CHAPTER IV: TO RETURN HOME

  Eve journeys into the Wasteland once again. One thing is etched into his mind… to return to Selene, to Emily. To Return Home.

  Eve stands at the edge of the Wasteland. The sun beats down hard. His new boots crunch over the cracked earth. He pulls out the compass. It swings lightly in his hand. The needle trembles and then points steady. He looks at the map again. The paper is old and torn. His fingers trace the route. It leads him to a place full of jagged rocks and steep cliffs. He squints at the horizon. The land ahead looks sharp and unforgiving.

  The wind stirs the dust. It whips across the land. Eve feels it sting his skin. His throat is dry. He folds the map and puts it in his pack. He takes a deep breath and starts walking. Each step feels heavy. The cliffs in the distance get closer. He can feel the weight of the world pressing down on him. The air is thin and dry. It feels like it’s been waiting for someone to come. His heart beats steady but anxious.

  The cliffs rise. They look jagged and cruel. Rocks crumble away under his feet. Eve keeps moving. He won’t stop.

  Eve walks along the path. Dust kicks up as his boots hit the cracked ground. The sun is hot above the dry earth. He passes by old billboards. They are sunken and cracked. Their colors are faded. The words on them are hard to read. Messages from a world that’s gone.

  He stops to look at one. The letters are worn down. A faded logo stares back at him. He can’t remember what it meant. He feels a brief pang of something but it’s gone quickly. He moves on.

  The path takes him past a huge, buried structure. A giant missile rises from the sand. It’s old and forgotten. Its metal body is dented and rusted. The fins are broken. The war it was made for is long gone. It’s just a relic now.

  Eve stands in front of it. He looks at the missile. He wonders what it was for. What was it meant to do? He shakes his head and takes a step forward. The wind blows through the land. It smells of rust and old wars. Eve keeps walking. The path stretches on in front of him. The past lingers in the air.

  Eve steps into a shanty town. Dust hangs like fog. The buildings are made from scrap. Rusted metal, rotting wood, and broken pieces are all that hold them together. Some buildings lean sideways like they are too tired to stand. A few doors hang off their hinges. They creak with the smallest breeze. The windows are half shattered and let in only a little light.

  Eve walks past the buildings. His footsteps echo in the quiet. His fingers brush against a rough wall. It’s splintered and jagged. Inside one building, he sees a cracked window. His face is reflected in it. He looks away quickly.

  The air smells bad. It’s a mix of wet earth, metal, and something rotten. There’s no sign of life. No voices, no movement. Only the creaking of things falling apart. Some strands of string hang from doorways, swaying in the wind. They’re like forgotten memories.

  Eve pushes open a door. It creaks loudly like it’s about to fall off. The inside is empty. It’s just a shell of what it used to be. Broken furniture is scattered around. It’s all overturned like it was abandoned in a hurry. He steps around the wreckage. His boots crunch on the glass and broken wood. His eyes scan the room.

  In the corner, something shines. A flash of silver catches his eye. Eve walks over to it. His heart speeds up. Canned food. A stack of dented cans. The labels are gone. The metal is rusty in places. But it’s something. He opens one. The lid creaks like an old door. The smell hits him. It’s the smell of canned food that’s way past its time. He shrugs and ignores the smell. Food is food.

  Eve moves to the next building. This one smells worse. It smells like old blood and burned rubber. He finds a cabinet. The door is hanging off its hinges. Inside, he finds medical supplies. Bandages, a few vials of something, and bottles of antiseptic. He grabs them and stuffs them in his bag.

  A chill runs up his spine. There’s no sound. No one around. It’s too quiet. The wind whispers through the cracks like it’s trying to say something. Eve doesn’t want to listen.

  He pulls his jacket tighter around him. There’s nothing left to do here. No one left to find.

  He takes one last look at the town. The broken buildings. The forgotten things scattered in the streets. He’s seen this before. This slow decay. Just another ghost town.

  With a grunt, Eve turns and walks out. The door slams behind him. The silence comes back around him.

  The ground shudders.

  A sharp burst erupts from the ground just to the right of him. The shockwave shakes his body. Before he can figure out what’s happening bullets scream past his ear. The crack of gunfire fills the air. He ducks fast. His heart races. The air around him is alive with danger.

