Military Base

Sitting by the riverbank, Thomas frantically rubbed his hands and face, desperate to wash away the thick, sticky blood that clung to his skin like an accusation. His movements were jerky, almost frantic, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The cold water bit into his flesh, but he scrubbed harder, as if he could erase the memory of what he had done along with the crimson stains. His voice trembled as he muttered under his breath, the words a fragile mantra:

"It's okay. It's fine. Everything will be fine. I'll wash it off, and no one will know. I'll be as good as new! As good as new!"

But even he didn't believe it. His voice cracked, and his hands trembled violently. The blood seemed to resist him, stubbornly clinging to his skin, as if it had seeped deeper than just the surface. He scrubbed harder, the brambles along the riverbank tearing at his knuckles, but it was no use. The metallic tang still lingered in his mouth, a bitter reminder of the nightmare that had unfolded just hours before.

He gagged suddenly, the memory of the grotesque creature overwhelming his senses: the way its massive, sinewy body had writhed in the moonlight, the guttural sound it made as it collapsed, still twitching. He could still feel his teeth sinking into the raw, pulsing heart, the warmth of its blood flooding his mouth. The thought twisted his stomach into knots, and with a choked gasp, Thomas doubled over and retched into the river, his knees sinking into the mud.

"What the hell have I done?" — he whispered hoarsely, gasping for air, his chest heaving. He splashed the freezing water on his face again, shivering as it dripped down his neck and soaked into his shirt.

The forest around him was silent, unnervingly so, as if holding its breath. The moon hung low, casting long, warped shadows that seemed to stretch and reach for him like accusing fingers. He couldn't stay here. The others were still back at the camp, sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of the horrors that lurked in the darkness. He had promised to keep them safe.

With shaking legs, Thomas forced himself to stand and staggered back toward the group. His clothes were damp, clinging to his skin, and the faint chill of the night air gnawed at his exposed arms. As he broke through the tree line, his heart clenched. There they were—Chloe, Anna, and Walter—huddled together on the damp ground, sleeping peacefully. They hadn't even lit a fire, no doubt fearing it would draw predators.

"Idiots," — Thomas muttered under his breath, but a wave of relief washed over him. They were okay. For now.

He sat down heavily on a flat rock nearby, his head in his hands. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and he raked his fingers through it, trying to steady his breathing. But the images wouldn't leave him. He could still see the creature's wide, glistening eyes staring up at him in its final moments, its body convulsing as he tore into it. His movements had been so precise, so instinctual—it was as if something primal, something monstrous, had taken over.

"I don't know if this is a curse or a gift," — he whispered to himself, staring into the void of the forest. "But no one must find out. Not ever."

Hours passed, the oppressive silence of the forest broken only by the distant rustle of leaves. Thomas tried to keep watch, but his thoughts were a storm he couldn't escape. Suddenly, a deafening crash tore through the night, followed by a low, guttural thud that made the ground tremble beneath him. He shot to his feet, his heart racing.

"What the—?"

The sound was followed by another, and then another, each one louder and closer than the last. Whatever it was, it was massive—and not alone.

"Thomas? What's going on?" — Chloe's sleepy voice cut through the darkness as she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Wake up! All of you!" — Thomas barked, his voice sharper than he intended. "We need to move. Now!"

Anna and Walter scrambled to their feet, their faces pale with confusion and fear.

"What is it? What's out there?" — Walter demanded, gripping the hunting rifle.

"No time to explain! Just run!" — Thomas snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The crashing grew louder, the earth shaking beneath their feet. Chloe hesitated, fumbling for her shoes, but Thomas grabbed her arm and pulled her upright.

"Forget the shoes! Move!" — he shouted, his voice laced with urgency.

"What the hell are we running from?!" — Anna cried, her voice trembling as she stumbled over a tree root.

"Something big," — Thomas growled, his eyes darting to the shadows. "And if we don't move faster, we're dead. To the river! Head for the river!"

Walter fell into step beside him, his knuckles white as he clutched the rifle. "You better start talking, Thomas. What exactly are we dealing with here?"

"Just keep running!" — Thomas snapped. He couldn't explain, not now. Not when every instinct screamed at him to get them to safety.

Chloe was falling behind, her oversized shoes catching on the uneven ground. She stumbled, nearly hitting the ground, but Thomas was there in an instant. Without thinking, he scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

"Thomas! Put me down!" — she protested, but her voice was weak, her arms clutching at his neck.

