When fate and worlds collide

10 | Painful reminders

“Can you help us?” he asked again. I stood frozen for a moment, my mind doing the math. Options, outcomes, consequences. Logic before emotion. The tower’s scouting rules were annoyingly clear: resources first, survivors second. If they weren’t hostile, you guided them back. Simple. Clean. Practical. None of which accounted for him. But a personal grudge didn’t trump protocol—unfortunately. I slid my knife back into its sheath and stepped away with an irritated huff.

“I’ll help,” I replied finally, “but I’m not a miracle worker. He’s got maybe twenty-four hours before he’s a corpse.”

“We have a medic—someone who still has antidote left.” I nodded once, sharply. Good. That meant I didn’t have to drag them all the way to the tower like a glorified pack mule.

“Can I…see your face?” he asked. I blinked. Slowly. Then glared like I was trying to set him on fire with sheer willpower.

“I’m willing to save you both,” I growled, “but my generosity ends there. Ask again, and I’ll leave you both. Happily.”

He held his hands up. Point taken.

I marched over to the wounded man, crouched, and examined the injury. Barely a scratch, but enough. The toxin didn’t need much, just an open wound to the bloodstream. Still, the shallow wound meant we had time to get to his group before turning—if we moved smart.

I glanced at the sinking sun. s**t. Night was coming. And the things that ruled the dark made Ferals look like declawed kittens.

“There’s a safehouse a few blocks from here,” I explained. “The rest of the Ferals will track us long before we reach your group. We hide until morning.” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a glare sharp enough to skin a beast. “Unless you want to end up as Nightmare fodder, shut up and do what I say.” His jaw snapped shut.

He looped his friend’s arm over his shoulder; I took the other side. We moved, slow at first, weaving through broken streets and gutted buildings. The Ferals’ shrieks grew closer, the sound vibrating in my bones. They were hunting their wounded prey, closing in fast. The last rays of sunlight were bleeding out, and panic flickered in my chest. Night was minutes away. Once darkness fully landed, the real monsters would wake—things so vicious even Ferals avoided them.

Which meant we didn’t have minutes.

“Hold him,” I ordered, pushing the full weight of the injured man onto the survivor before sprinting ahead. I gripped the bottom of a heavy roller door and hauled it up far enough for the men to scramble underneath. The stench of the Ferals hit me—rotten meat and acid—making my stomach twist. The survivor reached back, caught the door, and gave me a window to drop and roll under.

We lowered it just as the Ferals tore past the end of the street.

We weren’t safe. Just… slightly less doomed.

We dragged the wounded man through the darkened shop, stepping over shattered shelves and dust. At the back, I shoved an old fridge aside, metal screeching faintly, revealing a small square of rusted trapdoor. The look on his face—shock, confusion, suspicion—almost made me smirk.

“Move,” I hissed. We piled through the opening, boots clanging down the ladder. I pulled the trapdoor shut overhead and shot the deadbolts home, sealing us in pitch-black darkness. A small sob escaped the wounded man, fear rolled off him in waves, bitter enough to taste. I forced myself to ignore it and focus.

I needed to use my power. f**k.

Drawing on my aura in front of strangers was the last thing I wanted—but dying in the dark was even lower on my to-do list. I pressed my finger to the cold metal and etched the protection sigil, the faint golden glow pulsing softly until it sank into the door. When it faded, I slid my hand along the wall until my fingers brushed the light switch. The bulb hummed to life overhead, flickering before holding steady. The fan sputtered, clicked, then began circulating stale air. A UV lamp buzzed faintly, bathing the bunker in its unnatural lavender glow.

I turned, and the survivor stared at me—wide-eyed, disbelieving, like I’d just rewritten reality in front of him. I hated that look.

I ignored him and went straight to the shelves, searching for anything remotely resembling antidote. Nothing. Not even an empty vial. I muttered a curse under my breath—this safe house hadn’t been restocked in months.

The room was small: two bunk beds crammed against the far wall to the right, shelves stuffed with canned food and stale energy bars in front of me, and a dingy little door on the left that hid a toilet and sink powered by an ancient generator. We only ever used it if our bladders staged a mutiny—it was so loud it might as well scream ‘free meal!’ at the creatures outside.