  The first shots miss him by inches. He feels the wind from them. The heat is like something is trying to swallow him whole. He moves quickly———too quick———and dives behind a huge stone pillar. It sticks out of the ground all jagged and twisted. It looks like a monument to something long forgotten. His pulse beats loudly in his ears. It matches the chaos.

  For a second everything goes silent. He only hears the ringing in his ears and his heartbeat. The world is a blur of heat and dust. Sweat slicks his palms as he presses his back against the cold stone. He crouches low. His fingers twitch toward his knife but there’s no time. He needs to move.

  Another shot rips through the air. This one’s much closer. The impact sends pebbles flying. Eve flinches. His stomach tightens. The shot echoes off the stone. Whoever is shooting, they’re good. Too good. They know exactly where he is.

  Then the shooting stops. The silence makes his head spin. He doesn’t dare move. He doesn’t breathe. He waits for what feels like forever… until the wind gets louder in his ears. His eyes flick left, searching for movement. The pillar doesn’t give him much cover. He’s cornered.

  Then he sees something. A dark shadow against the rock. A crack in the earth. A tiny cave opening just big enough for him to slip through. His instincts scream at him to run.

  Eve stands up. His heart pounds in his chest. He moves quickly and sharply. His eyes never leave the space around him. He watches for the next shot. He slides out from behind the pillar. His feet are light and quick on the sand. The wind stirs like it’s trying to hide his footsteps. He moves like a shadow. Silent.

  Another bullet cracks. But he’s already moving. He dodges to the side. The bullet slams into the rock, inches from his shoulder. The force of it makes the stone shake. Eve doesn’t stop. Doesn’t flinch. He runs straight toward the cave. The opening is wide enough to swallow him.

  His foot catches the edge of the sand. Dust puffs up in the air. It’s enough. The next shot goes wide. Eve dives into the darkness of the cave. He lands hard on his knees.

  Inside, the air is cool. It smells like wet stone with the faint trace of something else—something old. He doesn’t have time to think. The cave is his only chance. He gets to his feet and moves deeper into the shadows. His eyes adjust to the dark.

  The opening behind him is a tiny sliver now. The world outside is silent. The sniper’s shots stop. The cave is all that’s left.

  And Eve? He’s already running.

  Eve slows down as the tunnel stretches out ahead of him. The walls are jagged and rough. The deeper he goes the colder it gets. With every step, his breath catches in the stillness. He hears a faint drip of water somewhere far away. But other than that the silence is overwhelming. He stops and looks around. His eyes search the dark for any sign of movement.

  The hum of adrenaline starts to fade. His fingers itch for something familiar. Something to hold onto. He digs into the folds of his dress and pulls out a small bottle of oil from his pack. His hand shakes a little but he steadies it. He rips a strip of cloth from the hem of his dress. Desperation makes him think fast.

  Eve wraps the cloth around the end of a long stick. He dips it in the oil. The cloth soaks up the liquid. He lights the end with a match. The flame sputters at first then steadies. It casts a dim orange glow against the jagged walls. It’s not much but it’s enough. Enough to see the path ahead.

  He keeps going down the narrow passage. The torch held high. The flickering light dances on the walls. The shadows twist and curl in the corners of his vision. The deeper he goes the more the cave opens up. The narrow corridor turns into a big chamber. He steps carefully. The floor is slick with oil. It makes him uneasy but he moves past it. He steadies himself with each step.

  It doesn’t take long before he sees it. A hole in the ground. It leads to an opening that looks out over the wasteland far below. Eve kneels at the edge. He looks out over the shanty town below. He can see broken foundations and rusting metal skeletons of buildings. A few tattered clothes flutter lazily in the wind, and the silence below is almost suffocating.

  Then he spots something. Bullet casings scattered near the edge. Dozens of them. Half buried in the dust. The marks are clear. The sniper has been here. The weight in his chest tightens. He doesn’t know who the sniper is but he knows they’re nearby. Eve scans the area below. He looks for any movement. The town looks empty. It’s too quiet.

  He doesn’t stay long. The feeling of being watched settles into his skin like a cold, creeping crawl. He stands, moving away from the hole, the flame of his torch casting strange shapes on the cave walls. He continues forward, each step taking him deeper into the twisting, darkened tunnels.

  But Eve doesn’t know that he’s not alone.

