Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
We both know it’s futile. The hungry ones have us surrounded, have been maneuvering us toward this exact point from the beginning. And with night fully upon us, with no shelter, no supplies, our chances of surviving until dawn are nonexistent.
“No,” I say, decision crystallizing despite the fear drumming through my veins. “This is where Lainey came. This is where I need to go.”
Jensen’s hand finds mine in the darkness, his fingers intertwining with my own. The connection grounds me, reminds me that whatever waits in that darkness, at least I don’t face it alone.
At least there is fucking that.
“Together,” he says simply.
“Together,” I agree.
Hand in hand, we move toward the cave entrance, toward whatever horror or truth awaits within. Behind us, the hungry ones watch our descent with patient, ancient hunger.
As the cave mouth engulfs us, darkness swallowing our forms as we step across the threshold between the known world and whatever waits beyond, the last thing I see as I glance back is Adam, still watching from the ravine’s edge, that terrible almost-human smile visible even at this distance.
Then darkness takes us completely.
The real nightmare begins.
30
AUBREY
The cave swallows us whole, darkness absolute after the moonlit night outside. We stand motionless, letting our eyes adjust to the gloom, our breathing loud in the confined space. The air here is different—stale, yes, but also carrying a strange metallic tang that coats the back of my throat with each inhale.
“Wait,” Jensen whispers, digging into his pocket. He produces a small flashlight, turning it on. I quickly search my pockets and pull out my own, though the light is a weak orange and winking on and off.
“Stay close,” he says. “It will be easy for them to separate us.”
The narrow passage stretches before us, rough stone walls glistening with moisture, the floor uneven and treacherous. Water drips somewhere in the distance, a hollow plinking that echoes through the chambers.
“Where do we go?” I ask, trying to mask the tremor in my voice. Just keep walking into the cave, into the darkness, into passages we might never come out of? “The hungry ones wanted us here specifically,” I reason, scanning the darkness beyond the light’s reach. “That must mean something.”
“Or they just drove us into a convenient trap,” Jensen mutters, but he begins moving forward, picking his way carefully across the uneven ground.
I follow close behind, my hand resting on my gun, though I know it will do little good against the creatures pursuing us. The cave narrows briefly before opening into a larger chamber, the ceiling rising beyond the reach of our meager light.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to a dark patch on the ground ahead.
Jensen directs the beam toward it, revealing a circle of charred stone and ash—a campfire site, long cold but unmistakable.
“Someone made camp here,” I say, kneeling to examine it despite every instinct screaming to keep moving. I touch the ash, finding it cold and damp. “Somewhat recently.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Jensen says, frowning as he illuminates the area around the fire pit. “What use would they have for fire?”
“Maybe hikers? Cave explorers?” I suggest, though we both know how unlikely that is this time of year.
“No,” Jensen says slowly. “Look.”
The flashlight beam reveals other signs of habitation scattered around the chamber—a tattered backpack leaning against one wall, the remains of what might have been a sleeping bag, empty food wrappers, and water bottles.
“Someone lived here,” I say, the realization settling cold and heavy in my stomach. “Not just passing through, but…staying.”
Jensen nods grimly. “And they were organized and intelligent enough to maintain a fire, to keep supplies.” His eyes meet mine, understanding passing between us. “More than feral creatures acting on instinct.”
The implication hangs in the damp air.
Nate? Could this be where Nate is from?
And if so, is there where his parents are?
Lainey?
I move toward the backpack, drawn by a need to understand, to find any clue about what might have happened here. The material is weathered, discolored with age and damp, but still recognizable as a hiking pack from our time, something you could pick up at Target.
“Be careful,” Jensen warns, staying close as I kneel beside it.
With trembling fingers, I unfasten the main compartment, pulling it open to reveal the contents within. Papers, mostly—documents protected in plastic sleeves, their edges curling with moisture despite the protection. Beneath them, a leather-bound book, smaller than my hand.
The cover is worn, the leather darkened with time and handling. No name is embossed on the front, but as I open the first page, my heart stops.
Property of Lainey Wells.
My sister’s handwriting, so familiar it makes my chest ache. The same looping script that used to appear on birthday cards, on notes left on my refrigerator when we’d lived together, on the margin of books she’d lend me with comments like “I thought you’d like this part!” or “reminds me of Mom.”