It happened slowly at first.
The snarling wave of monsters pressing against the camp's shields began to thin. The flying leeches flew away into the night sky. The six-legged panthers stopped throwing themselves at the barricades and slinked back into the forest.
Within an hour, the forest was quiet.
The Abyssal horde wasn't retreating in formation. They were scattering. Without the Queen's psychic link to guide them, the corruption that drove them lost its grip. They became ordinary beasts again, confused and frightened, eager to get far away from the camp's lights.
Base Camp was officially secure.
Inside the medical tent, Henry sat on a bed with his shirt off. His right arm was a mess of bruises, but nothing was broken. He had gotten lucky. If his shield hadn't absorbed most of the impact, he would be dead.
Maeve stood beside him, wrapping clean bandages around his arm. Her glasses were pushed up on her nose, and her expression was focused.
