CHAPTER 213: 213

The sun rose sluggishly over the horizon, casting gold over gray, but it brought no warmth.

They were moving again.

The truck rolled slowly along the cracked highway, its tires crunching over debris and old bones bleached by time and weather. Mist swirled at the edges of the world, thinner here but still watching, still waiting.

Leo was curled in Zara’s lap, thumb tucked into his mouth, hair matted with sleep. Every bump in the road jolted his small frame, but he didn’t stir.

Winter sat across from them, head leaned back, fingers resting lightly on his rifle. His eyes were closed, but Zara knew he wasn’t asleep.

None of them truly slept anymore.

At the front, Sam muttered something to keep himself awake most likely, voice low. Naomi dozed with her daughter and son tucked beneath her arm, while Mike kept scanning the road like he expected it to peel open and reveal monsters at any second.

Richard stirred once, a soft groan escaping him. Ima leaned over to check the IV, her brow furrowed with worry, but she didn’t speak.

They all knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

"Do you think we’ll find another kit like that?" Naomi asked quietly, not looking at anyone.

Zara didn’t answer. She ahd gotten that in Coty B’s cache. No doubt it had been cleared out or exposed to the elements after the others got to it.

Neither did anyone else.

*****

By mid afternoon, the truck rolled to a stop on the side of the highway for it to be checked and for them to stretch their legs. Not ideal but their only best option.

The engine grumbled under Sam’s steady hands as he knelt by the wheel hub, fingers blackened with grease and cold grit.

Naomi was crouched near the hood, fidgeting with the radiator cap. Her ponytail was frayed, her face streaked with road dust, but her movements were tired. But it was clear she’d done this before.

Worked on a farm, had a lot of practice with trucks. She’d told Sam and Mike as she followed them to the front to check on the engine.

That was a few minutes ago.

"You sure this path won’t snap the axle in half?" she muttered, eyeing the cracked trail leading west. The ground beyond was eaten by creeping fog and loose gravel, the edges fringed with trees twisted by time and weather. "Looks like a drunk god laid this road down."

Sam shrugged. "Better than a bullet between the eyes at Outpost Nine."

Naomi stood and crossed her arms, eyes flicking over to where Zara sat inside the truck, Leo nestled beside her with a handful of crayons and a sheet of rumpled paper.

Where had he gotten that?

"He hasn’t looked up once," Naomi said.

"Kid’s been through hell," Sam murmured.

"I know that," she said slowly, voice tightening. "I mean... look at him. At the kit. That thing was sealed. Still sterile. Packed tighter than government supply crates used to be. And none of us have had anything close to that in months."

Sam’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t answer.

Zara and Leo had been family in their journey through the outback. Naomi won’t find an ally in him.

"She’s hiding something."

Sam gave her a look. "We all are."

She nodded reluctantly.

Then, seeing that she wasn’t going to get anything from Sam, Naomi turned and spotted Ima standing near the truck bed, holding an IV line steady over Richard’s half-conscious form while repacking their medical gear with one hand.

She stepped closer to help, her eyes briefly flicking to the pale sheen of sweat on Richard’s brow.

"Ima," Naomi said under her breath. "Where did that med kit really come from?"

Ima didn’t look up right away. She was focused on securing the line, her brow tight with concentration. Only after a long pause did she speak.

"Zara said she saved it. I believed her."

Naomi’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t sound sure."

"I’m not a fool," Ima said. Her voice wasn’t sharp, but firm. "That box was too clean. That gear? Pre-Collapse. Sealed tech. Either she stumbled on a bunker no one else found... or something else is going on."

Naomi’s gaze drifted back to the boy. "You think it’s the kid?"

Again, Ima didn’t answer.

*****

Atop the truck, Winter scanned the treeline.

The mist rolled low and thick like smoke clinging to the edge of the forest’s damp roots.

Something in his gut twisted. It wasn’t just the cold.

It wasn’t the quiet.

He shifted his weight silently, eyes dropping to the mud beside the road.

Tracks. Heavy. Splayed.

Too big for any of them. Too fresh.

Not the Mist creatures. These had heel patterns. Soles. Human. But wrong. Deep. Weighted.

Someone—or something—had been following.

He made no move to alert the others yet. Not until he was sure.

"How’s it going?!" He called to the front.

