced takedown.
Jordan shouted something—lost immediately in the chaos.
One by one, resistance was neutralized.
Harry's vision blurred as he struggled against the grip on him, boots scraping dirt, breath turning shallow. He caught flashes between movements—
Emily being carried away. Jordan going down under multiple hands. Esteban shouting somewhere behind him, voice breaking through the noise before being cut off.
Harry tried to move again—
A sharp impact snapped his focus.
Everything tilted. Sounds drained. Light followed. Then he collapsed, consciousness collapsing as his visions went dark.
====================================
Author's Note;
This chapter has been sitting in the back of my mind for weeks. I kept delaying it as much as possible but...eventually the story reached a point where it couldn't move forward without loss.
Writing it was not easy. I hope it carries the weight it was meant to carry.🫂