Chapter 15 Nicoles POV
922 Words
I don’t sleep.
I don’t think Rowan does either.
The howls taper off sometime past midnight, not because they’re gone—but because they’ve settled into distance. Like wolves lying low after scouting a herd.
I sit on the warehouse roof with my back against a rusted vent, whetstone running slow and steady along the katana’s edge. Steel sings softly under my hands.
Below, perimeter shifts rotate on schedule. No panic. No raised voices.
They’re disciplined.
That matters.
Footsteps approach—measured, confident.
Rowan.
He doesn’t announce himself. Just sits a few feet away, rifle laid across his knees.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t before fights.”
“Good,” he replies. “Means you’re thinking.”
The moon hangs thin and sharp above us. The treeline north is just a darker shadow against dark sky.
“You ever doubt?” I ask him.
“Constantly.”
I glance at him.
He doesn’t look like someone who doubts.
“But doubt makes you check your angles twice,” he continues. “Overconfidence gets people killed.”
Fair.
Silence settles between us—not uncomfortable.
“Tell me about the bunker,” he says after a moment.
I hadn’t expected that.
“It was supposed to be military grade,” I answer. “Reinforced doors. Stocked supplies. Dad heard about it through old contacts.”
“You believe it’s real?”
“I did.”
“And now?”
I watch the horizon.
“Now I think it might’ve been hope dressed up as coordinates.”
He nods slowly.
“If it is real,” he says, “it’s not better than this.”
That’s a bold statement.
“You’re confident,” I say.
“No,” he corrects. “I’ve just seen what we built.”
He’s not arrogant.
He’s anchored.
That’s the difference.
A horn gives one short blast from the south tower—status change.
Rowan’s posture shifts instantly.
We’re both on our feet.
Another horn—two short bursts.
Contact.
Not breach.
Movement.
We move down the ladder fast but controlled.
The south wall is tense when we arrive.
Below, through the darkness, I see silhouettes shifting at the tree line again.
Closer than last time.
Not advancing.
Just present.
Rowan lifts binoculars.
“They’re tightening the arc,” he mutters.
I count quickly.
At least forty visible.
Probably more in the brush.
The intact one isn’t in sight.
Which means it’s somewhere it can observe without being seen.
“They’re conditioning you,” I say quietly.
“How?”
“Normalizing their presence. So when they’re closer tomorrow night, it doesn’t trigger immediate panic.”
He lowers the binoculars.
“That won’t work.”
“It might,” I reply. “If they push from three sides at once.”
He considers that.
Behind us, Hale steps up onto the platform.
“They’re pushing south and east simultaneously,” he says. “Light pressure.”
Diversion.
I feel it settle in my bones.
“They’re drawing us thin before the strike,” I say.
Rowan nods.
“They know we’re coming.”
Possibly.
Or they’re just accelerating timeline.
Either way—
Tonight isn’t just reconnaissance.
It’s psychological warfare.
The walkers at the tree line begin to sway in subtle unison.
Not random shuffling.
A rhythm.
Then one lifts its head and releases a sharp, clipped howl.
From the east, another answers instantly.
Call. Response.
Call. Response.
The pattern repeats.
Faster.
Closer.
The guards along the wall grip their weapons tighter.
Rowan raises his voice just enough to carry.
“Hold formation. No one fires unless they breach range.”
Steady.
Controlled.
The walkers inch forward.
Five steps.
Ten.
Stop.
Testing.
I step up beside him.
“If they breach the south gate,” I murmur, “they’ll follow with east within thirty seconds.”
“You think that’s tonight?”
“No.”
He glances at me.
“They’re measuring response compression,” I explain. “How quickly we mobilize between walls.”
He nods once.
“They won’t full-commit until they’re certain.”
“Yes.”
Which means tomorrow night is even more critical.
If we don’t remove the intact one—
The next push won’t be light pressure.
It’ll be synchronized.
The walkers hold their position for another minute.
Then, almost as one—
They withdraw.
Not scatter.
Withdraw.
Back into the trees.
The horns go silent.
The wall remains tense.
Rowan exhales slowly.
“They’re getting bolder,” he says.
“Yes.”
“And smarter.”
“Yes.”
He looks out over the dark forest.
“Good,” he says quietly.
I glance at him.
“Why good?”
“Because I’d rather fight something that thinks than something that just crashes blindly. Predictable systems can be broken.”
There it is again.
That edge in him.
Not reckless.
Strategic.
“You’re going to be a problem for them,” I say.
A faint smirk touches his mouth.
“I plan to be.”
Below us, the settlement slowly settles back into uneasy quiet.
I rest my forearms on the cold metal of the wall and stare north.
Tomorrow night we move through the creek bed.
Through the dark.
Into the tunnels.
To kill whatever thinks it’s evolving.
And as the last echoes of the howls fade into the trees—
I realize something.
For the first time since I was twelve—
I’m not just surviving what’s coming.
I’m choosing to fight it.
And that changes everything.
- Writer
