Beans

"Guys, I can't take it anymore. Let's take a break!" Chloe gasped, her voice trembling as she stumbled forward, clutching a low-hanging branch for support. Her breath came in ragged bursts, and her once-flawless posture was reduced to a hunched-over figure that looked ready to collapse. The heels she had so foolishly chosen for this nightmare hike dug into her blistered feet, each step on the uneven forest floor a fresh torment.

She sank onto a moss-covered rock, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world—or at least the weight of this prehistoric disaster—was pressing down on her. "This is inhumane," she muttered, trying to loosen the straps of her shoes but stopping with a wince when the motion sent a fresh jolt of pain through her legs.

Walter, already several paces ahead, turned sharply on his heel, his face a mask of irritation. "Seriously, Chloe? This again?" he barked, his voice cutting through the eerie silence of the forest. He adjusted the heavy rifle slung over his shoulder and glared at her. "If you hadn't worn those ridiculous heels, you wouldn't be slowing us down every five minutes! You've got no one to blame but yourself."

Chloe's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with a mix of indignation and exhaustion. She shot him a venomous glare, sitting up straighter despite the ache in her body. "Oh, I'm sorry," she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Had I known we were going to be thrown into a literal dinosaur apocalypse, maybe I would've traded my Louboutins for combat boots! Unfortunately, Walter, the horoscope section didn't mention anything about running from prehistoric monsters!"

Walter rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering something under his breath about "useless dead weight." Chloe, however, wasn't done. She pointed a shaky finger at him, her voice rising. "And you know what? If you had bothered to fill up the damn gas tank, we wouldn't be trudging through a forest full of things that want to eat us! So don't you dare lecture me!"

Anna and Thomas, trailing behind the bickering pair, exchanged weary glances. Anna sighed, brushing a strand of disheveled red hair out of her face. "Here we go again," she muttered under her breath, her tone resigned. "Five bucks says one of them throws something before the next mile."

Thomas shook his head, his expression calm but strained. "Let them vent. It's better than bottling it all up," he said, though the tight line of his jaw betrayed his own growing frustration. He adjusted the straps of his backpack, which was overloaded with supplies scavenged from the hunting cabin they'd left that morning.

Walter stopped abruptly, spinning around to face Chloe. His face was flushed, his jaw tight as though he were on the brink of snapping entirely. "You know what, Chloe? Maybe you should've stayed at the cabin if you're gonna be this useless! We're wasting time because you can't handle a little—"

"That's enough!" Thomas's voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade. He stepped forward, his tall frame imposing as he positioned himself between Walter and Chloe. His steady gaze swept over the group, silencing them all. "We're all tired. We're all scared. But fighting each other isn't going to get us to the base any faster—or keep us alive."

Walter looked ready to argue, but Thomas raised a hand, his voice firm. "Chloe's struggling, yes, but snapping at her won't help. And Chloe," he added, turning to her with a softer tone, "we need you to push through this. I know it's hard, but we can't afford to stop for long."

Chloe hesitated, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked down at the ground, her anger ebbing into something closer to guilt. "I… I'm trying," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "But these shoes—"

"Then take mine," Thomas interrupted, already bending down to untie his sturdy boots. The others stared at him in disbelief as he slipped them off, revealing his bare feet. The damp forest floor pressed against his skin, but he didn't flinch.

Chloe blinked, clearly taken aback. "You're kidding, right? You're just going to walk barefoot through this?" She gestured vaguely at the dense underbrush, where thorny vines and jagged rocks lay hidden beneath the leaves.

"I'll manage," Thomas said simply, holding out his boots. "You need them more than I do. Besides, if you keep wearing those heels, you'll hurt yourself worse—and we can't afford to carry anyone."

Chloe stared at him for a moment, her pride warring with her exhaustion. Finally, she sighed and took the boots, muttering, "Thanks… I guess." She slipped them on, wincing as her swollen feet adjusted to the new fit. They were a bit large, but infinitely better than what she'd been wearing.

Anna, watching the exchange, shook her head in exasperation. "You're a saint, Thomas," she said dryly. "But honestly, this whole 'barefoot hero' thing? Kind of ridiculous."