  The shadows behind him move ever so slightly, it barely breaks the stillness. The air grows colder and thicker, and somewhere in the dark, something else follows, its steps muffled by the uneven ground.

  It watches Eve’s every move, waiting. Watching.

  Eve moves deeper into the cave. His footsteps echo off the walls. The smell of damp earth fills his nose. His torch flickers and pulses with light. As he keeps going the narrow tunnel opens into a big room. The ceiling stretches way up. The walls are rough and uneven but it’s the stuff in the middle of the room that catches his eye.

  In the center, there’s a messy pile of wood. A few broken crates are lying around. An old mattress is slung up against one wall. A small fire pit sits in the middle but it’s cold and empty now. Everything is still. Everything looks untouched like whoever was here left in a hurry.

  Eve steps into the room carefully and quietly. He holds the torch high and the light spreads out. He takes a slow breath. His eyes move over the room. He walks toward the mattress curious about who might have been here.

  Just before he can get close to the pile of wood something moves in the corner of his eye. He spins around fast and barely has time to see the figure. It’s hooded and dark. The figure lunges at him swinging a rifle with the buttstock aimed at his head.

  Eve doesn’t even think. His instincts take over. He sidesteps fast and ducks under the swing. The rifle crashes into the stone behind him. The force throws the figure off balance for a moment.

  Without thinking, Eve grabs the man’s arm. His fingers grab the sleeve of the cloak. He spins the figure around with one strong pull and flings him toward the wall. The man crashes into the stone and crumples to the ground… knocked out cold.

  Eve freezes. He stares at the man on the floor. His breath is quick. His chest rises and falls fast as he tries to understand what just happened. He’s never been this strong. He’s never fought like that before.

  The speed and power feel new.

  It feels… strange.

  Eve looks at his hands. The torch is still weak in his grip. His heart races. He feels something inside him. It’s like a new energy deep down inside that’s just woken up.

  He takes another shaky breath. His mind is spinning trying to catch up with what just happened. For a second he feels like he could do anything. Like nothing could stop him.

  But then he shakes his head. It doesn’t make sense. He’s always been weak. His legs shake. His hands are too small. Too delicate. This sudden strength doesn’t fit.

  The man on the floor doesn’t move. Eve takes a step back careful and uneasy. The torch flickers again. A chill runs down his spine. Whatever that was, whatever just happened, he can’t ignore it.

  The man wakes up feeling groggy. Smoke and something is cooking. His head throbs and his vision swims. Slowly, it clears. He sees his rifle, pistol, and sword lying next to him. He didn’t put them there. His brow furrows in confusion.

  He turns his head and sees a young boy standing over a small bonfire. The boy’s blonde hair catches the firelight. It flows in soft waves around his face. He wears a simple white gown that looks like something out of a dream. He stirs a thin grayish broth in a pot with a steady hand. The flames crackle and dance lighting up the boy’s delicate face with soft orange.

  "Sorry," the boy says in a voice barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t stop stirring. "I couldn’t find anything better."

  The man stares at him blinking. Everything around him feels peaceful and strange. The tension in his body starts to ease but a shadow of suspicion lingers in his chest.

  "You… saved me," the man mutters. His voice is rough. He looks at the boy trying to make sense of everything. "I tried to kill you."

  The boy looks up then. His eyes meet the man’s with a calmness that surprises him.

  "You weren’t trying to kill me," he says simply. "You were just defending yourself. I know you’re not a bad man."

  The man’s eyes narrow. His rugged face softens for a second. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he notices an intricate tattoo peeking from under the boy’s gown. Dark lines trace across his back.

  "You got a name son?" the man asks. His voice is rough but not as harsh now. "With ink like that, I figure you don’t."

  The boy smiles a small serene smile.

  "Eve," he says quietly.

  "Eve?" The man blinks not sure he heard right. "That’s a girl’s name."

  The boy’s expression stays calm. Steady.

  "I know," he says. "I’m a boy and my name is Eve."

  The man stares at him for a long time. He’s not sure what to think of the kid but something about him feels genuine. Something about him stays with him. He nods accepting the name without saying anything else.

  "Rat soup huh?" The man says after a moment. He glances at the bubbling pot with a wry smile. "Better than nothing."

  Eve looks up and meets his gaze. He doesn’t seem bothered. He hands the man a bowl.

  "It’ll keep you alive," he says softly.

