The Marked Ones

Leon Graves hadn't slept.

He sat against the cold metal wall of the mechanic's shop, his SIG Sauer resting in his lap, his eyes locked on the garage door. The clicking sound from the night before had disappeared, but the feeling of being watched hadn't.

Eve Voss sat beside him, her M4 carbine across her legs. She hadn't slept much either.

"Think it's gone?" she whispered.

Leon didn't answer.

The clicking noise—whatever it had been—wasn't random. That thing had moved with purpose. It had been searching for them.

Eve shifted. "I don't like this, Leon. It wasn't infected. It wasn't human."

Leon sighed. "We don't have time to figure out what it was. We move. Now."

He pushed himself to his feet, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. The rest of the group stirred.

Riley was still kneeling next to Travis, her hands stained with dried blood. The man's breathing was steady, but weak.

"He's not walking," she said quietly.

Leon's jaw tightened. He already knew.

"We can't stay here," Eve muttered.

Riley's eyes darkened. "Then what do we do? Leave him?"

Leon checked his pistol, avoiding her stare. "If we have to."

Riley looked like she wanted to hit him. "You're serious?"

Leon met her gaze, cold and unyielding. "If we stay here, we die."

Eve stood, stretching. "He's not wrong. We have no food, barely any water, and something out there knows we're here."

Riley shook her head. "I'm not leaving him."

Leon sighed. People like her got people killed.

"Then we find another way," he said. "But we're not staying here another night."

He moved toward the garage door, gripping the handle. He hesitated for a half-second, listening.

Nothing.

Then he lifted the door.

The main street was deserted.

The sky was gray, heavy with clouds that threatened rain. A strong wind swept through the town, rattling broken street signs and loose debris.

Leon scanned the rooftops, then the alleyways. No movement. No sound.

Too quiet.

Eve exhaled. "I hate this place."

Leon agreed.

Behind them, Riley and Travis emerged. The injured man leaned heavily on Riley, his face pale and sweat-drenched. Tyler and Sam, the two kids, lingered in the doorway.

Leon turned to them. "You two stay close."

Tyler nodded. Sam didn't respond.

"Where are we going?" Riley asked.

Leon glanced toward the abandoned grocery store down the road.

"If we're leaving, we need supplies."

Eve frowned. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"No."

But they didn't have a choice.

The sliding glass doors had been smashed inward, shards of glass crunching under their boots as they stepped inside.

The air was stale, filled with the scent of rotting produce and mildew. Shelves were overturned, aisles stripped bare.

Travis leaned against the counter, groaning. Riley checked his bandages, wincing. "He needs antibiotics. More than what we have."

Leon ignored her and moved deeper into the store.

Eve followed. "Think we'll find anything left?"

Leon didn't answer. Scavengers always took the obvious stuff first. But sometimes, people missed things.

They searched the aisles in silence. A single dented can of peaches sat near a toppled display shelf. Leon grabbed it.

"Jackpot," Eve muttered dryly.

Leon pocketed the can and kept moving.

Then he heard something.

A faint shuffling sound.

Not footsteps.

Something dragging.

Eve tensed. "Tell me you hear that."

Leon raised his pistol and turned the corner.

The back door was open—a heavy metal door leading to the stockroom. A faint breeze pushed it inward, revealing only darkness beyond.

Eve swallowed. "I hate this."

Leon moved forward anyway.

The moment he stepped inside, the smell hit him.

Rot.

Old, deep rot.

Eve coughed, covering her nose. "Jesus Christ."

Leon flicked his flashlight on.

The beam illuminated a pile of bodies near the back wall—half-decayed, torn open. Their flesh wasn't just eaten. It was carved.

Symbols had been cut into their skin.

Eve took a step back. "What the hell is this?"

Leon knelt, studying the markings. Sharp. Precise. Too clean to be random.

Ritualistic.

His stomach tightened.

This wasn't just infected. This was something worse.

Then he heard it.

The clicking sound.

It was inside the room.

Leon moved fast, turning his flashlight upward.

A shape clung to the ceiling.

It wasn't human.

Not anymore.

Long, twisted limbs curled against the rafters, its face half-covered in stretched, leathery skin.

It turned its head toward them, its jaw unhinging.

Click. Click. Click.

Eve whispered, "Leon—"

It dropped from the ceiling.

Leon fired.

The first shot hit its shoulder, but the thing moved too fast.

It slammed into Leon, knocking him backward. His head cracked against the concrete, his vision spinning.

Eve fired—a short burst from her M4. Bullets ripped through the creature's back, black blood spraying across the walls.

It shrieked—a high-pitched, unnatural sound. Then it lunged for Eve.

Leon forced himself up, his body screaming in pain. He grabbed his knife.

The thing was on top of Eve now, clawed fingers wrapping around her throat. She gasped, struggling.

Leon didn't hesitate.

He drove his knife into its skull.

The blade sank deep, all the way to the hilt.

The thing twitched, then went still.

Leon shoved it off her, breathing hard.

Eve coughed violently, gripping her throat. "You—are such—a pain in my ass."

Leon wiped the black blood from his knife. "You're welcome."

Eve groaned. "What the hell was that?"

Leon stared at the body.

He didn't know.

But the carved symbols, the unnatural speed, the clicking—none of this was normal.

And if there was one of these things, there were more.

He grabbed Eve's arm. "We're leaving."

No arguments.

Just survival.

They ran back through the store, shoving past broken shelves and scattered debris.

Outside, the sky had darkened. The wind howled through the empty streets.

Riley was waiting, eyes wide. "What happened?"

Leon didn't answer. "We move. Now."

Eve grabbed Tyler and Sam, pulling them along. Travis barely stayed on his feet.

They moved fast, sticking to the shadows. Every instinct screamed at Leon to get the hell out of this town.

Then he saw it.

A figure stood at the far end of the street.

Tall. Unmoving.

Watching.

Leon froze.

It wasn't one of the creatures.

It was human.

Wrapped in tattered robes, its face hidden beneath a hood.

It lifted one hand—and pointed directly at Leon.

Leon's blood ran cold.

"Go," he ordered.

Nobody argued.

They ran.

As they disappeared into the woods, Leon glanced back one last time.

The figure was still there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And somehow, Leon knew.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.