The warmth of the party — the laughter, the music, the lights — collapsed in an instant.
Now there was only blood.
Kaylen ran, the world around him shattering into fragments: screams clawing through the night, bodies slamming into each other in blind panic, the sickening crack of bones breaking underfoot.
The abandoned school loomed ahead — a jagged silhouette against the flickering firelight — the only shelter in a world gone savage.
Something heavy hit the ground behind them with a wet, meaty slap. Kaylen didn't turn. He didn't want to know.
Clara kept pace beside him, her face pale and set, breathing in short, frantic bursts. Miles was just ahead, carving a path through the chaos.
Kyle lagged. Kaylen's heart jolted as he glanced back.
Kyle stumbled, arms pinwheeling —Something moved in the corner of Kaylen's eye, too fast, too wrong —
A black blur. A flash of bone-white antlers.
And then Kyle was on the ground, screaming silently, blood spraying in hot, arterial bursts.
Kaylen skidded to a stop. Kyle's leg — his whole lower leg — was gone, ripped away at the knee like paper.
For a heartbeat, Kyle just lay there, staring at the ruin of his body, mind too broken to scream.
The wendigo hunched over him, teeth bared, ready to finish the kill.
Kaylen froze.
Then — another scream, shrill and desperate, from somewhere behind them. The creature's head snapped up. It let out a dry, crackling growl — and bounded toward fresh prey.
Kaylen moved before he could think.
He and Miles lunged back, grabbing Kyle under the arms, dragging him across the cracked concrete. Kyle's blood smeared a dark trail behind them.
The shattered window yawned just ahead — their only chance.
Glass bit into Kaylen's palms as he hauled Kyle up, Miles heaving from the other side.
With a final burst of strength, they shoved him through.
Clara scrambled after them, slipping through the jagged frame just as something heavy smashed into the wall where she'd been a heartbeat before.
They stumbled into the abandoned school, lungs burning, feet slipping on shattered tile. The world outside had turned into a graveyard of screams — but here, the silence was thicker.
Miles and Clara dragged Kyle inside, blood streaming hot from the mangled stump of his leg. Kyle made no sound — just wide, frozen eyes and shallow, gasping breaths.
"Hold him—!" Clara barked, her hands slick with blood. Miles yanked off his belt without thinking, cinching it high around Kyle's thigh, twisting hard. Kyle jerked, a strangled groan escaping him — the first real sound he made since the creature ripped him apart.
For a moment, the world shrank to their frantic movements, the sound of blood dripping onto the floor, the raw, animal stink of terror.
Then Kaylen's mind sharpened. Survival instinct snapping to life. He pressed against the wall, peering out through a crack in the broken window.
The courtyard outside was no longer a party. It was a slaughterhouse.
Outside, through the jagged teeth of broken glass, the monsters moved.
Kaylen squinted.
Four of them.
They didn't move randomly. They hunted — Tactically and cruelly. Circling survivors, forcing them into corners, cutting off any escape.
Like wolves herding sheep.
Loping between the bonfires, skeletal and agile. Their black fur soaked up the firelight, but they never crossed the flames — always slinking just beyond the reach of the heat.
They hunted by movement.
Kaylen saw it — saw how they reacted when a drunken partygoer stumbled into their view, how their heads snapped toward the fluttering of a jacket or the flail of an arm.
But if someone stayed still dropped low, silent — they passed them by.
Not blind. Not deaf.
They felt motion.
Like snakes.
And when they caught something — when claws struck, when bodies dropped — the monsters didn't drag victims away. They didn't hoard. They fed as if the feast could vanish at any second, and they would die clawing for one more scrap.
Kaylen's breath steamed in the cold air. A realization clicked into place, sharp and brutal
He turned to Miles and Clara, his voice low, urgent. "They track movement," he said. "If you don't move, they don't see you."
Miles' hands tightened on the makeshift tourniquet, white-knuckled.
Clara looked up, her face pale but fierce. "Then we stay low. Stay still. Only move when we have no choice." But Kaylen didn't believe in waiting for help.
Not tonight.
Not when the things outside already knew they were here — or would soon enough.
Hiding would only buy them minutes, maybe seconds. They had to fight back. Fire was the only thing the monsters feared.
Kaylen scanned the dark cafeteria, mind racing.
Rusting kitchen pans, overturned tables, plastic trays. And there — scattered across the cracked floor — sacks of old flour, some split open, spilling powdery trails like white blood across the grime.
He barely dared to hope.
