Chapter 33

  The shadow lingered at the corner of the house, outside of the window, stretching upward, silent as breath. The crooked creature’s body twisted unnaturally as it clung to the wall, its elongated fingers sliding across the wood with a faint, deliberate scrape. The sound was almost nothing, almost hidden beneath the twins’ whispered argument. But Laura’s head snapped toward the noise.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Quiet.”

  The boys froze mid-bicker, exchanging confused looks.

  Laura rose slowly, rifle in hand, and stepped toward the side of the room. Her boots creaked against the floorboards, loud in the silence. She reached the corner window, breath shallow, and leaned just enough to peer out.

  The boards exploded inward.

  Shards of splintered glass and wood hit her as a thin, twisted creature hurled itself through the frame. It crashed into her chest, all wiry limbs and teeth. Laura hit the floor hard, the air torn from her lungs. She screamed, more in shock than pain, the rifle nearly ripped from her grip as the beast’s claws scrabbled for it, desperate to free her throat from its defense.

  She jammed the stock crosswise under its snapping jaws, arms straining as the weight of the thing bore down. Its reek—rot and iron—filled her nose. It hissed, froth bubbling from its mouth as it fought to try and kill her.

  The monster’s clawed legs slashed down, raking across her thighs and belly, the sharp tips cutting through fabric and into flesh. Fire tore through her nerves, hot blood wetting her clothes. She gasped, teeth gritted, muscles burning to keep the gun between her and those teeth.

  “Mom!” the twins screamed.

  Victor stood frozen, rifle raised, eyes wide. He couldn’t get a clean shot—the creature thrashed too close. If he pulled the trigger now, he risked hitting both of them.

  Albert didn’t think. His small frame launched forward, he unsheathed the hunting knife and clutched it with a white-knuckled grip in his hand. With a shout, he plunged the blade into the monster’s back.

  The beast shrieked, a piercing, metallic sound that echoed in the evening air. Its body convulsed, but it didn’t let go. Instead, it thrashed harder, claws digging deeper into Laura’s legs, tearing new lines that made her cry out in agony. Blood smeared across the floorboards.

  “Albert, get back!” Victor shouted, but his brother didn’t stop. He drove the knife again and again, little grunts of effort tearing from his throat with every strike.

  The creature bucked violently, throwing Albert back, nearly dislodging the blade. It twisted, one limb lashing out, claws catching Albert’s arm. He yelped, stumbling, blood running down to his wrist.

  Laura’s grip faltered for a heartbeat. The monster’s jaw snapped closer, teeth nearly grazing her. She screamed, forcing the rifle back with every ounce of strength, but the beast was very strong even while being so little.

  Victor’s hands shook as he sighted down his rifle again. He couldn’t fire. Not like this. With a cry of frustration, he dropped the gun and yanked free his own knife. He dove into the melee, driving the blade into the beast’s side.

  The three of them were a tangle of limbs and steel, the creature writhing in fury. Laura’s legs burned, her stomach slick with blood where claws had raked her. The twins shouted, stabbed, pushed, their young faces twisted with fear and rage.

  The monster thrashed violently, throwing Laura sideways, smashing her shoulder into the floor. The rifle slipped from her grip, skittering across the wood. For a moment the beast was free, claws flashing toward her throat.

  Albert screamed and leapt on its back, stabbing wildly, his knife sinking deep. Victor joined, his blade jabbing again and again. Black ichor sprayed across their hands, their clothes, the floorboards. The creature shrieked, a sound of desperation, its limbs flailing—but the twins held on, stabbing, cutting, refusing to let go.

  Laura scrabbled on the floor, desperate, reaching for the rifle. But finally, after one last stab to the chest the beast spasmed, convulsed, then sagged. Its claws scraped weakly against the boards before falling still. The only sound left was their panting—harsh, uneven gasps in the silence of the cabin.

  Laura lay back, chest heaving, blood soaking her clothes, tears streaking her cheeks. The twins went beside her, knives still clutched, their hands and arms spattered with ichor and crimson blood.

  Victor wiped his face with a trembling hand, his voice breaking. “Mom! Mom… are you ok?”

  Albert looked at his mother, “Mom you’re hurt! Wha… what do we need to do?” He asked. His whole body shook, fear and adrenaline fighting in his system. He looked at the dead creature, as though afraid it might rise again, even if his knife was still stuck in the monster’s chest

  Laura’s arms wrapped around them, pulling both boys close despite the sting of her wounds. Her voice trembled. “You saved me. You both saved me.”

  For a moment they stood like that, then gently she let them go and lowered herself carefully onto the floorboards, her back pressed to the wall. Every movement sent a fresh wave of fire through her thighs and belly where the claws had torn into her. She pulled her hands down, pressing against the wounds—when she looked, her palms came away slick, her fingers trembling as blood seeped through the slashes in her clothes. The cuts weren’t deep enough to spill her life out in moments, but they were angry wounds, and they stung with every breath.