"We are almost done!" Sam responded. "We should be back on the road in 10!"

"Well let’s hurry the hell up! The mist is getting closer!"

*****

Inside the truck, Leo sat cross-legged, humming softly as he colored. The sheet beneath his crayons bloomed with shades of black and red and streaks of yellow. It was messy, chaotic.

At first it seemed innocent, just a blur of childlike strokes.

But there was a shape.

A long-limbed figure. Round, staring eyes. Spidery arms stretching across a tunnel wall.

Zara stared at it, her blood running colder than the air.

They’d seen that. Back in the old subway ruins, when they were fleeing the tunnels.

One of Adrian’s failed experiments. It hurt tot know such a scary thing was in her child’s mind.

They entered the forest outskirts by evening time.

Mist slithered between the trees like a living thing, curling through the branches, nestling in the damp grass. It was hard to tell which was natural mist and which was the damning mist. Shadows stretched longer than they should have. The road became a joke—jagged roots, potholes like craters, visibility dropping every mile.

Sam switched on the headlights. The beams knifed through the fog like pale swords.

And something moved.

A silhouette. Tall. Slender. Humanoid—but wrong. One arm dragged along the ground. The other was too short. It stared at the truck through the beams for a heartbeat—and then vanished into the trees.

"Did you see that?" Naomi whispered, frozen in place.

"I saw it," Sam said, hand moving to his pistol.

Suddenly—crack.

The truck lurched violently. The front end dipped. Metal screamed.

"Hold on!" Sam called, swearing to avoid hitting trees as they spun.

Sam killed the engine as the truck skidded to a stop.

"Everyone stay inside!" Winter ordered, rifle up.

"What the hell was that?" Naomi barked.

Winter was already off the truck, weapon pointed into the shadows.

Zara pulled Leo close, tension slicing through her chest. She peered out the window.

Sam and miles jumped down from the vehicle, weapons raised, crouched low. The front tires were shredded—torn into strips, rubber flapping loose.

Spike strip. Buried under leaves and dirt.

Man-made.

"Tires are blown," Mike shouted. "At least two. Maybe more!"

Zara’s heart pounded. She reached for her gun, but Winter stepped in front of her.

"No. Stay here," he ordered.

"The hell I will—!"

"Zara. You’re the only one who can get Leo out if something happens. Protect Naomi. Protect the kids. Ima can’t run with Richard alone. You can."

She stared at him, jaw tight.

Then, finally, nodded. "Fine. But don’t die."

Winter gave her the ghost of a smile. "Not planning to."

Then he was gone, melting into the fog with Sam and Miles.

From the mist, laughter floated out first—low, jagged, and gleeful in a way that set every instinct on edge.

"Well, well. Look at what we got here." The voice was raspy, soaked in years of cigarettes and rot. "Whole family picnic. You even brought a fuckin’ ice chest?"

They emerged from the trees like insects crawling from a split carcass—seven of them, maybe more, dressed in patchwork leather and mold-stained fabric, with weapons strapped to every limb.

Some held rusty machetes. One gripped a rifle and another swung a chain lazily in one hand, dragging the end like a snake through the dirt.

The leader—a thick, bald bastard with pitted cheeks and a smirk that didn’t reach his cold eyes—spat into the mud and scratched his crotch. He was missing two fingers on his left hand. A jagged blade hung from his belt like a badge of honor.

"Truck’s a nice catch," he said, nodding. "Not too fucked. We’ll take it."

"No one’s taking shit," Sam muttered, gun low but ready.

A thin woman stepped up beside the leader, her face smeared with something dark—charcoal or dried blood. She grinned with rotted teeth. "We’ll take the gas, the food, the water... and the ladies."

Her eyes swept the truck, pausing on the door where Zara had just disappeared. "That one had a real nice ass when she climbed back in. Round like a goddamn ration pack."

The others cackled.

Sam flinched, there went their chances of getting out of this without a fight. He resisted the urge to look at winter.

"Bet she’s clean too," said a wiry man with weeping sores on his neck. "Might even let her scream a bit first."

"I like ’em when they try to claw," said another, licking something off his knife that didn’t look like food. "Makes me feel alive, y’know?"

"Maybe we don’t even need the truck," rasped the bald one. "Just tie the bitches to the hood and drive slow."

Winter moved first.

One clean pull of the trigger.

CRACK.