Thomas just smiled, his expression calm and almost serene. "It's not so bad," he said lightly, flexing his toes against the cool earth. "Sometimes, you have to adapt."

Walter snorted, shouldering his rifle as he turned to lead the way again. "Yeah, well, let's see how long Mr. Nature Boy lasts before he steps on something sharp."

The group moved on, the tension easing slightly but not disappearing entirely. Walter took the lead, his movements brisk and purposeful, though he couldn't help glancing back occasionally. He hated to admit it, but something about Thomas—barefoot, carrying extra weight, and still managing to look calm and capable—was starting to get under his skin.

Thomas, for his part, felt… different. Every step seemed to heighten his senses. He could feel the texture of the ground beneath him—the rough bark of roots, the cool dampness of moss, even the faint vibrations of distant footsteps. The forest seemed alive in a way he'd never noticed before, its rhythms and whispers almost tangible.

He saw with his eyes, but it felt as though something deeper within him was "seeing" as well—something sharper, more attuned. Every rustle of leaves, every distant crack of a branch, every faint vibration beneath his bare feet felt amplified, as if the forest itself was alive and communicating with him. It wasn't just sight or sound anymore; it was an awareness that enveloped him, a sense of connection that he couldn't explain.

"You look like you're having fun," Anna said, her voice laced with unmistakable disdain as she caught up to him. Her face was flushed from exertion, beads of sweat trickling down her temple, and her fiery red hair clung to her forehead in damp tendrils. She stopped just long enough to adjust the straps of her pack before fixing him with a sharp, incredulous glare.

Thomas turned, startled out of his thoughts. His smile, warm and almost serene, spread across his face as though he hadn't heard her tone. There was a glow about him, a strange, almost childlike joy that seemed entirely out of place given their circumstances. "What?" he asked, blinking at her as though he hadn't immediately realized she was addressing him.

Anna planted her hands on her hips, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation. "I said, you look like you're having fun," she repeated, her words dripping with sarcasm. "You know, frolicking through the woods like a Disney princess while the rest of us are trying not to get eaten."

Thomas laughed softly, careful to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the eerie quiet of the forest. His shoulders shook with the effort of suppressing the sound, but his grin didn't falter. "I wouldn't call it frolicking," he replied lightly, his tone teasing. "I'm just… enjoying the fresh air. It's kind of nice, don't you think?"

Anna stared at him, her brow furrowing. "Nice?" she echoed, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself and dropped back to a harsh whisper. "Thomas, we're in the middle of a prehistoric death trap. There's nothing nice about this! In case you've forgotten, there are things out here that could eat us whole—and probably won't even bother spitting out the bones!"

Thomas shrugged, his bare feet pressing softly into the mossy earth as he adjusted his grip on the straps of his pack. "I get it," he said calmly, meeting her gaze with that same enigmatic smile. "But think about it. When was the last time you felt this… alive?"

Anna's mouth opened as if to fire back a retort, but she hesitated. His words hung in the air between them, thick with an unexpected weight that made her pause. "Alive?" she repeated, her voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

He nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah. I mean, sure, it's dangerous. Terrifying, even. But don't you feel it?" He gestured vaguely to the forest around them—the towering trees, the tangled undergrowth, the shafts of sunlight breaking through the canopy like golden spears. "Your heart racing, your senses on high alert… It's like we're part of something bigger out here. For once, we're not just sitting at desks or staring at screens. We're living."

Anna let out a heavy sigh, her hand moving to brush a strand of hair out of her face. "You're impossible," she muttered, though there was no real malice in her tone. She shook her head as if trying to dispel his words, but a small part of her couldn't help but wonder if he might have a point. "But I guess it's better than whining like some people," she added, casting a pointed glance over her shoulder.

Chloe, who had been stumbling along a few paces behind them, looked up sharply. Her face was flushed with exhaustion, and she was muttering curses under her breath as she adjusted the oversized boots Thomas had given her. "I heard that!" she snapped, glaring at Anna. "I'm trying my best here, in someone else's shoes—literally! Maybe if you stopped being so high and mighty for five seconds, you'd notice!"