  “Albert, go and fetch me the first aid kit please.” she said to her son. “Yes! Yes, the kit—I’m coming in a moment, hold on mom!”

  “I’m not going to die, don’t worry.” Laura replied, chuckling despite the pain. “Vic, someone has to check for more of the monsters while I patch myself up, can I count on you?”

  “O… of course! Nothing will come inside again!” Victor proceeded to pick up the rifle he dropped before and then started to run from window to window, checking for any beast approaching.

  “Tell us if you see anything!” Laura reminded him. “I will!”

  Albert returned in a rush, clutching the metal tin of the first aid kit in both hands. He skidded down beside her, almost dropping it in his panic. His face was pale, his lips pressed tight to hold back tears.

  “Good—good boy,” Laura said, though her voice cracked. Her fingers fumbled at the latch, but Albert opened it before she could, laying it open on the floor. Bandages, alcohol, iodine—everything looked pitifully small compared to the blood pooling around her legs.

  She pulled her shredded trouser leg aside. The sight made Albert flinch. Four long, shallow gashes raked down the outside of her thigh, the flesh split but not deep enough to cripple. Higher, near her belly, the fabric was soaked crimson where a claw had caught her. She gritted her teeth, fingers probing carefully. The wound was shallow, a bad tear but not gut-deep.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Albert, listen.” Her voice was stern, grounding. “We clean them. That’s all. Don’t panic, it’s not that different from when you got that big splinter ok?”

  The boy nodded rapidly, though his hands shook as he passed her a bottle of antiseptic.

  Laura unscrewed the cap with difficulty, then hissed through her teeth as she poured the liquid directly over her thigh. The sting was immediate, molten fire racing across her nerves. She bit back a cry, shoulders trembling, tears stinging her eyes as the antiseptic ran into the cuts. Blood diluted, trickling black-red down her leg.

  Albert pressed a wad of gauze into her hand, and she held it firm against the wounds, waiting until the worst of the sting subsided. With deliberate, practiced motions, she wrapped the bandage tight, knotting it above the knee. Then she moved to the other cuts, and for last the one on her stomach. The tear was messy, but shallow; she swabbed it with alcohol-soaked cloth, hissing again, and bound it down flat. Her breath came ragged by the end, sweat running cold at her temples.

  “This will ruin my beach body…” she said to Albert with a forced laugh.

  Finally, she let herself slump back, chest rising and falling. She had seen worse—knew worse could come—but every cut was a reminder of how fragile they were.

  “Mom…” Albert’s small voice drew her eyes. He stood stiffly, staring at her hands. That’s when she noticed—the blood on his arm wasn’t hers.

  “Let me see,” Laura said softly.

  Albert hesitated, then lifted his sleeve. A long scratch raked across his forearm where the creature’s claws had caught him. It wasn’t deep, just skin split and raw, but it wept fresh lines of blood. His whole arm trembled as though it might fall off.

  “You didn’t even notice, did you?” she murmured.

  Albert shook his head, eyes wide, as if the pain only reached him now that she said it aloud.

  Laura took his arm gently in her hands, ignoring the way her own fingers trembled. She poured iodine across the scrape. Albert hissed, trying to pull back, but she held firm. “Stay still. It’s nothing compared to what you did back there. You hear me? Nothing.”

  His eyes watered, jaw clenched, but he stayed still while she pressed a strip of gauze over it and bound it in place with a roll of tape. She gave the bandage one last pat, firm and certain. “There. You’ll live.”

  Albert looked at the white wrap, then at her, the fight still in his eyes though his lips quivered.

  Victor finally turned, gaze flicking from the bloodied boards to his mother, then to Albert’s arm. His voice was rough. “We shouldn’t… shouldn’t we fix this?”

  Laura’s eyes shifted to the shattered window, the jagged wood, the corpse slumped in the middle of the room. The stench of iron and rot lingered heavy. She tightened her arm around Albert’s shoulders, voice low.

  “Yes,” she said. “In a moment.”

  After getting some minutes of rest, Albert took his brother place as lookout and Victor and Laura threw the little monster out of the broken window. There was a sort of poetic justice, Laura thought, in throwing the dead body out the way it came from.

  Then she moved a chair near said window and rifle in hand she kept watch while resting.

  The house never felt more fragile. Every board creaked, every gust of wind through the broken window made Laura’s stomach knot. Her wounds burned beneath the bandages, but she refused to let her sons see weakness now. She kept her ears open, eyes scanning the dark corners where the lamplight didn’t reach.

  For a while, there was only silence. Then a scraping at the back wall, low and deliberate.

  Laura raised a hand, the boys stiffened. Another clawed hand came through the window, fingers hooked like black iron. The creature hoisted itself up with a hiss, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

  This time, they were ready.

  Victor fired first, the rifle bucking against his shoulder. The shot echoed through the cabin, deafening in the small space, and the beast crumpled on the garden, on top of its brethren before it could even land inside.

  But the noise carried.

