It crawled into view—long and low.

  Spider-limbed. Massive. Its torso hauled something behind that squelched with each movement. Human arms, several, pale and stiff, fused to its sides. A bulbous ribless cage pulsed like a massive blister on its chest, glowing faintly, ringed by cracked bones. On its back, tangled corpses swung like rotting tassels, their limp legs and hands brushing the floor.

  Its head was human. Or had been. Stretched skin. No eyes. A single, lipless mouth seemingly glued and forced open, bloody skin raw and torn at the corners in each shriek. It cried like a baby—high, keen, awful. Instead of ears, clusters of puckered holes spiraled down the sides of its face, twitching at every sound.

  Naomi stepped backward, mouth dry. “No. Sudden. Movements,” she whispered, barely shaping the words.

  Jonas froze beside her. Fran didn’t. Still crouched over the corpse, he gripped his knife tighter. “One last gem,” he breathed, and drove the blade in.

  But the metal struck the gem, and a clear, crisp ring resounded.

  The creature’s head jerked.

  It heard.

  It sprinted—limbs slamming the floor, ribs rattling, dragging the mass behind it with a loud animal cry.

  “RUN!”

  No one hesitated. The moment it moved, Fran yanked the last gem free in a messy, wet pull, and they all ran. Naomi first, leaping through the shattered window and into the outer hallway.

  They landed hard on the opposite side. Naomi stumbled, her boot caught in a clutch of veiny growth. She hit the ground, shoulder first. Pain bit through her rib, but worse was the wave of heat in her skull. Fran grabbed her good arm and hauled her upright, and they kept on.

  Behind, the thing screamed—no, wailed—the sound of crackling through its many earholes like broken radio static.

  It chased.

  Their boots hammered the floor, veins tugging at their legs as they passed. Naomi felt one snag her ankle, and she kicked it loose with a strangled cry, the effort making her head pound.

  They rounded a corner—another corridor—another junction—and slammed into a metal door leading back toward the exit path.

  Jonas twisted the lever. “Close it!”

  Fran leaned his full weight against it. The spider hurled itself from the other side, shrieking. Its clawed limb shot through the gap—a grotesque spider-leg of bone and flesh.

  Fran snarled, shoved harder, and with a metallic groan, the door closed just enough—crunch. The limb severed, black fluid gushing as the door slammed fully shut. It shrieked. The arm twitched on the floor beside them, oozing, the fingers flexing, still clawing the air.

  In the distance, a soft, distant wail echoed again.

  Naomi looked back.

  Another one.

  Across the hallway. Not moving. Just… listening. The same stretched head. The same swaying bodies fused behind it like a gown of the dead.

  Fran didn’t wait.

  “Go!”

  They bolted.

  No time to think. Just run.

  It let out a breathy, rasping cry and lunged forward, faster than the first.

  They sprinted down the corridor, boots slamming against the wet floor. Naomi’s breath came ragged. Her mask clung hot to her face, trapping the metallic taste of dried blood from her nosebleed. The pounding in her head made every footstep sound like it was echoing inside her skull.

  The creature was gaining.

  Just before the next junction, Fran stumbled on a vine.

  “Fran!” Naomi shouted. They reached for him.

  He twisted hard, trying to free himself, but the spider was close. One of its limbs shifted and pierced clean through his pants, dragging him back. Glass splintered through his skin, causing small multiple cuts on his neck and arms. He bit his lip through the pain.

  And the creature was now above him.

  Naomi and Jonas froze, stepping back slowly. Naomi’s knees wavered. Her balance wasn’t right. She forced her body to stay still, even as the numbing in her skin made her want to shake it off.

  The thing paused. The puckered holes along its head twitched, tasting the air for sound. It didn’t know where Fran was.

  It probed the tiles, raised one of its limbs and…

  Pierce. One missed him entirely. Scrape.

  Pierce. And another miss. Scrape.

  Pierce. The final shot lanced through his palm.

  Fran bit down a scream so hard his jaw popped.