"Hold on and shut up!" — he shot back, his legs moving with inhuman speed.

Anna faltered next, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Thomas didn't hesitate. He slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and kept moving, his muscles burning but his determination unyielding.

"Holy hell," — Walter muttered, struggling to keep up. "How the hell are you doing that?"

"Ask me later," — Thomas growled through gritted teeth.

Behind them, the crashing grew deafening, the forest alive with the sound of snapping branches and guttural roars. Whatever was chasing them was close—too close. Thomas could feel the ground vibrating with every step it took, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something foul, something predatory.

Ahead, the river came into view, its surface glinting like liquid silver under the moonlight.

"There! We can cross it!" — Walter shouted, his voice tinged with hope.

But Thomas wasn't so sure. Whatever was behind them didn't seem like the type to be deterred by a little water. Still, it was their only chance.

The forest exploded behind them, and Thomas didn't dare look back.

Thomas and Walter exchanged a glance, and in that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passed between them. No words were needed—they both knew what had to be done. The ear-splitting crashes behind them were growing louder, closer, and there was no room for error.

"Into the water, now!" — Walter barked, his deep voice cutting through the chaos. Without hesitation, he dove into the river, his strong arms slicing through the current with practiced ease.

Thomas turned to Chloe and Anna, who stood frozen on the riverbank. Their faces were pale, ghost-like in the moonlight, and their eyes darted between the churning river and the forest behind them, where the crashing of trees and guttural roars grew ever nearer.

"We don't have time for this!" — Thomas snapped, grabbing both of them by the shoulders. His voice was firm, but not unkind. — "Jump in and swim! That's an order!"

"I-I can't swim!" — Chloe stammered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the river. She took a step back, shaking her head frantically. — "I'll drown!"

"You'll drown if you stay here!" — Thomas growled, his patience thinning. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. The first massive silhouettes of the herd were breaking through the treeline, the ground trembling beneath their weight. "You don't have a choice, Chloe!"

Anna, though trembling, stepped forward, her boots crunching on the gravel as she waded into the icy water. She turned back to Chloe, her voice shaky but resolute. "Chloe, come on! If I can do it, so can you! It's just water!"

"No, no, I can't!" — Chloe cried, shaking her head harder now, her hands clutching her chest as though that alone could anchor her in place.

Thomas clenched his jaw. There wasn't time for coaxing, not now, not with death bearing down on them. He stepped forward, scooping Chloe up in one swift motion. Her protests turned into a panicked scream as he carried her toward the river.

"Thomas, no! Put me down! I'll figure it out, I swear!" — she begged, her nails digging into his arm.

"Not today, Chloe!" — Thomas barked, his tone brooking no argument. He hurled her into the water with calculated precision, aiming for a spot just past the churning shallows. Her scream was swallowed by the cold splash, and for a moment, she disappeared beneath the surface. When she resurfaced, gasping and flailing, Thomas shouted, "Paddle with your arms! Kick your legs! Don't stop!"

Anna let out a gasp of shock but barely had time to react before Thomas grabbed her too. She yelped in protest, but he ignored her, tossing her into the water after Chloe. Anna hit the river with a loud splash but surfaced quickly, sputtering and coughing.

"You'll thank me later!" — Thomas growled before diving in after them.

The cold water hit him like a slap, stealing his breath for a moment, but he pushed forward, his powerful strokes cutting through the current. Behind him, the crashing of the herd reached a fever pitch. He risked a glance back and felt his stomach twist.

The trees along the riverbank exploded as an enormous Stegosaurus barreled through, its plate-covered back gleaming in the moonlight. Its spiked tail swung wildly, toppling a massive oak like it was a sapling. Behind it came another, then another, the herd stampeding in sheer terror. But it wasn't the Stegosaurs that unnerved Thomas the most. No, it was the smaller, shadowy figures darting in and out of the herd's wake—hunters. Predators. Their glowing yellow eyes pierced the darkness, and their guttural snarls sent icy fingers down his spine.

"What the hell is that?!" — Anna screamed, coughing as she struggled to keep her head above water.

"Doesn't matter! Keep swimming!" — Thomas bellowed, forcing his voice to rise above the chaos.

A splash to his right drew his attention. Walter was thrashing in the water, his head bobbing dangerously low as he fought the current.

"Damn it, I'm… not… a good swimmer!" — Walter choked, his voice rising in panic.