  The man takes the bowl and sips the soup savoring it as he drinks.

  "I never got your name mister," Eve says his voice soft but curious.

  "Gideon," the man answers his tone rough but steady.

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  Gideon is a gruff man with dark skin. If he were born in our world, he would be considered Cuban or African… or both. His long hair falls in untamed waves, brushing over his shoulders like it hasn’t seen a comb in years. A thick, scruffy beard covers his jaw, making his face look chiseled as if carved from stone. His eyes are like burning coals. He wears a black trenchcoat. It’s old and torn. The coat hangs loosely around his shoulders. The frayed edges of his coat sag across the floor, each rip and tear telling its own story of battles fought and survived.

  "Mr. Gideon, why did you try to kill me?" Eve asks.

  His voice is careful but not afraid.

  "I thought you were one of them," Gideon mutters. He looks away for a second. "Bounty hunters from the Legion."

  "Legion? What’s that?" Eve asks.

  He furrows his brow.

  "A kingdom up north," Gideon grunts. His voice sounds far away. "It doesn’t matter. What are you doing here alone?"

  Eve looks down at his hands. His fingers fiddle with the edge of his gown.

  "I’m trying to get back home. To my village." He hesitates and then looks up at Gideon. His eyes steady. "Maybe you can help me."

  Gideon raises an eyebrow. "How could I? I don’t even know where you live."

  Eve doesn’t change his expression. It’s like he already knows what to say.

  "I don’t know either Mr. Gideon," he says. His voice is quiet but sure. "But I might need someone like you. Someone who knows the land. We’re not so different you and I. We’re both outcasts."

  Gideon’s eyes narrow. A flicker of surprise shows in them.

  "How did you... know that?"

  Eve gives a small smile. It’s almost like he’s hiding a secret.

  "Just a feeling."

  "Can’t help you, kid," Gideon mutters. He finishes his rat soup. The bowl scrapes against the stone.

  "Please," Eve says. His hands clasp together like he’s begging.

  "No," Gideon huffs. He leans back his eyes narrowing.

  Eve doesn’t give up.

  "Come on I saved your life. At least do me a favor," his voice cracks just a little.

  Gideon shakes his head irritated.

  "No, you didn’t. You cooked rat soup. That’s all you did." He turns away from Eve.

  His tone is final.

  But Eve doesn’t stop. He lowers his head a little and gives Gideon a look. It’s the kind of pleading innocent look that almost breaks Gideon’s heart. It’s a look only someone like Eve could pull off. His wide eyes shimmer with a little moisture at the corners.

  Gideon’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t want to be swayed but it’s hard to ignore that face.

  "Don’t give me that look," he warns.

  But it’s already too late.

  Eve doesn’t speak. He just looks up at him silently. It’s like he’s holding his breath.

  Gideon sighs. His resolve cracks under the weight of that gaze.

  "Okay okay fine." He groans rubbing his forehead. "You win."

  Eve’s eyes light up. He straightens like an idea just hit him.

  "I can pay you."

  Gideon doesn’t even look up from the fire. He just scoffs. His voice was rough.

  "Don’t push it, kid."

  The desert stretches endlessly around them, the sun beating down with relentless heat despite the swirling black clouds. They walk through the remains of an old city, the bones of a forgotten world half-swallowed by the sand. Eve’s footsteps echo on the cracked, sun-bleached pavement. The skeletal remains of buildings rise on either side, hollow windows staring like dead eyes into the sky. Rusted signs hang crookedly from rooftops, names long erased by time and erosion. The wind tosses the sand, brushing over the broken streets like an old memory fading away.

  Eve glances up at the distant skyline———nothing but crumbling towers and forgotten spires. Some buildings stand precariously, like ghosts in a fading dream, leaning against each other as if trying to hold each other up. Rust-colored pillars lean sideways. They’re caught in an eternal struggle against gravity. Abandoned vehicles, once proud machines, now lay overturned in the sand, their metal bodies eaten away by years of neglect.

  "So, what were you doing out here all alone, Mr. Gideon?" Eve asks, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and innocence.

  His eyes scan the remnants of the city, his footsteps lighter now, as though he’s beginning to feel a bit of peace among the ruins.

  Gideon doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are focused on the ground ahead, his jaw set tight as if the weight of his past is too heavy for words.

  Finally, he speaks, his voice low, almost like he’s talking to himself.