In the right conditions — confined space, enough dust in the air —Flour could explode.
A single spark would trigger a chain reaction, a flash fire savage enough to roast anything caught inside.
It wouldn't kill them outright, maybe. But it would hurt them. Badly.
Kaylen breathing hard.
They needed a perfect moment.
Out beyond the cafeteria doors, he could hear it — the scratch of claws on concrete. The low, bone-deep rumble of something pacing.
Kaylen crouched low behind an overturned serving counter, heart hammering against his ribs. The dim emergency lights overhead flickered, washing the ruined cafeteria in a sick, stuttering glow.
Miles pressed hard on Kyle's thigh, the makeshift tourniquet already soaked a deep, angry red. Kyle barely made a sound — his mouth hung open, his chest shuddering with shallow gasps.
Clara knelt beside them, her hands stained with blood, knuckles white from gripping Kyle's shoulder. She blinked at Kaylen, desperate for direction.
Kaylen wiped the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. Then he forced himself to focus.
Focus.
He couldn't afford to freeze.
He leaned in close, voice barely more than a breath.
"Listen."
Miles and Clara snapped their eyes to him, both pale, exhausted, but listening.
Kaylen pointed toward the sacks of flour slumped against the far wall.
"We have one shot." His voice was steady. "Flour's flammable. Fine enough in the air, it explodes. Chain reaction. Big enough to light the whole room."
Clara's eyes widened. "You're serious?"
Kaylen nodded sharply. "Serious as it gets. It's risky, but if we time it right... we can fry every one of those bastards that walks in here."
Miles looked at Kyle, then the battered room, then back at Kaylen. "How?" Miles looked ready to argue, but something in Kaylen's expression — raw, determined — made him stop.
"They're still busy out there," Kaylen said. "Killing anyone still alive. But once it goes dead silent…" He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of what he was about to say. "Once there's no one left to scream, they'll start listening. Every breath. Every step."
Clara moved closer to Kaylen, almost instinctively, her hand brushing his for the briefest moment. His heart twisted, but he forced himself to stay focused.
"So what's the plan?" Miles whispered.
Kaylen inhaled sharply. "We wait. We wait until it's dead calm. Then I'll draw them in — make some noise, pull them all to this room."
Kyle let out a shaky, broken sound — part protest, part fear — but Kaylen continued.
"When they all pile in… we throw the flour bags. Smash them. Get the dust thick in the air."
He looked them each in the eye, his voice steady despite the panic clawing at his chest. "Then we light it."
Clara's face was pale, her eyes wide, but she nodded. Miles cursed under his breath. Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching against the pain.
It was insane. Reckless.
But it was the only chance they had left.
A heavy silence hung in the air after Kaylen finished speaking, each of them trapped in the unbearable weight of what had to come next.
Then Kyle let out a long, rattling sigh — the kind a man makes when he's made peace with the inevitable.
"No — I'll do it," he said hoarsely, his voice raw but certain. "I'll be the bait."
Miles jerked his head around to stare at him, horror flashing across his face. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Kyle gave a faint, crooked smile. His skin was ghostly pale, sweat glistening on his forehead, the crude tourniquet around his missing leg already soaked through. Still, his eyes were clear. Steady.
"If I stay here, I'm dead anyway," Kyle said, almost casually. "Might as well make it count. I'll scream, yell like a damn madman. Get all their ugly asses in here."
Miles shook his head violently. "No. No, screw that. If we get out of here, what am I supposed to tell your mom, huh?" His voice cracked, hands balling into fists at his sides.
Kyle reached out, grabbing Miles' sleeve with a trembling hand. His smile faltered, but his voice didn't.
"You tell her…" he paused, breathing shallow and fast, then forced the words out. "Tell her I went out like a hero. Tell her I made her proud."
Miles opened his mouth, desperate to protest again — but one look at Kyle's battered body, the way the life was already draining out of him, and the words died in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenching as a single tear slid down his cheek.
"Goddamn it, Kyle," he whispered.
Kyle gave his arm a weak, reassuring squeeze.
"Make it count, brother," he said. "Make it worth something."
Watching the two cousins — their faces tight with pain, anger, and reluctant acceptance — Kaylen felt his throat clench. Clara's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she didn't let them fall. They both knew Kyle's plan was their best chance. The cruelest... but the smartest.
There was no more time for grief.
Silently, they moved into position.
Kyle dragged himself to the center of the room, propping his broken body behind an overturned table. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes stayed fierce. In one blood-slicked hand, he clutched a lighter tightly — his final insurance.