Anna smirked, her green eyes flashing with amusement. "Relax, princess. I'm just saying it's refreshing to have someone who's not constantly complaining."

"Excuse me?" Chloe shot back, stumbling slightly on the uneven path as she tried to catch up. "You think I want to slow everyone down? These boots are like clown shoes on me! And in case you forgot, I didn't exactly have time to pack for the apocalypse!" She threw her hands up in frustration, her voice rising dangerously close to a shout.

"Chloe," Thomas interjected gently, turning to face her. His tone was calm, but there was an edge of quiet authority that made her pause. "Take it easy. We're all struggling to get through this. Let's just focus on moving forward, okay?"

Chloe huffed, crossing her arms defensively. "Fine," she muttered, though her expression remained sour.

Walter, who had been walking several yards ahead, stopped abruptly and turned to glare at the group. "Are we seriously stopping again?" he barked, his voice a low growl of frustration. He adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder and glared at Chloe in particular. "If you can't keep up, maybe you should've stayed back at the cabin."

"Walter, that's enough," Thomas said, his voice firm. He stepped forward, meeting Walter's glare with a steady, unyielding gaze. "We're not leaving anyone behind."

Walter snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, if she keeps dragging her feet, none of us are going to make it."

Anna, sensing another argument brewing, stepped between them and raised a hand. "All right, that's enough testosterone for one day," she said sharply. "Let's just keep moving before something decides we're an easy snack."

Walter muttered something under his breath but turned and resumed his march, his boots crunching loudly against the forest floor. Thomas followed, his bare feet making almost no sound as they pressed against the earth. But it didn't hurt. If anything, it felt… grounding.

Anna fell into step beside him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "You're weird, you know that?" she said finally, her tone lighter this time.

Thomas chuckled. "I've been called worse."

She smirked, shaking her head. "Just don't go full jungle boy on us, okay?"

He didn't reply right away, his gaze drifting to the forest around them. The whispers of the trees, the rustle of unseen creatures, the faint hum of life itself—it all seemed to hum in harmony with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Something was changing in him, something profound and unexplainable. But for now, he kept it to himself.

******

As darkness unfurled its shadowy cloak over the forest, the group of four reluctantly admitted defeat for the day. The decision to stop for the night hadn't come easily, but continuing forward seemed like a gamble with fate—the dense woods, alive with unseen dangers, could quickly turn deadly. The sun had nearly slipped below the horizon, casting streaks of crimson and gold against the sky, like the embers of a dying fire. They slumped onto the damp carpet of fallen leaves, their bodies weary from seemingly endless walking.

Chloe groaned as she dropped onto the ground, her arms stretched out wide as if to embrace the earth. "I can't feel my legs anymore," she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration. "And what's worse? We're still nowhere near that damn military base!"

Her words echoed faintly in the eerie stillness of the forest. Only the occasional crack of a branch or the whisper of leaves answered her complaint. Walter, perched on a large moss-covered rock, squinted at the map spread out before him, illuminated by the weak glow of his headlamp. His brow furrowed in concentration.

"You're wrong," he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he traced a path with his index finger. He didn't bother looking up. "We're closer than you think. Cross the river, climb the hill, and voilà—the base will be right in front of us."

Anna, kneeling beside one of the backpacks, snorted softly as she rummaged through its contents. Pulling out a can of food, she grabbed her knife and popped the lid with practiced ease. "If we're that close," she said, glancing at Walter, "maybe we should just push through and get there now. Camping here feels... bad. Like, bad-idea bad. This place is too quiet."

Walter finally lifted his head, his face a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. "And risk breaking a leg or getting lost in the dark? No. We're staying put. We'll move at first light."

Before Anna could argue, Thomas spoke up from where he sat, slightly apart from the group. His posture was stiff, his head tilted as if listening intently to the forest. "No," he said, his voice low but firm. "We're not moving. Not tonight. Predators come out after dark, and with the river so close, we're practically ringing the dinner bell. It's safer to stay here."