  "I was hunted by the Legion. Need to find a good place to hide."

  Eve doesn’t push. He’s seen enough to know when someone’s not ready to talk. But curiosity still bubbles up inside him.

  "What did you do?" Eve asks.

  "None of your business," Gideon’s face hardens. His eyes flash with something dark, like a memory he’d rather forget.

  They keep walking. The sand shifts underfoot, grains slipping through Eve’s fingers as he brushes his hand against a nearby wall. The city is both haunting and beautiful in its decay. The breeze carries the faintest scent of iron and dust, mingled with the remains of something long dead. Even the air feels old here like it’s been stale for years, caught between time and memory.

  Eve glances at Gideon, sensing the distance in his tone.

  "You say you were from a village, right? How about I hide there for a couple of days and lay low? Don’t snitch on me." says Gideon.

  Eve’s voice softens, but there’s a sincerity there. "Deal."

  For a moment, the two of them walk in silence, the ruins of the city stretching out around them like the remnants of a world that once was.

  The night is quiet. Only the wind moves through the old building. Eve and Gideon are on the fifth floor of a broken-down skyscraper. The city around them is falling apart. There’s a small fire glowing just enough to light up the dark.

  Gideon sits on the edge of the building. His sniper rifle rests on his knee. His eyes don’t move from the streets below. He fires. A loud crack fills the air. A rotting figure drops to the ground like a bag of bricks. He shoots again. Another one falls.

  Eve lays on a pile of torn clothes. They don’t feel soft but they’re the best he has. He watches the firelight flicker, but his eyes keep going to Gideon. Every time Gideon shoots, it’s smooth and quick. He doesn’t even seem to care.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Gideon?” Eve asks, breaking the quiet.

  Gideon doesn’t even glance at him. He pulls the trigger again.

  “Clearing the path,” he says. “For tomorrow. The less of those fuckers we see, the better.”

  Eve watches Gideon look through the scope. The sound of the rifle keeps echoing in the night. The dead people on the streets stumble around. They don’t know they’re being picked off one by one. Every shot is clean. Every shot ends a life in silence.

  Eve feels his eyes getting heavy.

  “Alright,” he says, curling up tighter in the clothes. They’re scratchy but they’re all he has.

  “Night then,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

  He drifts off to sleep. The sound of the rifle grows quieter. The shots echo, fading in and out like a song.

  Eve wakes. He’s not in the building anymore. He’s standing outside the Housemaster’s manor again. The big house looms over him. Its windows stare like cold, dead eyes. It feels oppressive. He doesn’t know how he got here, but he doesn’t have time to wonder. The ground starts to shake under his feet.

  Then he sees it. The Shadow from the Sacrifice Ceremony. It’s dark and shapeless. It moves slowly toward him. Every step makes Eve’s pulse race faster.

  "Watch," the Shadow says, its voice crackling like old burning wood.

  The manor bursts into flames. A roar of fire shoots through the building. The windows explode into glass. The children scream as the fire wraps around them. The cries are swallowed by the flames. Eve’s chest clenches as he watches.

  Adam stumbles out of the fire. His body is covered in ash. His skin is blackened and burned. He drags himself across the ground, but the flames catch him again, and with a final gasp, Adam dies, his body collapsing into the fire.

  The Shadow laughs. Its form twists and changes until it becomes the Housemaster. The Housemaster’s face is twisted into a cruel grin, looking down at Eve.

  "You should have never left," the Housemaster sneers, repulsively familiar.

  Eve freezes. His body goes stiff. His breath comes in shallow gasps. He doesn’t know what to do or where to go. Everything feels too real.

  Adam... No…

  The Shadow leans closer, its breath foul, like smoke from the flames.

  "You failed them. You failed everyone."

  Eve can’t move. He can’t breathe.

  He jolts awake. His body is drenched in sweat. His heart is pounding in his chest. His vision is blurred, and the room feels too small, too suffocating.

  Eve gasps, his breath ragged. His body shakes, but he feels something———his hands, gentle but firm———on his shoulder.

  "Quiet," Gideon mutters, barely awake. "Keep it down."

  Eve nods, the nightmare still lingering in his mind, but his body relaxes at the simple command. He tries to steady his breath, but it takes a long moment for the panic to pass. Slowly, the room grows quieter again. Eve turns his face into the makeshift pillow, his thoughts still swirling, but he drifts back to sleep, the shadows of his dreams slowly receding.

