Chapter 9 — Elidjah | We Don't Abandon Anyone.
1171 Words
Chapter 9 — Elijah | We Don't Abandon Anyone.
"Arthur, I'm serious—"
"We're leaving now." Arthur pulls on the last knot. "You can lecture us in the truck."
I kneel on the other side. Dad looks at me. His eyes are tired — not just physically. Tired from something deeper. Like someone who's seen things he wishes he hadn't.
"Elidja." His voice cracks slightly on my name. "You should have stayed in college."
"Probably." I put his arm around my shoulders. "We'll talk about it later."
He tries to stand. His legs are shaking. Three weeks without moving much, eating whatever they gave him — not much, I imagine. I can feel how thin he is under his jacket. Much thinner than I remember.
Arthur takes his other arm.
We get him back on his feet.
"Any serious injuries?" I ask.
"Nothing broken." He tests his legs. Grimaces. "A few cracked ribs, maybe. Welcome gifts when they brought me here."
I clench my jaw.
"The journal," he says suddenly. "Inside pocket of my jacket. Check it's still there."
Arthur slips his hand into Dad's jacket. He pulls out a notebook — worn, rounded corners, the leather cover stained. The journal. The one we'd known since childhood, the one we weren't allowed to touch without permission.
"It's here," says Arthur.
Dad exhales in relief. "Good. Everything's in there. Everything I found about the gate." He looks at both of us. "What they're trying to do — it's not just opening a gate. It's freeing someone."
"We know," says Arthur. "We'll explain on the way. We need to go now, Dad."
We start into the corridor.
Dad walks slowly, but he walks. I stay on his left, Arthur on his right. We pass the locked doors — and Dad stops.
"The others," he says.
"Dad—"
"There are five other prisoners behind these doors, Elidja." His voice is low but firm. "People from the village. They're keeping them to interrogate them. I hear them at night."
I look at Arthur.
Arthur looks at the doors.
Damn.
"We don't have time," says Arthur.
"We don't abandon them." Dad looks at us one after the other. It's not a suggestion. This is Marcus Voss speaking. "We never abandon anyone."
Thirty seconds. That's how long it takes Arthur to pick the five locks. Behind each one — a civilian. An elderly woman. Two middle-aged men. A teenager. A young woman.
All exhausted. All terrified. All alive.
"Follow us," says Arthur. "Quick, and stay quiet."
We go back up through the cellar.
Nine people in a narrow corridor — it makes noise no matter what you do. Dad is standing on his own now, jaw clenched, refusing to show that every step costs him something.
We exit through the cellar door.
The cold night air hits us immediately.
And that's when I stop.
The forest in front of us is different from the one we crossed. Not physically — same trees, same darkness, same smell of cold earth.
But the sounds.
They're everywhere. All around us. Close.
Much too close.
"Arthur," I murmur.
"I see."
In the trees — eyes. Dozens of pairs of eyes reflecting the faint moonlight. Yellow for the werewolves. Black and empty for the possessed who had risen again.
We had neutralized two guards inside.
Outside, there are many more.
The young woman behind me stifles a scream.
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. His voice is calm. Professional. Even after three weeks of captivity, he's still a hunter.
"How many shells do you have left?"
"Enough for some," says Arthur. "Not for all."
"Holy water?"
"Almost none left."
Dad looks at the trees. He's assessing. Calculating. I know that look — it's the same one he had when we were kids and he was preparing us for a difficult mission.
"How far to the vehicle?"
"Five hundred meters. Maybe six."
He nods slowly.
"Here's what we're going to do," he says.
And then something strange happens.
The creatures in the trees — they don't move. They're watching us. They're waiting. As if something is holding them back.
Or someone.
I scan the darkness.
And I see it.
Deep in the trees. A silhouette. Tall. Motionless. Different from the others — neither werewolf nor ordinary possessed. Something older. Heavier. A presence you feel in your chest like pressure.
The high-ranking demon.
It's watching us.
And slowly — it smiles.
"Dad," I say quietly. "That thing deep in the trees—"
"I know." His voice is flat. "I've seen it before." A pause. "Run."
We run.
Six hundred meters in the dark with nine people, some of whom can't run fast, is an eternity.
Arthur leads the way. I take the rear. Dad runs among the civilians — he's limping, but he runs, his willpower making up for what his body can barely manage anymore.
The creatures follow us.
Not as fast as they could. As if they're playing. As if the thing in the trees is holding them back just enough to make us believe we might make it.
I fire twice without looking back. Growls behind me.
Arthur fires ahead of him. One creature falls.
The civilians scream but keep running.
The tree line appears — I can see the lights of the road in the distance, the reflection of the truck under the moonlight.
"ARTHUR — The car!"
"I SEE IT!"
We burst out of the forest.
Asphalt under my feet. Arthur is already at the doors, throwing them wide open. The civilians pile in — too many for a pickup, this isn't going to work, it was never meant to work—
"The barn across the road," says Dad. "There's an old abandoned car inside. The keys are on the dashboard. I saw them when they transported me."
Arthur throws me a glance. I sprint toward the barn. Thirty seconds. The car is there — an old rusty Ford. The keys are there. The engine coughs but starts.
We split the civilians between the two vehicles.
Dad gets in the passenger side of the truck. Arthur starts the engine. I start mine behind him.
We drive.
I look in the rearview mirror.
The tree line is dark and still.
The creatures stayed inside.
The thing in the trees — I can still see it. Just a silhouette between the trunks. Watching us leave.
Still smiling.
And then I understand something that chills my spine.
He let us go.
"He let us go," I say.
Silence in the truck.
Dad stares straight ahead. His hands on his knees. The journal clutched between his fingers.
"I know," he says.
A pause.
"That's what worries me."
No one speaks again until we reach town.
——
The first one lunged toward...
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