“You’re an Aura,” he said quietly behind me. I pretended not to hear him. Instead, I grabbed a handful of food bars and tossed them his way, an extra one for his half-conscious friend. Sweat dotted the man’s forehead, and his breathing had taken on that awful, wet rasp. Not good.

“Eat. You’ll need the strength tomorrow,” I instructed. I sat on one of the bunks, turning my back as I shoved the food under my mask. No need for them to see my face—I didn’t need him to think we were bonding. The faster I found their group, the faster I could get back to the tower and to my son. I’d been gone too long, and knew he’d be worried.

“My name’s Glen.” The name hit me like a stab to the chest, but I kept my reaction hidden. I glanced over, saw his hand extended in thanks. “Thank you for helping us. We’d be dead twice over if it wasn’t for you.” His gratitude meant exactly nothing to me, and judging by his eyes, he didn’t recognize me. Good. I intended to keep it that way. I turned away without replying or taking his hand.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “This is Jax. We were on a scouting run to see where we nee—”

“I don’t care.”

“—needed to go,” he finished, ignoring the venom in my interruption. He helped Jax lie down on the bed across from me, then sat at his feet facing me, elbows resting on his knees. “We heard there’s a safe haven around here. Somewhere the monsters can’t get in.” He was talking about The Tower. “But there’s no map. No directions. Nothing.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that,” I grunted. I expected him to bristle, but he just nodded slowly.

“Humanity’s got a terrible track record of ruining anything good. I’m not surprised it’s hidden. Some people would rather destroy a sanctuary than let someone else survive.” A fair point. Unfortunately.

“Why didn’t your group relocate together?” I asked.

“Too many people. Not enough fighters to protect the weak. And the children.” The word children made my head snap toward him. Kids were scarce these days. Most children were older than six, and were the last born before the world ended. Anyone under six? Practically extinct. Younger? Their parents were idiots.

“How many? What ages?” I couldn’t help my curiosity. I needed a reason for this trip to be worth it. He hesitated, regarding me a moment before answering,

“Seven kids. Sophie and Lanie are two, John is three, Clarice is four, Peter’s almost seven, and Conner and Felix are eight.”

Three born before the Fall. Three after. And one born right as the world ended. Those parents with children after the fall were either brave, hopeful… or unbelievably stupid to procreate now.

“How many adults?”

“Thirty-one. Not counting me and Jax.” I blinked. That many surviving this long? Either they were lucky, had enough Auras, or were very well hidden. “Are you headed to the Haven?” he asked unexpectedly. I glanced at him briefly, his hope was almost painful, before shifting my gaze to Jax—chest heaving, breaths shallow as he struggled to breathe.

“I know how to get there,” I replied.

“Can you take our group too?” he asked, voice catching.

“I’ll need to assess them first.”

He frowned. “I can vouch for all of them. They’re good, hard working people.”

“Your word means nothing, stranger.” I forced the harshness out before I softened. “I’ll judge for myself.”

“So… you’ll help?”

“If everyone is who you say, yes. But I won’t lie to you. I can’t guarantee the safety of everyone. Some will die.” His face twisted at the thought. “I can, however, promise to get the children there. Alive. Safe.” He weighed the options, fear creeping into his features. I didn’t sugarcoat the rest. “If you try to move them without me, every single one of them will die. The Ferals have an excellent memory for scent. You killed four of theirs today—they’ll track your group. And they’ll be pissed.” His face drained, the panicked look crossing his face made my stomach swirl.

“Oh my god…” he breathed.

“They won’t stay out after dark—they’re not suicidal. It’ll take them time to realize they’ve lost you. By then, we should be with your group.” I kicked off my boots, lay down on the bunk, and slid my knife beneath the pillow. “Get some sleep. We leave at first light.”

I rolled to face the wall and pulled on the thinnest thread of my power, weaving it around me as a silent alarm. After everything I’d been through with my son after the Fall, I learned quickly how to hold tight to the thread of magic while sleeping. If either man tried anything, or if something outside did, I’d know. As the hum of the UV lamp faded into background noise, my last thought curdled in my chest:

I should’ve left them to die.