  Minutes later, another came—this one was similar to the one they killed all day, Laura steadied her rifle despite the ache in her arms and pulled the trigger. The shot hit it in the chest, and the monster fell dead into the dirt outside with the others.

  She swallowed, keeping her breathing even. Two down. But the smell of blood and gunpowder was thick, and the night felt restless, like it had turned against them.

  Then Victor’s sharp whisper cut the quiet. “There! Street corner!”

  Laura twisted, heart hammering. Another creature slithered into view, its crooked body half-hidden by shadows, moving low along the broken pavement. Too far for a clean shot. Too close to ignore.

  She raised the rifle anyway—

  A crack split the air. The monster’s head snapped back, body jerking once before it collapsed into a twisted heap.

  Laura froze, finger tight on the trigger. That wasn’t her shot.

  From the dark at the far end of the street, a figure stepped forward, a smoking barrel in his hands. Tall, shoulders broad, the familiar outline of his gait. Even in the shadows she knew him.

  Her heart stuttered.

  “Dear…”

  Her voice was barely a whisper, nearly breaking from the relief. She stood despite the pain lancing through her legs, the rifle slipping from her grip. Her breath hitched, tears pricking hot as the figure came closer, resolve written in every step until the lamplight caught his face.

  The twins didn’t hesitate.

  “Dad!” they shouted in unison, voices cracking with joy. Both of them bolted for the door, their boots pounding against the blood-stained boards. Laura opened her mouth to call them back, to warn, but the words never came. Because it was him. It was really him.

  Alessandro crossed the threshold just as they threw themselves into his arms. He staggered under their assault, laughing through ragged breaths, dropping his rifle just to hold them both tight.

  Laura’s knees buckled. Relief crashed over her like a wave, her body trembling with it. It seemed so long since she saw him. She had fought, bled, held herself together for their children sake—but now, seeing him alive, the walls inside her finally cracked. She pressed a hand to her mouth, sobbing soundlessly, until she couldn’t stay where she was any longer.

  She stumbled forward, every step raw, and when Alessandro’s eyes found hers across the room, everything else—blood, monsters, broken glass—fell away.

  “Love,” he breathed, and his arms opened.

  She fell into them, burying her face against his chest, shaking as he wrapped her tight. His shirt smelled of smoke, sweat, and gunpowder, but beneath it all was the scent she thought she might never breathe again. Her tears soaked into the fabric as she clung to him like she’d never let go.

  “You’re alive,” she whispered, voice breaking against him. “God, you’re alive.”

  His hand cradled the back of her head, his own eyes moist, his voice thick. “I told you—I’d come back. I’d come back no matter what.”

  The twins pressed in too, the four of them bound in one tangled embrace. Victor laughed, half-choked, still trembling with adrenaline.

  Laura drew back just enough to look at him, her fingers still tight on his arm as though afraid he’d vanish. He looked older, wearier, but whole. Alive.

  Alessandro’s hands cupped her face, his eyes darting over the bandages, the bloodstained bandages wrapped hastily around her legs and stomach. His brow furrowed, his voice hoarse.

  “Laura… what happened to you? Who did this?”

  She swallowed, shame and exhaustion tugging at her words. “One of them broke through. Small, but vicious. It almost… it almost got me. If it weren’t for the boys—” Her throat tightened as she glanced at Victor and Albert. “They saved me. They fought it off when I couldn’t.”

  For a moment Alessandro simply stared at her, his jaw set, something fierce flickering in his eyes. Then he pulled her back into his chest, holding her as if that alone could keep her safe. “You shouldn’t have had to do this alone, I’m sorry…” he whispered.

  Before she could answer, Victor piped up, the weight of fear slipping from his voice now that his father stood before him. “Dad, you should’ve seen it! I shot one straight through the window—bam! Dropped it before it even touched the floor.”

  Albert chimed in, practically bouncing despite the blood still drying on his arm. “And I killed the one that attacked mom with the knife! We shot them through the windows too Dad! We learned to shoot well, we really did it!”

  Alessandro’s expression became strange as he looked at them, pride mingled with worry. He ruffled Victor’s hair with one hand and pulled Albert closer with the other. “Brave boys. Too brave for your age. But I’m proud of you.”

  What kind of mess is the world becoming? I need to do better to keep my family safe… and to get Raime back.

  The tension in the room eased for a breath, laughter and excited words tumbling from the twins, eager to recount every detail—their voices overlapping, faces lit with the thrill of survival.

  Laura leaned against Alessandro, her body finally letting go of the rigid control she’d held all day. But when the boys’ voices dimmed, she lifted her gaze to him, her tone grave. “Alessandro… what’s it like outside? What’s happening?”

  He let out a long breath, eyes shadowed. “It’s a warzone. Streets crawling with things like the ones you fought. People barricaded in houses, others fleeing and never making it. Some are trying to hold the plaza, but it’s chaos. Many died, too many.”

  The lamplight flickered, and his voice dropped lower, edged with something heavy. “And this… this is just the first day.”