I am Alex Reed

Ep2: The Watering Hole PT2.

Moonlight fractured through the canopy above, casting ghostly patterns on the forest floor. I followed these broken patches of light, stumbling over fallen trees and through thickets that tore at my flesh. Each laceration was insignificant compared to the wound on my shoulder, which pulsed with its own hideous rhythm.

The screams had stopped, but something worse replaced them—a heavy silence interrupted only by my ragged breathing and the snap of twigs beneath my feet. I was making too much noise, broadcasting my location to anything hungry enough to listen.

I ran until my lungs burned, until the copper taste of blood filled my mouth, until the trees began to thin and the ground sloped upward. Only then did I allow myself to slow, legs trembling with exertion, sweat freezing against my skin in the night air.

The fever was coming on stronger now. It clouded my thoughts, made the world around me shimmer like a mirage. I pressed my palm against my forehead, feeling the unnatural heat radiating from my skin. How long did I have before I became like that thing back there? Days? Hours?

Ahead, the slope crested, revealing a valley bathed in moonlight. Far below, nestled among the trees, was a small cluster of buildings—perhaps an old camping ground or ranger station. Sanctuary, or at least the promise of walls. I fixated on that distant silhouette, a concrete goal to keep my mind from spiraling into panic.

My vision blurred, darkness encroaching at the edges. I blinked hard, trying to focus. The wound on my shoulder seemed to pulse in time with the distant structures, as if they were connected by some unseen thread. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw luminescent tendrils stretching from my body toward the valley below, but when I looked directly at them, they vanished.

“Just the fever,” I murmured to myself, voice cracking. “Just the fever playing tricks.”

The descent would be treacherous, especially in my condition. But staying exposed on this ridge was certain death, whether from the elements or the infected that roamed these woods. I took one last look behind me, seeing only darkness where I had come from—a darkness that seemed to watch me with patient hunger.

I adjusted my pack, wincing as the strap pressed against my wound. My name is Alex, I reminded myself. I am Alex Reed. A mantra against the creeping fog in my mind. I needed to hold onto that, to remember who I was for as long as possible.

With one deep breath, I began my descent toward the buildings below, toward what I hoped was shelter. Behind me, far in the distance, came a long, mournful howl—not quite human, not quite animal. A sound that said: We are waiting for you.

I did not look back again.