Chapter 6

The pungent odor of cigarette smoke barreled into the cellar throughout the night, followed by the earthen scent of afternoon rain. The snarls increased and split into separate voices, beasts, and humans alike.

Dogs fought, and children giggled. Each growl had distinguishable layers, and an image slowly formed in my mind.

A gravelly voice called from across a golden field of tall grass and hay bales. A woman shrieked when mange covered dogs with rotten flesh knocked her to the ground—unfamiliar faces looped, different scenes played out, but the message remained the same. Packs of beasts ravaged the countryside and ripped men, women, and children of all ages apart.

Whatever sat above me never entered the cellar. It never left the floor above. The distance between us never changed, although its ringing pleas pulled me from the ground. The creature wanted to save me like I was in danger, and it wanted to protect me, or so I thought.

A beam overhead buckled, then snapped and knocked me back to the concrete, pinning me at the waist and forcibly emptying my bladder.

The last time I peed myself was at the haunted house in the Riverside fair. Every October before mom died, we’d get our faces painted, pick a pumpkin for carving, eat fried dough, and drink way too much apple cider. When the chainsaw came from behind Lia and me, water trickled down my legs into my shoes. I never shied away from spooky places, even when they terrified me.

But haunted houses only cost five tickets, and everyone made it out.

An hour before dawn, faces covered each brick of the cellar walls. Some smiled, some frowned, and others cried, but each looked towards me and begged. At the top of the stairwell, a hunched over silhouette stood on stilted legs bent backward. Spike-like fingers tapped the floor.

I froze. The being wasn’t human, but it was too blurry to know for sure. The shadow snorted like a horse and turned its back to me, fading into the fog once dawn broke. As the creature vanished, a deep chuckle that transitioned into a wild cackle pierced the air. When the fog lifted, the world became silent, and sunlight peeked through cracks in the roof, revealing the wreckage from the night.

Shelves of worthless goods, ornaments, and knickknacks that made for great souvenirs littered the floor. In the corner, a porcelain elf nobody would purchase stared at me, and fake wreaths hung from a pegboard—Christmas products stored for the next cycle that never came.

The images disappeared like a bad dream, and if it wasn’t for the beam holding me down, I would have believed I had a mental breakdown. I witnessed wild beasts destroy a town and ignored the faces begging for help. They cried out, but I had no way to save them.

The shadow wasn’t an essence beast; it was something far more sinister. The creature somehow linked every face in the wall together, like they were victims it carried within. Scabs came from humans when their souls collapsed. They were common, and they were weak.

Monsters were born when frontliner souls corrupted, when powerful souls lost the ability to filter out the essence particle’s decay products.

I had only heard whispers of their existence and discarded them as rumors, but the transforming priest changed my opinion. Frontline monsters were real, and one toyed with me through the night. Once my body healed enough to escape, I fled into the woods, putting as much distance between the store and me as possible before I collapsed.

Outside the town, far from the lake and mist, I caught my breath on an overlook and pushed the thoughts from my mind. I was safe in the light. Safe from the screaming images. I needed to leave the mountains.

Nearly 200 miles of mountains, lakes, and small towns lay between me and the military fortification. I knew how to travel to Albany, but the rest was fuzzy. Head West from Albany and stop at the cliffs. That’s all I ever heard—East to the highway, South to Albany, and West to the bunker. The directions were simple enough, so I probably wouldn’t need a map, but it would help if I found one.

The beasts didn’t destroy everything. They hadn’t trampled isolated gas stations and markets to the ground. Finding food in them was difficult, but I doubted they were all stripped, and I doubted anyone fought over paper maps. If gas stations still sold maps.

I walked until the bubbling of water caught my ears and remembered my empty canteen. It was hard to go a day through the mountains without finding running water. There was no shortage, and I needed to rinse the filthy night away.

At less than ten feet across and two feet deep, the sandy-bottomed stream wasn’t large enough to house a monster. I slid my shredded pants off, removed my helmet and vest, and stepped into the frigid water. I never understood how mountain brooks stayed so icy.

Dried blood regained its viscosity and flowed downstream in red streaks. Even though the water was cold, I hadn’t healed all of my cuts, so the water’s pressure stung. The dirt and sweat accumulating on my body floated away, and after 30 minutes of soaking, I saw my skin again.

Somewhere along the way, I built up a heavy farmer’s tan.

I washed the bloodstains from my pants, and without waiting for them to dry, squeezed my way back inside. If something attacked, I didn’t want to escape through the forest bare-assed. They weren’t pretty, but they offered some amount of protection when I sat.