Thomas cursed under his breath. — "Use the rifle! Hold it across your chest and kick with your legs!"

"That's insane!" — Walter sputtered, but when the water surged over his head, he had no choice. He clutched the rifle like a makeshift float and started paddling awkwardly. It wasn't graceful, but it worked.

The group pushed forward, the icy current tugging at them like unseen hands trying to pull them under. Thomas reached the far shore first, his arms trembling with exertion as he hauled himself onto the rocky bank.

"Come on! Faster!" — he shouted, his voice hoarse.

One by one, they climbed onto the shore, gasping and shivering. Thomas grabbed Chloe's arm and pulled her up, then turned to help Walter, who collapsed onto the ground, coughing and clutching his rifle.

"That… was… hell," — Walter gasped between breaths.

"It's not over yet," — Thomas muttered, his eyes fixed on the river. The water churned violently, and his heart sank as he saw two glowing yellow eyes break the surface. Something massive and reptilian rose from the depths, its long, toothy maw dripping with water as it sniffed the air.

"Thomas, what is that?!" — Chloe whimpered, her voice barely audible.

"You don't want to know," — Thomas said grimly. "Everyone, on your feet. Now."

"We're not safe here, are we?" — Anna asked, her voice trembling as she clutched her soaked jacket.

"Not for a second," — Thomas replied, glancing toward the dark silhouette of the hill rising ahead of them. "Walter, you said the military base is on the other side?"

Walter nodded, still catching his breath. — "Yeah… if we keep going, we can make it in a few hours. But we need to move… now."

"Then let's go," — Thomas said firmly. He grabbed Chloe's hand and pulled her forward. "Stick close. Don't stop for anything."

The group set off, their wet clothes clinging to their bodies and their breath fogging in the cold night air. Despite their exhaustion, none of them dared to slow down. The forest began to thin, the path growing steeper as they climbed toward the hill.

After what felt like an eternity, Chloe broke the tense silence. "Thank you, Thomas," — she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "For not leaving us behind."

Anna nodded, managing a small, shaky smile. "Yeah… thank you"

Thomas didn't reply. He couldn't. His hands were still trembling, his mind replaying the horrors they had just escaped. Instead, he quickened his pace, his eyes fixed on the hill ahead. Beyond it lay the military base. Safety. Or so he hoped.

******

After two and a half hours, when they were almost at the base, cars appeared on the horizon. At first, it was just a flicker, like a mirage shimmering in the heat. But as they got closer, the flicker solidified into a long, snaking line of vehicles. There were so many of them—an entire stream of cars, trucks, and vans, all crammed with refugees and survivors, just like them. Dust billowed in thick, choking clouds, clinging to the air as the engines groaned and roared in unison, creating a single, unsettling rhythm that reverberated through the ground.

Walter whistled low, leaning forward as if to get a better look.

"Would you look at that," he murmured, his voice carrying a forced lightness. "Seems like we're not the only ones who decided to tune into the radio after all."

But there was tension in his voice, a tightness he couldn't quite mask. His gaze darted over the convoy of vehicles, eyes narrowing as he measured the sheer number of people. There were so many. Too many.

Chloe, walking just behind him, didn't notice his unease. Her own eyes sparkled with something close to joy, a rare sight these days. She took a step forward, her gaze sweeping over the procession of weary faces, the families huddled together in the interiors of their cars, children pressed against windows with wide, frightened eyes. To her, it was a sign of life. A sign of hope.

"It's good, isn't it?" she said, her voice soft but bright. "That there are others. That we're not alone."

Anna, standing next to her, nodded quickly, relief flickering across her face. She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Every new vehicle that passed seemed to chip away at the thick wall of fear she'd been carrying for days. With people, there was hope. And where there was hope, there was survival.

"Yeah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's good. It's really good."

But Thomas… Thomas stood apart from the group, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on the endless stream of vehicles. Something cold and gnawing churned in his gut, twisting tighter with every passing second. The sight of so many people, their drawn faces, their desperation—it didn't fill him with hope. It filled him with dread. It was as if something buried deep within him, something dark and unrelenting, was clawing its way to the surface.

"They're weak," the voice in his head hissed, low and insidious. "They won't make it. And you… you're not like them. A wolf doesn't belong among sheep."