  Eve wakes to a low growl. It crawls under his skin. His heart races. He opens his eyes and looks around. The room is dark. Shadows move on the walls. He barely moves his head. He spots Gideon crouched by a cracked pillar. His rifle is steady and aimed at the stairwell.

  Gideon looks at Eve. His eyes are sharp. He puts a finger to his lips. No sound. Just a clear message.

  Don’t move.

  Eve freezes. The growling gets louder. It bounces off the walls. He can see them now. Flesh Dogs.

  The creatures’ grotesque bodies are stretched and raw. Flesh hangs loose in some places, while sinewy muscle glistens wet in others. Their heads are misshapen, too large for their emaciated frames. Empty eye sockets stare out, but their noses twitch constantly, pulling in the air. Jagged teeth gleam in the faint light, exposed by lips that barely cover their malformed jaws. Their spines jut out in sharp ridges, their tails whipping behind them like frayed ropes.

  One of them sniffs the ground. Its claws scrape the concrete. Another one climbs onto a broken desk. It lifts its snout toward the stairs and breathes deep. Its chest puffs up as it sniffs the air.

  Gideon moves his rifle just a little. He peers through the scope but doesn’t shoot. Eve knows he’s waiting for the right moment. One wrong move and they’re done.

  The biggest Flesh Dog snarls. It turns toward the staircase. Its ears are just torn stumps. They twitch as it listens. A second one joins. Its ribs show beneath its skin. They sniff the air and move closer.

  Eve presses himself lower on the mattress.

  Everything goes silent. Then a sharp crack. Something breaks under their claws. The Flesh Dogs snarl and rush to the sound.

  Gideon lets out a breath. He motions to Eve. Eve nods. He starts crawling toward the back wall. His movements are slow. Quiet. His heart is pounding in his chest. Behind him, Gideon follows, just as quiet.

  The growling fades as the Flesh Dogs move away. But Eve knows they’ll come back. They always do.

  Gideon lowers his rifle. He takes a deep breath. He motions for Eve to stay still. He peeks around the pillar. For one moment, he relaxes. It’s a mistake.

  The sound of claws scratching against concrete fills the air. Gideon’s eyes widen. He spots them. Five Flesh Dogs. Their bodies move like shadows. One leads the pack. It’s carrying a mangled squirrel. Blood drips from its mouth. Its claws drag on the floor.

  Gideon stays still. The creatures don’t look up. He sees something strange. Their eyesockets are empty. They’re blind. The biggest Flesh Dog sniffs the air. The others follow. Their heads turn. They breathe heavily.

  Gideon crouches lower. He quietly grabs an empty can from his pack. He throws it across the room. It clangs against the wall. The sound echoes.

  The Flesh Dogs turn. They growl and rush to the sound. Their claws scrape against the concrete. They sniff the can and nudge it with their noses. They growl softly.

  Gideon leans toward Eve.

  “Back up. Slowly.” Gideon whispers in a very hushed voice.

  Eve nods. He moves backward. Every step is careful. Gideon waits. He grips his blade. One of the Flesh Dogs gets too close. Its head is low. It sniffs near the pillar. It inches closer. Its teeth gleam.

  Gideon strikes. The blade flashes. He slashes the dog’s throat. Blood sprays as it drops to the ground. Gideon dashes to another pillar. His steps are quick and quiet.

  The other Flesh Dogs notice the body. They don’t go after Gideon. They turn on their fallen friend. They tear into the flesh. Their hunger is fierce.

  Gideon doesn’t wait. He pulls out his pistol and shoots.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Four shots. Four dead dogs. Their bodies twitch before going still.

  Gideon exhales but his relief is short. There were five. He looks around the room. His eyes scan the shadows.

  “Where’s the last one?” he mutters, gripping his pistol.

  A low growl comes from behind him. Gideon turns too slowly. The last Flesh Dog leaps at Eve. It digs its claws into Eve’s arms and pins him to the ground. Eve screams. He thrashes as the dog’s jaws snap inches from his face.

  “Gideon!” Eve cries out.

  Gideon runs forward. His heart races. He raises his blade and swings at the dog’s neck.

  Sunrise… and the next thing they know, they’re running.

