CHAPTER 22: ASHES AND SILENCE

[NOTE: This Chapter is written in 1ST person POV! It is a one-off.]

...

They left me behind.

Not abandoned... no, no, Reid was very clear. "Hold the perimeter. Keep the fire dead. Don’t do anything heroic." Which is an ego-rubbing way of saying, "you’re useless in a fight, but we like having someone to cook and stitch us up afterward."

So here I am, alone, lonely, babysitting a patch of dirt that definitely wants to eat me.

In case you don’t know me, I’m Travis Keene. Yeah, the good for nothing freeloading cook and medic of the team.

The moment their footsteps faded, the silence pressed in like a wet blanket and the dread soon followed. I sat on the overturned crate we’d claimed as a stool and stared at the mist. It stared back.

"Great," I muttered. "First day as acting camp commander, and my troops consist of two dented pans and a bag of dried beans. Fear me, monsters!"

I’d love to say I used the solitude to meditate, steel myself, maybe do a thousand push-ups like Reid probably does when no one’s watching. But nope, my brain, traitor that it is, immediately went to what if they don’t come back?

What if the wild swallows them whole and I’m left here alone until something chews me into jerky?

What if Ethan doesn’t survive? He’s the one with the miracle slot machine power. If he dies, I’m just... me, a scavenger who knows how to boil water without burning it and how to stitch a wound without sewing a person to their pants.

"Fantastic resume," I told myself. "Skills include soup, sewing, and screaming quietly in the apocalypse".

I paced. I sat. I stood again.

My hands wouldn’t stop twitching, so I organized the packs. Rations here, bandages there, knives sharpened and laid out in a row that made me look like I was preparing for a cooking show hosted by serial killers.

It wasn’t courage, it was panic management. Keep the hands moving, and maybe the brain won’t implode.

Night soon came...

The forest does this thing at night. It doesn’t get quiet, it gets... curated. Sounds peel away until the only ones left are the ones that want you to notice.

First came the distant clicking, like claws on stone. Then the occasional branch snap; too heavy for wind, too deliberate for chance.

I lay down in the bedroll and immediately got back up again. I was too exposed, too inviting. What if another night ambush happens?

So I dragged a log across camp, tossed the bedroll on top, and patted it like a body double. "Congratulations," I whispered. "You’re the brave one tonight."

I wedged myself into the hollow of a fallen tree, knees to chest, knife in hand. Not the big combat knife Jonas lent me, oh no, that one’s too heavy. I clutched my trusty kitchen blade, serrated, six inches. More for bread than beasts, but hey, I’m resourceful.

The forest whispered back.

I remembered something Reid once said: "Fear is fuel. Waste it and you die, use it and you live."

So I used it. My trembling hands strung fishing line between branches. Empty ration tins dangled like a wind chime designed by lunatics.

I sprinkled glass shards from a broken bottle around the camp’s edge. It wouldn’t stop anything, but maybe I’d hear them crunch first.

I even crushed some of Mira’s dried herbs into a smoldering pot and let the smoke coil upward. Not sure if it masked my scent or just made the place smell like a witch’s pantry, but the acrid sting in my nostrils felt reassuring.

By the time darkness settled like a lid, I’d turned our sad little camp into a paranoid nightmare of tripwires, fake beds, and smoke. "Haha, eat that monsters!"

I sat in my hollow, knife pressed to my thigh, and whispered, "Any monster steps in here, they’re getting five-star hospitality and a complimentary stab".

Sometime later, I finally heard the first jingle and it nearly made me scream.

Somewhere on the west side, a tin clinked softly. Then again. My breath hitched. Something was moving, deliberate and slow. My pulse hammered so loud I was sure the thing could hear it.

Through the mist, I saw a shadow crawl into the camp. It was small, but wrong, like a wolf put through a blender and glued back together by someone who’d never seen one before. Its body hunched low, back twitching, fur matted in spikes. The snout was too long, teeth bared in a constant grin.

It crept toward the bedroll. Toward the decoy.

I bit my tongue to keep from making a sound. Blood filled my mouth, metallic and grounding.

The creature sniffed, circled, then pounced straight onto the bedroll. The log underneath shifted, and the thing snapped at it with a wet crunch. Surprised, it snarled, head swinging in confusion.

That’s when the herb smoke hit its nostrils. The thing gagged, wheezed, and backed off, eyes watering in irritation. A miracle! Turns out Mira’s weird plant stash was good for more than tea.

It slunk away, muttering growls into the fog.

I stayed frozen for ten full minutes after it left, knife digging into my palm. Only when my legs began to cramp did I dare unclench.

"Bedroll decoy, one. Scavenger, zero," I whispered hoarsely.

Then I laughed, sharp and shaky. The kind of laugh that sounded like it might tip into sobbing any second.

The hours bled together. Every creak was claws, every gust was breath. I kept whispering commentary to myself, as if narrating my own survival show.

"Welcome back to Cooking with Terror," I muttered when I gnawed a ration bar. "Tonight’s menu is cardboard with notes of despair."

When my traps jingled for the second time, it was only wind. When they clinked the third time, I nearly wet myself, but it turned out to be a squirrel thing dragging one leg. I tossed a rock at it and felt like a hero for three whole minutes.

By dawn, my eyelids felt like sandpaper.

My body was a coil of cramped muscles, and my brain had been playing what if they’re all dead on repeat for so long it became background noise.

Then, in the pale gray light, shadows moved through the mist.

At first I thought it was more monsters. My heart dropped into my stomach. But when the shapes solidified, I almost lept for joy. I saw Reid’s broad frame, Kara’s spear angled like a banner, Jonas limping but still huge, and in the center, Ethan.

I almost sobbed. Almost. Instead of sobbing though, I climbed out of my hollow, raised a hand, and called, "Took your time, didn’t you? Dinner’s been waiting all night".

Reid gave me one look, measured, relieved, slightly proud, and nodded once. Jonas laughed. Kara rolled her eyes.

And just like that, the silence wasn’t so heavy anymore.