The Hunters

Leon Graves moved through the dense tree line, his breathing steady, his pistol held low but ready. The morning mist still clung to the forest, dampening sound and giving everything an eerie stillness. He didn't like it.

Silence wasn't safety. It was a warning.

Eve Voss walked just behind him, her M4 carbine at the ready. Travis and Riley followed, slower, exhausted from the long trek. The two kids—frightened and malnourished—lagged even further behind.

Leon still didn't trust them.

"You're slowing us down," he muttered without looking back.

The boy, maybe sixteen, narrowed his eyes. "We didn't ask to come with you."

Leon ignored him. They could be lying, leading them into something worse. But something about the way the girl kept glancing over her shoulder, the tension in her every movement—told him they were running from something.

And whatever it was, they were terrified of it.

They moved west toward Madison Valley, keeping to the tree line. Leon checked his watch. 7:30 AM. The sun had fully risen, casting long shadows through the pines.

Then he heard it.

A distant metallic clang.

Leon raised his fist. The group stopped.

Eve crept closer. "You hear that?"

He nodded. "Not the wind."

It came again.

Bang. Bang.

A dull, heavy hammering sound, like metal on metal. It came from somewhere up ahead.

Travis exhaled sharply. "I don't like this."

Leon studied the treetops. No birds flying away. No movement at all.

It meant one of two things—either nature was dead here, or something worse had made everything afraid.

Leon gestured forward. "Stay low. We check it out."

Riley hesitated. "Why? Can't we just go around?"

"Because whatever's out here already knows we're here," Leon said.

They moved.

Leon crouched behind a fallen log, scanning the area ahead. A dilapidated gas station stood at the edge of the highway, its once-bright sign now rusted and covered in vines.

A single fuel pump remained standing, the others knocked over or destroyed. The windows were shattered, the front door hanging open.

The hammering sound had stopped.

Eve swept her rifle over the building. "Doesn't look occupied."

"That's the problem," Leon muttered.

Riley frowned. "We could check for supplies."

Leon hated staying in one place too long, but she wasn't wrong. They were running low on everything—food, water, ammo. If they didn't find something soon, they'd be in trouble.

Leon nodded. "We go in fast, grab what we can, get out."

Travis muttered, "Famous last words."

Leon stepped over broken glass as he entered, the smell of mold and dried blood hitting him instantly. The air was stale, heavy.

Eve moved toward the aisles, her rifle scanning the shelves. Riley ducked behind the counter, checking through cabinets.

Leon went deeper inside.

A body slumped against the back wall—a man in a trucker's jacket, his throat torn open.

Leon crouched next to him, touching the blood. Still tacky. Not fresh, but not old either.

"Not infected," he muttered.

Eve glanced over. "Killed by someone else?"

Leon nodded. Someone had cut his throat.

Then he saw it.

A trail of blood leading toward the back. The door to a walk-in refrigerator stood slightly open.

Leon approached, keeping his steps silent. He pressed his back to the wall, listening.

Breathing.

Slow. Controlled. Someone was inside.

Leon exhaled and kicked the door open.

A shape lunged out—fast, desperate.

Leon reacted instantly, catching the attacker's wrist and twisting hard. A knife clattered to the floor. He slammed the figure against the metal shelving, gun pressed against their ribs.

It was a boy.

Thin, dirty, wild-eyed with fear. Maybe sixteen.

He struggled, snarling, but Leon held him firm. "Easy."

A second figure burst from the shadows—a girl, just as thin, swinging a tire iron.

Eve fired before Leon could react.

The bullet grazed the girl's arm. She screamed, dropping the weapon, clutching her shoulder.

Leon shoved the boy to the floor, gun trained on him.

"Shit," Eve muttered, lowering her rifle.

Riley and Travis ran in from the front.

Travis took one look at the scene and sighed. "We got problems?"

Leon studied the kids. "They were hiding."

The girl gritted her teeth, still clutching her wound. "We thought you were the others."

Leon frowned. "What others?"

The boy hesitated, then whispered, "The ones hunting people."

Leon stiffened. Eve's expression darkened.

"What do you mean, hunting?" Riley asked.

The girl's eyes flicked toward the gas station windows. "You don't want to be here when they come back."

Leon didn't ask more questions.

"Move," he ordered, pulling the boy up. Eve grabbed the girl, ignoring her protests.

They left immediately, slipping into the trees, staying low.

Leon didn't know if the kids were telling the truth, but something felt wrong.

The woods were too quiet.

After ten minutes of moving west, Leon motioned for the group to stop. "Listen."

The wind whistled through the trees. No movement.

Then—the faint sound of voices.

Not close. But approaching.

Eve whispered, "Think it's them?"

Leon didn't answer.

Travis checked his shotgun. Riley's face had gone pale. The kids looked like they were about to be sick.

Leon motioned for them to move. Faster.

They disappeared into the trees.

But whoever was out there wouldn't stop looking.