  Blood dripped from the hole in his palm, pooling under his wrist. He didn’t want to let his place be known, so he stifled his cries as hard as he could. His other hand clawed at the floor, gripping at anything he could.

  Naomi’s heart thudded in her ears, dizzying her. If Fran cried out, it was over.

  She glanced at Jonas. One nod.

  Moving fast, but quietly, Naomi tightened her satchel on her shoulder. Then she crouched low, her fingers fumbling for the rusted steel tray. Jonas bent, snatching a length of steel rod from the floor.

  He raised it high.

  Now.

  Jonas struck the steel tray hard in Naomi’s hands.

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  CLANG.

  The sound cut through the corridor, sharp enough to make Naomi’s arm ache. She grit her teeth.

  The creature’s head whipped toward them instantly.

  CLANG—CLANG—CLANG.

  It shrieked, the baby-cry warping into something insectile. In a violent twist of limbs, it abandoned Fran entirely, leaving him coiling on the floor, clutching his bleeding hand.

  “Go!” Naomi shouted, her voice cracking.

  They pounded backward, keeping up the noise. The thing lunged after them, dragging its mass, shuddering on the floor.

  Behind them, Fran staggered to his feet, one arm bleeding, but alert. They had bought him time.

  Naomi and Jonas’ heartbeat thundered. They turned and sprinted through the dark, past heaps of overturned trolleys and shattered glass trays, around stagnant pools where thin veins writhed at the edges, reaching for their boots.

  Behind them, the thing scraped and clattered along the walls, its scream warping with the corridor’s echo. The clanging of rod against steel still rang in its mind, pulling it onward in a frenzy.

  At the next junction, they nearly barreled into Fran. Blood slicked his entire palm, but he was upright, eyes wide and wild.

  No words—just movement. They ran together, boots hammering the floor in uneven rhythm.

  The tunnel mouth opened ahead. They tore through it, in the same path they took earlier, past the faint, ghostly lights of strange blooms receding behind them.

  The metal gate was finally visible. Jonas slammed into the lever wheel, forcing it to turn. Rust screamed. The gate groaned open just enough for them to burst through.

  “Shut it!” Fran barked.

  They swung it back, and Jonas twisted the wheel until it locked with a teeth-jarring grind.

  And shut.

  On the other side, faint but unmistakable, came a muffled, frustrated wail.

  Only then did they collapse outside.

  Naomi’s knees buckled the moment her body registered that there was no more running. Gravity took her by the spine and pulled her into the sand, a sharp cry escaping before she could bite it back.

  Then it all hit at once.

  The pain she’d been running from, throbbing shoulders from the fall, hands and head burning, and her legs that felt like they had rope for muscles. They all rushed back in one terrible piece, almost suffocating her. She lay still, tears falling on her temples as every breath ragged.

  Fran collapsed beside her, chest heaving. “Shit.”

  Jonas straightened slightly. “What?”

  “I lost the last one.” He clutched his arm with a torn cloth.

  “That’s fine,” Naomi rasped, though her voice broke halfway through. “We’ll… have enough.” She curled forward slightly, cradling her wrist against her stomach, blinking tears and sweat from her eyes.

  Fran didn’t answer. Just sat there, bleeding quietly while he wrapped his palm tightly with the cloth, as the night wind hissed over the dunes.

  After a few minutes of silence and rest, Fran stood and shook off dust from his body. “A few hours ‘til lockdown. We should head back.” He offered a hand to Jonas, then to Naomi.

  The two stood, and they got moving, but Naomi’s steps dragged.

  The desert stretched endlessly, stars stark overhead, and the settlement lights in the distance were tiny, wavering dots. They seemed so far away.

  Her breathing grew heavier. Each step was another flare of pain through her spine and shoulder, each swing of her arms pulling on the injured shoulder or wrist. The ache turned to a deep, nauseating pulse in her gut.

  Jonas glanced at her more than once. “You good?”

  She nodded, the motion barely there. “Mm.”

  Through the outer fence of the hospital. Past the checkpoint flags. Each one that they picked back up felt heavier.