Anna hesitated, her knife hovering above a second can she was about to open. Her eyes darted toward the trees, their gnarled branches twisting like skeletal fingers against the fading light. She didn't like it, but Thomas had a point. "Fine," she muttered, slicing through the lid and tossing it aside. "But don't expect me to sleep easy."

The sharp metallic scent of the opened cans mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest as the group quietly ate. The beans in tomato sauce filled their mouths with warmth—a poor consolation for their aching bodies but sustenance nonetheless. Everyone ate with the kind of hunger born from desperation, except for Thomas. He stared at his unopened can, the faint aroma wafting toward him making his stomach churn.

"Here," he said abruptly, holding the can out toward Walter. His voice was casual, but his hand was stiff. "I'm not hungry. Take it if you want."

Walter lowered his spoon and blinked at Thomas in surprise. "Not hungry? Seriously?" He hesitated for a moment but, seeing no change in Thomas's expression, shrugged and took the can. "Alright. Thanks, I guess."

Anna, however, wasn't so easily placated. She froze mid-bite, her spoon hovering in the air as she turned to glare at Thomas. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the fragile peace. "You're just going to skip a meal? During the apocalypse? Do you even understand how stupid that is? Every calorie counts, Thomas. Every. Single. One. You can't afford to—"

"Enough," Thomas interrupted sharply, raising a hand to silence her. His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, like a blade hidden beneath silk. "I said I'm not hungry. Drop it."

Anna opened her mouth to retort but faltered when Thomas added, "And if you must know, I'm allergic to beans. So unless you want me to swell up like a balloon and stop breathing, I'd rather not risk it."

The words landed like a slap, and for once, Anna had nothing to say. She exhaled sharply through her nose and returned to her meal, muttering something under her breath that no one cared to decipher. Walter gave Thomas a brief, questioning glance but said nothing, and Chloe, as usual, stayed out of it entirely, too focused on scraping the last bit of sauce from her can.

The tension in the camp hung heavy, like the oppressive weight of the night itself. After a moment, Thomas stood and dusted off his pants. His movements were deliberate, almost too controlled, as if he were trying to shake off the lingering irritation from Anna's outburst.

"I'll take first watch," he announced, his voice steady but distant. "We'll need someone to keep an eye out for trouble anyway."

Walter nodded in agreement, chewing silently, while Anna cast him a wary glance but said nothing. Chloe, sprawled on the ground with her arms over her eyes, mumbled, "Wake me up when it's my turn. If I don't die of exhaustion first."

Thomas ignored her and adjusted the straps on his backpack. "I'll be back in a bit," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the darkened bushes. Without waiting for a response, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, the crunch of dry twigs underfoot fading with each step.

The camp fell silent again, save for the crackling of leaves in the faint breeze. Walter glanced toward the spot where Thomas had vanished, his lips pressing into a thin line. "He's acting weird," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

******

Thomas trudged through the woods. His breath came heavy, each exhale a plume of mist in the chilled air. He muttered under his breath, his words dripping with sarcasm as he mimicked Anna's earlier lecture. "'Oh, Thomas, how dare you not eat the sacred beans! They're a gift from the apocalypse gods! You'll regret this when we're all starving!'" He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Maybe next time I'll just eat dirt and call it a feast."

His frustration bubbled over, raw and unchecked. He stopped in his tracks, glaring at the nearest tree as if it had personally wronged him. Without thinking, he pulled back his fist and slammed it into the trunk with all his might. The sharp crack echoed through the forest like a gunshot, and the tree shuddered from the impact, its branches shaking loose a flurry of dead leaves.

Thomas froze, his fist still pressed against the bark. The anger drained from him in an instant, replaced by confusion and unease. His eyes darted to the spot where he had struck. A deep dent marred the trunk, the bark splintered and sunken inward as if smashed by a sledgehammer.

"What the…?" His voice was barely a whisper. He touched the dent gingerly, his fingers tracing the jagged edges. "Did I… did I do that?"

He stepped back, staring at his hand as if it belonged to someone else. The knuckles were red but unbroken, his skin smooth and unblemished. Thomas clenched and unclenched his fist, testing its strength, feeling the strange vitality coursing through his veins. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of panic.