  “Keep moving!” Gideon shouts, his voice raw from exertion.

  He raises his rifle as he runs, turning to fire a quick burst. A Flesh Dog collapses mid-jump, its body skidding across the concrete. Another leaps through the chaos, and Gideon’s shot pierces its chest. The beast tumbles, but more take its place.

  Eve glances over his shoulder, his breaths coming in gasps. The Flesh Dogs are relentless, their gaunt forms bounding over rubble with terrifying ease. Their snarls rise over the chorus of the undead behind them.

  Ahead, the cityscape breaks into open land. Dry, golden grass stretches far and wide, swaying in the morning light.

  “There!” Gideon yells, motioning toward the savannah.

  They cross into the tall grass, the soft earth cushioning their steps. The shambling flesh-eaters falter, stopping at the edge of the city as if tethered to its ruins. But the barking of the Flesh Dogs doesn’t fade.

  Eve’s chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath.

  “Are we—are we safe?” Eve asks.

  Gideon shakes his head, eyes scanning the grass.

  “Not yet,” he mutters.

  The barking grows louder, and sharper, coming from all directions. The tall bushes sway, hiding whatever moves within.

  “Slow down,” Gideon whispers, gripping Eve’s arm. “They’re listening.”

  Eve freezes, his heart hammering in his chest. The grass rustles, but the source stays hidden. The barking stops, replaced by an eerie silence.

  “They’re hunting us,” Gideon murmurs, his voice breathy and tense.

  He motions for Eve to follow, every step careful and deliberate. The dry grass brushes against their legs as they move, each sound amplified in the quiet.

  They reach a clearing, a lone tree standing like a sentinel. Its gnarled branches stretch upward, offering little cover but some height.

  Gideon nods toward it. “Up. Now.”

  Eve scrambles to the lowest branch, his hands trembling as he pulls himself up. Gideon stays on the ground for a moment, scanning the perimeter. The grass shifts again, the movement closer this time.

  “Go, kid,” Gideon urges, climbing after him.

  He holds his rifle tight. His eyes move quickly across the savannah. Below them the rustling stops but the feeling of being watched won’t go away.

  They sit on a thick branch. Their breaths are quiet. The sun shines warm on their skin but the air still feels cold. In the tall grass predators hide. They wait for the perfect moment to strike.

  A Flesh Dog steps out from the bushes. Its skinny body shakes. Its blind eyes move like it’s looking for something it can’t see.

  Gideon doesn’t wait. He pulls the trigger. The rifle cracks and the dog falls.

  Then comes the howl.

  More Flesh Dogs come from the grass. Six maybe more. They bark and run toward them. Their claws dig into the dirt.

  “They’re climbing!” Eve yells.

  He grips the tree harder as the first Flesh Dog jumps up. Its claws scrape the bark.

  “Stay up there!” Gideon yells back.

  He fires his rifle. One dog drops, then another, but more keep coming.

  The tree shakes. A Flesh Dog leaps higher, snapping at Eve’s foot. Gideon curses under his breath. He takes another shot. The dog falls.

  Before he can reload, gunfire rings out from the other side of the savannah. It’s fast and sharp. One by one the Flesh Dogs fall.

  Gideon stops and looks toward the sound. His rifle stays up.

  Through the morning haze, a hooded figure stands on a rock with a gleaming rifle. Each shot hits its target. The last Flesh Dog yelps and falls. The grass rustles in the breeze.

  The figure lowers their gun and walks away behind the rocks.

  Eve looks down at Gideon.

  “Who was that?” Eve asks.

  “I don’t know,” Gideon grunts. He climbs down the tree. “But we’re gonna find out.”

  They follow the figure’s path, the grass parting as they move cautiously. The sun rises higher, bathing the savannah in harsh light. After what feels like an eternity, they come upon a ramshackle town. Small huts made of scrap metal and wood stand in clusters, their doors ajar. The place feels abandoned.

  Gideon steps forward. His boots crunch the dry ground. Eve watches every shadow.

  “It’s empty,” Gideon says.

  Just then the ground breaks under them. A net springs up and catches them. They’re lifted off the ground. The ropes creak as they swing.

  “Damn it!” Gideon growls.

  He struggles against the net.

  Eve is on top of him, wide-eyed. “What just happened?”

  The hooded figure steps out from one of the huts. Their rifle is already aimed at them.