Thomas clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. The icy grip around his heart tightened, and for a moment, he thought he might choke on it. He forced himself to look away, swallowing hard. His human side—the part of him that still clung to reason—fought desperately to drown out the whispers. But the images wouldn't stop. They were weak. And he… he could be stronger. Strong enough to—

"Stop it," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head sharply as if to dislodge the thoughts. His voice was low, barely audible, but the tension in it was unmistakable. "Keep it together. Just… keep it together."

Walter's voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

"Let's check with someone up ahead," he said, nodding toward a white car parked slightly off to the side of the main queue. "Get some intel on what's going on."

The group moved cautiously toward the vehicle. Behind the wheel sat an elderly man, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles almost as white as Thomas's. In the back seat, two children sat huddled together—a boy who couldn't have been older than ten and a little girl clutching a stuffed animal to her chest. Their wide, frightened eyes darted toward the group as they approached.

Walter raised a hand in greeting, forcing a friendly smile onto his face. He tapped lightly on the driver's side window. The old man flinched at the sound but slowly rolled it down, his weary eyes scanning the group. There was caution in his gaze, but also a sort of resigned acceptance, as if he had long since stopped expecting kindness or cruelty to make a difference.

"Hey there," Walter said, his tone polite but warm. "Sorry to bother you. We're just trying to figure out… this line. It leads to the military base, right?"

The elderly man nodded, but his expression darkened. He cast a glance at the long line of vehicles stretching ahead of them, then sighed heavily.

"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse. "That's what they're saying on the radio. That the bases are safe. That they're taking people in." He paused, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel. "But there's too many of us. They won't have room for everyone. They can't."

His words hung in the air like a shadow, heavy and oppressive. Walter nodded slowly, glancing back at the others. Chloe's face fell slightly, but she quickly plastered on a smile, trying to keep the mood light.

"Well," she said, her voice bright but wavering slightly, "at least we made it this far. At least we're not alone."

The old man's gaze softened as he looked at her, then at Anna, who was standing with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. He nodded again, but there was a sadness in his eyes that words couldn't touch.

"How did you get here?" he asked after a moment, his voice low. "You… you didn't walk, did you?"

Anna stepped forward before Walter could respond. Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath the surface.

"We did," she said. "We had a car, but we ran out of gas. We've been walking ever since."

The old man shook his head slowly, his expression one of quiet disbelief.

"You've got guts," he said, and there was genuine admiration in his voice. "Most people wouldn't have made it. You should… you should be proud of that."

Chloe smiled weakly, glancing at the children in the back seat. Her heart ached for them, for their wide eyes and trembling hands.

"The kids," she said softly, "they deserve a chance. They all do."

The old man followed her gaze, his expression hardening slightly. He nodded, but his voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

"We all deserve that," he said. "But not all of us are going to get it."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the engines seemed quieter, their hum muted by the weight of his words. Thomas stood a few paces away from the group, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He thought he heard something—faint, distant, but unmistakable. The roar of an engine. The growl of something far more dangerous.

And then, that voice again, curling like smoke around his thoughts: "You don't belong here. You don't belong with them. Leave. While you still can."

But Thomas said nothing. Not yet.

******

The gates of the military base loomed ahead, towering and formidable, framed by the warm yellow hues of the rising sun. Tall chain-link fences stretched out on either side, crowned with spirals of razor wire that glinted menacingly in the fading light. Armed guards stood at intervals along the perimeter, their dark silhouettes motionless against the backdrop of the base. One by one, floodlights flickered to life, casting long, harsh shadows across the cracked asphalt and the huddled masses of refugees, heightening the sense of tension and uncertainty in the air.

As the group neared the gates, the sound of boots on pavement grew louder. Soldiers moved in formation, their movements sharp and deliberate, rifles held close to their bodies. Their faces were masks of focus, stripped of any warmth or empathy. They were efficient, almost mechanical, as they worked their way through the line of cars, barking orders that sliced through the tense silence.

"Everyone out of the vehicles!" one soldier shouted, his voice amplified by a megaphone. "Leave the cars where they are. Take only what you can carry. I repeat, only the essentials! Move quickly and proceed on foot."

The line of refugees stirred into action. Doors creaked open, hinges groaning under the weight of neglect and overuse. People spilled out onto the road, clutching backpacks, duffel bags, and anything they could salvage from their vehicles. There were murmurs of confusion, the occasional sob, and the ever-present cries of children. A woman in a tattered sweater clutched a framed photograph to her chest, tears streaming silently down her face. A man argued with a soldier, his voice rising in desperation as he begged to keep the crate of canned goods strapped to the roof of his car. The soldier's response was curt and final—a sharp shake of the head, followed by the man's defeated silence.