"This isn't normal," he muttered, his voice trembling. "None of this is normal." He took another step back, shaking his head as if trying to dismiss the thought. "First, I heal faster than I should, and now I'm punching holes in trees? What the hell is happening to me?"

His words hung in the air, swallowed by the dense silence of the woods. But his body didn't care for answers. It felt alive, burning with energy, his senses sharper than ever before. He could hear the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, even the soft hum of insects buzzing unseen in the darkness. The sensations were overwhelming, and his head spun.

Then came the pain. It struck without warning, sharp and sudden, like a knife twisting in his gut. Thomas doubled over, clutching his stomach as the agony spread through him. His knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed onto the forest floor.

"Damn it," he gasped, his voice strained. "Maybe I should've eaten those stupid beans after all…"

But the thought of food only made it worse. The memory of the tomato-slicked beans brought a wave of nausea that nearly sent him to his knees. His body rejected the idea entirely, as if it no longer craved the same nourishment it once did. The pain intensified, and for a brief moment, Thomas thought he might black out.

Then, through the haze of pain, he heard it—a soft rustling, faint but distinct. His head snapped up, his ears straining to pinpoint the sound. It was close, too close. Something was moving through the trees, stepping lightly but steadily, the crunch of twigs and leaves betraying its presence.

Thomas tensed, his senses sharpening even further. His vision seemed keener, the dim light of the forest now bright enough to make out the shapes of branches and undergrowth. His heart raced, but not from fear. It was excitement, anticipation. He didn't understand it, but some primal instinct deep within him had awoken, and it was urging him forward.

"What the hell am I doing?" he whispered, his voice tinged with both dread and disbelief. His feet moved on their own, carrying him toward the sound. "I should be running away. This could be a bear… or worse."

But he didn't stop. He couldn't. His pulse thundered in his ears, and his muscles coiled like a predator on the hunt. The rustling grew louder, and soon Thomas found himself peering through the underbrush.

There, in the clearing ahead, stood the source of the noise. At first glance, it looked like a turkey, but it was far too large—easily the size of an ostrich. Its black feathers gleamed under the faint moonlight, and its talons, curved and razor-sharp, dug into the earth. The creature's beady eyes glowed faintly, scanning the forest with an intelligence that sent a shiver down Thomas's spine.

"What the hell is that?" he breathed, his voice barely audible. His rational mind screamed at him to retreat, to get as far away from the monstrous bird as possible. But something deeper, something primal, wouldn't let him. A strange heat coursed through his veins, and before he realized what he was doing, he had drawn the knife from his belt.

The turkey-like creature turned its head sharply, its eyes locking onto Thomas. It let out a guttural cry, its wings flaring wide as it prepared to charge. But Thomas was faster. He lunged forward with a speed and precision that felt alien, his body moving as if guided by instinct alone.

The knife plunged into the bird's side, and it screeched in pain, its claws swiping wildly. Thomas dodged with ease, his movements fluid and deliberate. He struck again, and again, his blade slicing through feathers and flesh. The creature thrashed and flapped its massive wings, but Thomas was relentless. He grabbed its neck with one hand, holding it in place as he delivered the final blow.

The bird let out one last, pitiful cry before collapsing to the ground. Thomas stood over its lifeless body, his chest heaving, blood dripping from the blade in his hand. He felt powerful, unstoppable—but also terrified. What had just happened? How had he done that?

Without thinking, he dropped to his knees and tore into the bird's carcass. His hands moved on their own, ripping open its belly and pulling out the still-warm heart. The smell of blood filled his nostrils, and his mouth watered. Before he could stop himself, he sank his teeth into the heart, the thick, metallic taste flooding his senses.

The moment was primal, horrifying, yet exhilarating. The blood dripped down his chin, staining his shirt, but he didn't care. He devoured the heart in seconds, his hunger insatiable. When it was gone, and the haze lifted, Thomas froze.

"What… what have I done?" he whispered, staring at his bloodied hands in horror. The bird's carcass lay before him, mutilated and still steaming. He staggered to his feet, his legs trembling. "What's happening to me?"

His voice broke, and for the first time, he felt truly afraid—not of the forest, or the creature he had just killed, but of himself.