The Quiet Breaks

Perun woke to a gentle but urgent shake. His sister's face hovered just above his, her green eyes sharp.

"Perun," she whispered, her breath hot against his face. "The Voice stilled again. It's time."

He blinked, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stretched, his muscles stiff from hours of sitting against the cold concrete wall. The air in the bunker felt heavy, stale, the faint metallic scent of rust and blood clinging to his clothes.

"How long was I out?" he muttered, his voice rough from disuse.

"Not long," she said, glancing toward the hatch above them. "Maybe three hours."

He pushed himself upright, flexing his fingers, feeling the dull ache of his partially healed hand. The bite wound from the Echo had scabbed over too quickly, the skin knitting itself back together in a way that felt unnatural, but he wasn't about to question a small mercy in this nightmare.

He glanced at his sister. He could feel the tension in her posture, the slight tremor in her hands as she clutched the rusted metal pipe she'd chosen as her weapon.

"What about the creatures?" he asked, his voice low. "Anything change?"

Lyra hesitated, her eyes flicking to the ceiling, as if she could sense the shadows shifting above them. "I think… I think I heard them leaving the house when the Voice stilled. At least, I hope so."

Perun took a slow, steadying breath. "Only one way to find out," he said, his hand already reaching for the crowbar he'd set against the wall before he'd closed his eyes for a few hours.

He hadn't slept at all the first night. After Baba's death and Lyra's collapse, he'd spent the long, suffocating hours in the bunker with his fists clenched, eyes locked on his sister's twitching form, every small movement a potential death sentence.

They'd agreed it was better if he got some rest, even if only for a few hours. They needed to stay sharp if they had any hope of surviving whatever was waiting for them above.

He flexed his wounded hand, the dull throb a constant reminder of how close he'd come to death. Despite the ache, his grip felt strong, his strength intact—a promising sign.

Lyra watched him, her green eyes narrowing, her grip on the iron pipe tight. She could summon those dark lines, the power within her, but she was afraid of it. She'd felt it the first time, the rush of strength, the surge of power, but something about it felt wrong to her, like an echo of something darker she couldn't quite place, at least not yet.

She was still so young. Only a year younger than him. Just days ago, she'd been anxious about her university applications, worried about friendships that might fade as she and her friends went their separate ways. Now, none of that mattered. Even the memories of their parents and Baba, whose bodies still lay somewhere outside, felt distant, as if they belonged to another lifetime.

Perun took a slow breath, his hand tightening around the cold steel of his crowbar. He'd be damned if he let his sister go first through that hatch. No matter what kind of strength she was awakening, he was still her older brother, and he'd protect her, even if it killed him.

Slowly, carefully, he reached for the hatch, his fingers curling around the iron ring. He paused, listening for the faintest creak of floorboards, the shuffling steps of Echoes above. Only the low, distant sound of the wind slipping through cracked windows reached him.

He lifted the hatch just a fraction, his eyes straining against the dim light filtering through the cracks in the floorboards above. The hallway looked empty. Shadows stretched long and thin, twisted by the weak, gray light seeping in through the boarded-up windows.

He pushed the hatch open a bit more, his breath catching in his throat as he slowly rose, crowbar held tightly in his right hand, his eyes flicking from corner to corner, searching for movement.

The house was quiet. The air felt heavy, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something.

He glanced back at Lyra, who had moved up behind him, her fingers wrapped tightly around the length of her makeshift weapon.

Perun shoved the hatch fully open, his shoulders tensing as he listened for the slightest rustle of movement. When only the whisper of stale air met his ears, he hoisted himself up, his boots scraping against the rough concrete lip of the bunker entrance.

The hallway felt cool and stagnant, the faint stench of blood and decay clinging to the walls. Broken glass crunched underfoot as he moved slowly, his steps deliberate as he reached for the basement door to his left, just a meter from the hatch. He paused, eyes flicking through the shadows, every nerve on edge for the first hint of danger. But the basement remained as empty as before, only darkness staring back.

He turned toward the hallway, the kitchen door just two meters to his right. His steps were quiet, but his pulse thundered in his ears.

Lyra followed, her steps light, her breath steady.

The kitchen door hung crooked on its hinges, still stained with their grandmother's blood, shattered dishes littering the floor like scattered teeth. Perun's jaw tightened as his eyes tracked the faint, rust-colored streaks smeared across the floorboards—trails left by the bodies that had once filled this room. His grandmother's body, along with the creatures, was gone, dragged away through the other kitchen door, leading to the backyard.

Perun motioned for Lyra to follow, each step measured as he moved toward the back door, the old wooden floor creaking softly beneath their weight. The faint light from outside cast long, jagged shadows through the broken window panes, splintering the gloom with cold, gray beams.

He paused at the door, breath catching in his throat as he slowly cracked it open, letting a sliver of icy light slice through the darkness. His eyes adjusted, the washed-out colors of the world beyond gradually coming into focus.

The backyard stretched out before them, ash drifting slowly from the sky like silent, falling whispers.

Perun's pulse quickened as he caught sight of two creatures just five meters from the house, their twisted forms framed against the pale light. He tensed, expecting them to lunge, but they remained still, locked in strange, contorted positions. Their eyes and mouths gaped open, staring up at the ashen sky, a faint, almost melodic hum vibrating in the cool air around them.

He glanced back at Lyra, his voice a low, controlled whisper.

"What are they doing?"