Walter sighed heavily, his eyes darting over the chaotic scene. "This is a damn mess," he muttered under his breath. "They're herding people like cattle."

"No choice," Chloe said quietly, though her voice trembled. "At least they're letting people in. That's more than I expected."

Anna said nothing, her gaze fixed ahead, her jaw tight. She was scanning the soldiers, watching how they moved, how they carried themselves. Her instincts told her to stay alert, to be ready for anything.

A young soldier broke away from the group and approached them. He couldn't have been older than twenty, his face still soft with the traces of youth. His uniform hung slightly loose on his wiry frame, and his helmet sat awkwardly, as though it had been hastily adjusted. Despite his effort to appear composed, there was a nervous energy about him, a jittery edge that betrayed his inexperience.

"Uh…" he started, clearing his throat. "Are you in a car, or…?"

Before he could finish, Walter cut him off, his tone curt. "No, we're not in a car," he said, crossing his arms. "We walked. What's it to you?"

The young soldier blinked, momentarily thrown off by Walter's bluntness, but he nodded quickly. "Right, okay," he said, fumbling for words. "You'll need to follow me. We're processing everyone at the gate. Just keep moving."

As he spoke, his eyes flicked over the group. When his gaze landed on Chloe and Anna, it lingered—too long, too obviously. The damp fabric of their clothes clung to their bodies, the result of trudging through a river earlier in the night. The soldier's eyes glazed for a moment, his jaw slackening as his thoughts wandered.

Anna noticed immediately. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she crossed her arms over her chest, the motion sharp and deliberate. Chloe, catching his gaze a moment later, shifted uncomfortably and tugged at the edges of her torn shirt, trying to cover herself as much as possible.

"Hey!" Walter's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stepped forward, planting himself between the soldier and the women. His tone was sharp, almost a growl. "You wanted to say something, or are you just gonna stand there gawking?"

The young soldier snapped out of his trance, his face flushing a deep shade of crimson. He stammered, looking anywhere but at Chloe and Anna. "S-sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean—uh, just… follow me."

He turned abruptly and began walking ahead, his shoulders hunched as if he could physically shrink away from the moment. Despite his best efforts, though, his gaze flickered back over his shoulder every so often, betraying his lingering curiosity.

Chloe leaned toward Anna, her voice a low whisper. "That guy is definitely staring at us. It's… gross."

Anna exhaled slowly, trying to keep her voice calm. "He's just a kid," she replied, though there was an edge to her tone. "Probably hasn't seen a woman in weeks. We're wet, dirty, and—" she hesitated, glancing down at her torn shirt, "—a little too noticeable."

"That doesn't make it okay," Chloe muttered, shooting another wary glance at the soldier. "He could at least, I don't know, try to be subtle."

"Let it go," Anna said, though her own irritation was evident. "We've got bigger problems than some hormone-fueled rookie."

As they walked, the young soldier glanced back again, but this time, his gaze collided with Anna's. Her eyes were cold, unblinking, and sharp as a blade. She didn't say a word, but the message in her stare was unmistakable: Do that again, and you'll regret it.

The soldier's face turned an even deeper shade of red. He quickly turned away and quickened his pace, his boots scuffing against the asphalt. Chloe noticed and smirked faintly.

"That's better," she murmured under her breath.

The group continued forward, weaving through rows of abandoned cars and clusters of refugees. Around them, the atmosphere was a chaotic blend of tension and exhaustion. People whispered anxiously among themselves, their voices blending into a dull hum. A child wailed somewhere nearby, the sound piercing the air. The tang of sweat, gasoline, and despair hung heavy, clinging to everything like a second skin.

Thomas brought up the rear, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes roamed over the scene, taking in every detail—the soldiers' movements, the refugees' faces, the way the gates loomed ever closer. His stomach churned with unease. To him, it felt like a trap, like the sheep were willingly walking into the wolf's den. His fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing.

As they approached the gate, the floodlights illuminated the scene in harsh, unflattering light. The massive gates creaked as they slowly began to open, revealing the stark, utilitarian sprawl of the base beyond. Soldiers stood in a line, rifles at the ready, watching the refugees with unreadable expressions. Somewhere beyond those gates lay answers—or perhaps only more questions. Uncertainty gripped them all, but there was no turning back. Not now. Not here.