For a long moment, no one moved.
The clearing had gone utterly still, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Even the faint hum that had been lingering—the gentle pulse from the moss—seemed to fade beneath the weight of what had just happened.
Alya stood frozen, the makeshift club in her hand now trembling. Caleb could feel Hana's grip tighten around his wrist. Behind them, murmurs began again, lower this time, edged with panic.
"Did you hear that?""What was that?""He's gone. Oh God, he's gone..."
The girl with the ribbons was crying openly now, and the middle-aged woman who had comforted her looked lost for words. The dreadlocked man—Caleb would later learn his name was Jalen—stepped forward and held up a hand. His voice was calm but firm.
"We need to stay together. That's the only way we get through this."
"But he went in there," said someone. "We can't just leave him!"
"You saw what happened," Jalen replied. "Charging in blindly will get more of us killed."
Caleb's heart was pounding, but he nodded. Jalen was right. This place was wrong. Everything about it. Even the mist had presence—weight. It didn't just move. It watched.
Something had been waiting.
Then the body came back.
Dragged.
A scream went up as a figure emerged from the mist—twisted, wet, barely recognizable. The man who had charged in, his head caved in like a melon, one arm gone below the elbow, eyes wide with a final, unspoken terror. His torso was streaked with something like oil—but it shimmered wrong, shifting under the light like it was alive.
People backed away. Someone vomited. Others began crying or praying. A few simply stared, shock rooting them to the spot.
Alya rushed forward, but stopped short of the body, her expression hardening as she scanned the surrounding trees. "We're not alone out here," she said. "But we are exposed. We need shelter. And we need to move. Now."
Jalen looked over the group. "Everyone grab what you can. Water, food, anything. We find somewhere safer before nightfall—if that's even a thing here."
"Where do we go?" Hana whispered.
Caleb pointed toward the least mist-covered path—a thin break between the trees, where the moss seemed dimmer and the forest less dense. "There."
The survivors hesitated, but instinct told them that waiting would mean death. They moved quickly, quietly, with growing dread, casting glances behind as the clearing faded behind them.
As they entered the woods, the sounds changed. No birdsong. No rustling. Only the soft crunch of moss underfoot and their own ragged breathing.
The trees were enormous—black bark threaded with amber veins, like they bled molten sap. One man touched a trunk and recoiled. "It's warm," he whispered. "Like flesh."
The canopy above was high, and the light had a permanent twilight quality. Shadows fell in strange directions. Occasionally, something flickered just beyond sight—movement glimpsed too late, gone before it could be named.
Caleb stayed near Hana and a small cluster of survivors: Jalen, Alya, the girl with the ribbons (her name was Ivy), and an older woman named Marla. The EMT kept checking on people, her voice steady, but even she was fraying around the edges.
Every so often, a survivor would share a bit of their last memory, like a group clinging to scraps of sanity.
"I was washing dishes when the lights went out," said Marla. "Then there was a noise... like metal tearing. Then everything stretched."
"Same here," said another man. "Like time bent. I saw stars. Then… I was just gone."
"I saw... faces," said a younger man, shivering. "In the dark. Smiling. Right before I disappeared."
A chill ran through Caleb, though not from the cold. Why us? he wondered. Why now?
Then the forest opened slightly. A break in the trees revealed a shallow basin covered in tall grasses and strange red flowers that pulsed faintly. Beyond it: a rock formation—flat and wide, like a fallen monument. It offered elevation and cover.
"That's our best bet," Alya said. "We can rest, regroup, and figure out next steps."
They crossed the field slowly. The flowers emitted a faint hum, vibrating slightly as they brushed past. One boy reached out to touch one—
"Don't!" Caleb hissed.
Too late.
The moment the boy's fingers brushed the petal, the flower retracted violently, curling into itself with a screech. A split-second later, a burst of spores erupted from the stem—bright orange and fast-spreading. The boy staggered back, coughing, his face covered in dust.
Alya rushed to him, pulling her scarf up over her mouth. "Breathe slow! In through the nose. Don't inhale too deeply."
They dragged him to the rock and helped him lie flat. His breathing eased. For now.
Jalen stared down at the flowers. "This whole place is a trap."
They spent the next hour settling in. The rock provided a wide ledge with visibility in all directions. Marla and a few others tried to count their numbers—maybe fifty left, down from sixty or more. Some had wandered. Others hadn't made it out of the mist.
Night approached—or something like it. The sky dimmed to a deeper gray. The moss lost its glow. The air grew colder.
Then the sounds began again.
Whispers. Not voices, not quite. Just tones—rising and falling, like distant chants.
Hana was sitting next to Caleb, knees pulled to her chest. "This is worse than a nightmare."
He didn't reply. His eyes were on the edge of the field. The mist hadn't followed them, but it was out there. Waiting. Watching.
Then, from the far side of the rock, someone screamed.
They ran.
The boy who'd inhaled the spores was writhing. His skin had turned gray and blotchy. Veins near his temples pulsed with unnatural color. His limbs jerked. He clutched his chest like something was growing inside.
"Hold him down!" Alya shouted.
Two people rushed forward, but the boy lashed out. Not blindly—with intent. He grabbed one of them and bit his forearm, tearing skin clean off. The man shrieked and fell back, blood pouring.
The boy's eyes were completely black now.
Caleb pulled Hana back as the group scattered.
Jalen grabbed a rock and struck the boy once—twice—three times. Until he stopped moving.
Silence again.
No one spoke for a long time.
"He was infected," Alya finally said, her voice trembling. "The spores did something to him."
"What if there are more like that?" someone whispered.
"There will be," Jalen said grimly. "And next time, someone might hide it."
Caleb looked around, scanning faces. Already, suspicion was growing. Fear wasn't just in the trees now—it was between them. Inside them.
Night fell.
One by one, they posted watches. Caleb took the second shift, sitting beside Jalen as the others tried to sleep. Somewhere in the distance, something howled—a long, wet, guttural sound that made the hairs on his neck stand up.
Jalen leaned in. "You see it too, don't you?"
Caleb looked at him.
"This place," Jalen said. "It's not just dangerous. It's alive. And it's learning about us."
Caleb said nothing.
But he knew Jalen was right.
Beneath them, the rock felt colder now. The trees pressed closer. And in the shadows beyond the clearing, something waited.