Perun's grip tightened around the crowbar, the cold metal pressing into his palm. He leaned closer to the doorframe, his eyes fixed on the two twisted forms in the yard. They swayed slightly, their bodies rocking in a slow, unnatural rhythm, the ash settling on their outstretched arms and hollowed faces.

Lyra shifted behind him, her breath steady but shallow. He felt her hand brush his back.

"They're just… standing there," Perun whispered, his heart pounding against his ribs. "Why aren't they moving?"

Lyra leaned over his shoulder, her green eyes narrowing as she studied the creatures.

"They're… humming," she whispered, her voice tinged with confusion and fear. "Can you hear it?"

Perun strained his ears, and now that he focused, he could just barely make it out — a low, vibrating note, almost musical, echoing faintly through the ash-choked air. It reminded him of the deep, resonant hum of power lines on a hot summer day, a sound that seemed to crawl beneath his skin, setting his nerves on edge.

"What the hell are they doing?" he muttered, his eyes darting between the two figures.

The first, their old neighbor Stepan, now a tall, twisted Echo, swayed slightly in the gray light. Its familiar frame had stretched into a gaunt, leathery mockery of itself, skin pulled tight over jutting bones, its sunken eyes staring blankly at the sky, the whites thin and stretched, jaw hanging slack.

The second, Dragan's grandson—the boy they'd watched succumb to the ash just yesterday—stood beside it, smaller and hunched, limbs bent at unnatural angles. His head twitched in slow, irregular jerks, thin fingers curling and uncurling in a rhythmic, mindless pattern, as if grasping for something just out of reach.

Both figures shivered faintly in the cold air, their empty stares fixed on the ash-streaked heavens, a low, droning hum vibrating from their twisted throats.

Lyra stepped forward, her grip on the metal pipe tightening. For a moment, Perun saw the faintest flicker of that same glow behind her eyes, like the dying embers of a fire.

"Wait," he whispered, his free hand snapping out to catch her arm before she could take another step. "Are you crazy? You'll die if you walk into the ash. And... something's not right."

She froze, her head whipping toward him, eyes wide, the green in them almost too bright in the thin, gray light. For a heartbeat, she looked less like his sister and more like the twisted echoes swaying in the yard, a wild, dangerous energy crackling just beneath her skin, her breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.

Then she blinked, and the glow faded, her shoulders relaxing a fraction.

Perun took a slow, steadying breath. He leaned his head out a bit more, letting his eyes scan the rest of the yard. The snow-covered ground was mostly undisturbed, the thin layer of ash crunching softly under the creatures' bare, twisted feet as they swayed, their toes digging into the frozen earth. But beyond them, near the old garden shed, Perun noticed something — a third figure, crouched low to the ground, its head tilted forward, long, matted hair hanging down like a curtain of filth.

He felt his pulse spike, his breath catching in his throat.

"Shit," he whispered, his hand tightening around the crowbar. "There's another one. By the shed."

Lyra's eyes flicked to the corner of the yard, her grip tightening on her pipe, the dark lines on her arms shivering in response.

The third Echo suddenly stiffened, its head snapping up, hair whipping back to reveal a face twisted into a grotesque, permanent grin, its eyes wide and empty, black veins pulsing beneath paper-thin skin.

Before Perun could react, it let out a high, keening wail, the sound slicing through the air like a knife, its body jerking upright with unnatural speed. The two Echoes nearest the house snapped to attention, their heads swiveling toward the noise, their gaping mouths stretching even wider.

Perun's mind raced, his heart pounding in his ears.

"This one is different" he whispered, his voice sharp and urgent. "Back inside now!"

He grabbed Lyra's arm, yanking her back toward the door, but it was too late. The Echo by the shed had already started moving, its long, twisted limbs propelling it forward in a lurching, predatory stride. The other two creatures followed, their bodies jerking into motion, feet dragging through the ash, their jaws snapping open and closed as they rushed toward the house.

Perun shoved Lyra back through the kitchen door, slamming it behind them just as the first Echo's twisted fingers scraped against the wooden frame, leaving deep, splintered gouges.

"Block it!" Lyra gasped, her back hitting the wall as she stumbled back, her eyes wide, the dark lines on her arms flaring so bright they almost seemed to burn.

Perun threw his shoulder into the door, bracing it with his full weight as the creatures outside crashed against the thin wood. Their bony fists hammered the frame, each impact sending splinters down his spine, the old hinges screaming under the strain. Dust shook loose from the doorframe, drifting down like the ash outside—a grim reminder of the world crumbling around them.

He risked a glance over his shoulder, catching Lyra's eyes. She was pressed against the counter, her chest heaving, the iron pipe in her hand trembling slightly. For a heartbeat, their gazes locked, the unspoken truth passing between them. There would be no more running, no desperate dashes through dark hallways, no frantic whispers of half-formed plans. This kitchen, with its blood-streaked floorboards and shattered glass, would be their last stand.

The door shuddered beneath his weight, the wood beginning to crack, a sharp, splintering sound that sent ice through his veins. Then, for a fleeting moment, the pressure against the door eased, the frantic, clawing sounds fading. He felt his heart lurch, his mind grasping for the impossible thought that maybe they'd turned back, that perhaps the echoes had been drawn away by something else.

But then he heard it—the sharp, brittle crunch of glass behind him. He twisted just in time to see the echo of Dragan's grandson crawl through the shattered kitchen window, its thin, childlike form slipping over the broken frame. It landed in a twisted crouch, limbs bent at impossible angles, its sunken eyes locking onto Lyra with a mindless, predatory focus.

It lunged, arms outstretched, its thin, too-long fingers grasping for her throat.