  Two hours later, and the lights grew closer—almost there.

  Naomi’s knees buckled without warning. She hit the sand hard, a short, sharp gasp tearing from her throat.

  “Guys…” Her voice was thin as thread.

  Jonas was already beside her, looping her arm over his shoulder. Fran took her other side, and they moved in slow, dragging steps. She barely felt her boots touch the ground.

  By the time they reached the settlement’s metal gates, the moon was high. The bunker door opened with a groan, spilling warm light.

  Marcella stood in the common area, the only one awake.

  They got Naomi inside, her legs folding again just over the threshold. They eased her down onto a bench. Her head tilted forward, eyes half-shut, her breath catching with every exhale. Someone removed her mask, and cool air hit her sweat-soaked skin. They saw the blood that crusted below her nose, and Marcella stifled a cry by the time she saw her face.

  “Eleven’s enough,” she whispered, barely more than a breath.

  Her body slackened then, and she went completely still, breathing deep, unconscious.

  And the night held, but they were home.

  ***

  Naomi woke up sweating bullets, her tank top soaked. The heat hadn’t let up in days, and the stale air inside the bunker did little to help. She pushed herself upright, slowly this time, but her left shoulder still gave a deep, dull pull. She winced, swung her legs off the bed, and reached across it. Her sister’s side was empty.

  Rising too fast sent a faint throb up her neck. She put on a clean shirt, careful not to jolt her arm, then padded through the corridor toward the common area. The metal floor was cool under her bare feet, and each step carried that slow, dragging weight that sleep couldn’t take away.

  In the corner near the crates of salvaged toys and worn books, her sister sat cross-legged with the other toddler, giggling. Relief loosened Naomi’s jaw, and before she could call her sister, a familiar voice called for her instead.

  “Elina,” Naomi replied, spotting the woman.

  Elina carried her infant in one arm, rocking her gently while ladling soup with her free hand. Her dirty blonde hair was tied back in a sloppy knot, her blue eyes tired but kind. She offered Naomi a steaming bowl of soup and slices of hard bread.

  “Thanks.” Naomi took it carefully, settling opposite Jonas, who was already halfway through his portion.

  “You feeling better?” Jonas asked before taking a spoonful.

  Naomi nodded. “Where’s Fran?”

  “He went out looking for a last gem,” Jonas said between spoonfuls. “Said he’d be quick. He should be back by now.”

  Naomi frowned. “What’s he doing? He was wounded…” She tore the bread, slower than usual. “And it’s almost time.”

  Before she could take a bite, the heavy metal hatch creaked open. Everyone looked up. Fran ducked through the opening, sweat pouring down his face, the mask leaving a circular mark on his skin.

  He collapsed beside Jonas with a grunt.

  Naomi looked at him, wanting answers, but he only shook his head.

  “I figured.” She dipped the bread into her soup.

  Jonas leaned back, flashing her a grin. “Well, last night was fun, but we’ve got enough. We collected half a mountain yesterday. I don’t think hunger’s going to kill us before the heat does.”

  Fran tugged off his gloves and stretched out his bandaged, wounded hand. “We’ll push farther out when we have to. For now, eat. Maybe even enjoy that soup.”

  Naomi snickered, finally lifting the bowl. “If you can call this soup.”

  Elina snorted, scooping another ladle into a tin bowl for Fran. “Hey, I did my best. You try making soup out of tubers and vegetable powder. ‘Hoping’ doesn’t make it more edible.”

  A few chuckles rippled across the room.

  Even Fran cracked a grin. He then turned to Naomi. “You feeling alright?”

  “My shoulder feels worse after that spider run.” Her eyes fell onto his bandaged palm. “How’s your hand?”

  “Weaker grip, but it feels fine.” Fran slowly flexed his hand.

  “Is nobody gonna ask me how I am?” Jonas piped up. “I almost died from the spider run too!”

  That earned a round of laughter from everyone. Naomi sighed. The knot in her chest had eased a little.

  “So,” she grunted as she stood. “Shall we get going?”