Before Kaylen turned away, Kyle caught his eye and gave a lopsided grin. "Hey," he rasped, voice thin but steady. "When you get outta here... tell everyone I went out like a badass, alright?"
Miles choked on a sob, shaking his head violently. "Shut up, man. You're gonna— you're gonna be fine."
Kyle only smiled wider, somehow gentler. "Tell Mom I wasn't scared," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Tell her I made it count."
Miles pressed his forehead against Kyle's for one trembling second before pulling away, his hands balled into fists.
Kaylen couldn't speak. Couldn't even breathe.
Instead, he just nodded — a small, raw promise passed between them.
Kyle settled back against the table, lighter clenched in one hand, courage burning in his chest.
Meanwhile, Kaylen, Clara, and Miles slipped toward the entrance, pressing themselves tight against the wall, hidden from the shattered window. Kaylen and Clara each gripped a flour bag in their hands. Miles crouched nearby, lighter ready, heart hammering in his chest.
The plan was simple. Brutal. One shot at survival.
The silence outside thickened, pressing against the windows like a living thing. Somewhere beyond, the monsters waited, sniffing the air, sharpening their hunger.
Inside, the four of them waited too — hearts beating like war drums in the dark.
"Ready," Kyle mouthed silently.
Kaylen swallowed hard, then nodded once.
The waiting began.
Kaylen squeezed his eyes shut for half a heartbeat, as if he could blink away the nightmare.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be.It was supposed to be his birthday — his birthday.A night of bad jokes, cheap beer, maybe a kiss he'd been dreaming of from Clara if he was lucky.
Not... this.Not blood-soaked floors. Not screams shredded into silence.Not sacrificing a friend who had laughed with him just hours ago.
A sick, twisting guilt wrung his chest. Even if Kyle was bleeding out — even if it was the only logical choice — how could it ever feel right?Was survival worth stepping over the body of someone you loved like a brother?
The weight of it crushed him for a moment, heavy and cold.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, trying to anchor himself.There was no time for this. No time for second-guessing. No time for grief.
If he hesitated now, they would all die. Kyle would die for nothing.
Kaylen forced his breath to steady. Forced himself to move, to grip the flour bag tighter.Forced himself to live with it.
Because that's what Kyle wanted.And if nothing else — if nothing else — Kaylen would make sure it meant something.
The silence outside deepened, almost hungry.The monsters were coming.
Inside, Kaylen blinked away burning tears and prepared to do the unthinkable.
The screams outside fell into an eerie silence.Only the grotesque sounds of joints popping, stretching unnaturally, and the low whisper of something almost like a growl remained — a monster's frustrated murmur, a predator stalking unseen prey.
Kaylen felt his stomach knot.It was time.
He caught Kyle's eye across the room and gave a grim nod.
Kyle's face twisted — a flicker of fear, regret, maybe even relief — before he set his jaw.Without another word, he grabbed the heavy iron pan beside him and began slamming it against the floor with reckless force, screaming until his throat nearly tore.
The response was instant.
Heavy, thudding footsteps rushed closer — and then the door exploded inward.
Three of them.Two crawled in on all fours, spindly and bone-white against the dark.The third clung to the ceiling like some grotesque insect.
Kyle kept pounding, kept screaming, refusing to stop even as the monsters closed in.
The one on the ceiling struck first — a blur of claw and muscle.In one savage lunge, it ripped Kyle clean in half. His body barely hit the floor before the others pounced, tearing at him with sickening, wet sounds.
Kaylen's throat clenched, but he forced himself to move.
"Now!" he hissed.
Clara and he hurled their bags of flour at the monsters. The bags burst open, a thick, choking fog of white powder flooding the air.The creatures, so reliant on movement and sight, thrashed wildly, swiping and clawing through the blinding cloud, only worsening it, stirring the flour into a dense storm.
The flour fog thickened — a blizzard of powder choking the air.The monsters thrashed, blind and furious, slashing at the swirling white cloud but finding nothing.
"Now!" Kaylen shouted, voice sharp and urgent.
Miles lit the lighter.
A spark. A flash.
BOOM.
The explosion hit like a tidal wave.The flour ignited instantly, the room becoming a fireball in a blink.
Kaylen, Clara, and Miles were thrown backward by the blast.Kaylen crashed hard against the wall, the air punched from his lungs. Clara landed nearby with a painful cry. Miles hit the ground rolling, right hand burning, clutching his side.