《The Outlands》


 One

    My dad used to tell me stories about people who could go into space¡ªastronauts, I think they were called. I lived for those stories. They were so lucky to leave this world to a place where you couldn¡¯t see what it became. My dad said, if I wanted to, I could be an astronaut when I grew up.


    What a lie.


    He probably thought the world would be different by now, something better, like how it used to be Before, or how he remembered it anyway. I¡¯m a ¡°wasteland baby¡±: a kid born After.


    On my back, on my cot, I stare through the mesh. The moon is high, surrounded by stars. What I wouldn¡¯t give to be that far away, to be the astronaut my dad promised I could be.


    Someone yanks the tent¡¯s zipper and whacks the thin door open. I raise my head enough to see a girl with frizzy, curly hair step inside, her light tan skin appearing darker in the glow of the lantern, then I go back to staring at the night sky.


    She clears her throat, but I don¡¯t respond. After making a frustrated noise, she says, ¡°Jay, seriously?¡±


    I sigh. ¡°What, Maisy?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean ¡®what¡¯?¡± She sounds annoyed. ¡°Get your head on. It¡¯s our shift.¡±


    I sit up and frown. ¡°Already? Man, I didn¡¯t even get to sleep¡­¡± I press my palm to my forehead, feeling the exhaustion of having to do something before actually doing it.


    Maisy rolls her eyes and folds her arms. She doesn¡¯t have her coat on, showing the dingy tee-shirt she¡¯s wearing. A baseball bat is slung across her back. The end of it sticks out over her shoulder, and the straps of the sling crisscross her torso. She carries the weapon with her everywhere.


    ¡°That isn¡¯t my problem,¡± she says. ¡°Get up. Get dressed. I don¡¯t want to be late.¡± With that brief encounter, she flicks herself around and leaves.


    Falling back to my cot, I groan, ¡°I never asked for the night shift.¡± I roll over and glance at the open notebook sitting on the nightstand, automatically counting the twenty tally marks along the top line. I reach out and slowly glide my finger over each of them.


    ¡°Jay!¡± Maisy shouts.


    I spring up, yelling back, ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± before mumbling, ¡°Stupid schedule.¡±


    Swinging my feet to the ground, the cot creaks, and as I stretch, I feel the knot in my back the generous bed gave me. It beats sleeping in the forest, but a cushion or two wouldn¡¯t hurt. After slipping on my boots, I grab my coat from the chair. The Teddy bear sitting on the corner of my small desk catches my eye. It¡¯s missing its nose, and its once dark brown fur is faded. Even the seam on its left foot is torn open, but I¡¯ve kept it. It was a gift from my mom. The stuffed toy and I have gone through Hell and back together.


    Hells I don¡¯t want to think about before heading into one of the most dangerous Ranger shifts.


    I frown and turn away, shrugging my coat over my shoulders as I leave.


    Dozens of tents fill the courtyard, most of them zipped up for the night, while a few remaining kids huddle around fires. Lit torches that stay lit day and night run along the walls. It¡¯ll be curfew soon, which means the camp will go dark. Everyone will be asleep except for Lookouts and Rangers.


    I¡¯ve been with the camp for a few years now. After my dad died, it was my mom and me for a while. Then it was just me, before a group of Supply Runners found me in a warehouse. I never would¡¯ve thought kids had a chance in a world where the cards are stacked against them. But since I¡¯ve come here, though there¡¯s been casualties¡ªthere¡¯ll always be casualties¡ªI¡¯m starting to think kids can fight back, especially since we¡¯ve been given a chance we never asked for.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    My dad told me, when the crawlies first sprouted, adults around the country started dying or turned into creeps. Either way, kids were left alone. The ones lucky enough to survive¡ªif you call something like this lucky¡ªgrew up with the wasteland, waiting for their Threshold¡ªthe age the crawlies¡¯ toxin becomes poisonous. It isn¡¯t the best kind of living, but at least you¡¯re alive.


    You¡¯d think a bunch of kids in one place without any adults would go up in flames. ¡°No more rules¡± and ¡°we can do whatever we want¡±. Maybe that¡¯s how it was at the beginning, I don¡¯t know, but that time is long gone. It¡¯s actually pretty calm around here. Everyone has a job that keeps the camp running. We even have water, though it needs to be filtered¡ªsomething I¡¯ll never understand since I¡¯m not an Engineer. The only reason any of us knows how to do anything is because older kids teach the younger kids, and the cycle continues whenever a new kid comes in. It¡¯s a good system.


    As I round the last group of tents and head into the small clearing in front of the gates, I spot Maisy with her hands on her hips. Her famous ¡°you¡¯re wasting my time¡± scowl makes an appearance. What a sweetheart.


    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± she says.


    ¡°You¡¯ll live.¡± I cover a yawn with my hand, wishing I had gotten at least some rest.


    She rolls her eyes. ¡°Where¡¯s your club?¡±


    I pause mid-stretch to pat myself all over, coming up empty handed. I¡¯m off to a great start. ¡°I forgot it.¡±


    ¡°You knew this was your shift.¡± She shoves a finger in my face. ¡°It¡¯s on the schedule. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised, though.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t sign up for this,¡± I say, putting my hands in my coat pockets.


    Maisy laughs. ¡°Louie¡¯s spot needed to be filled, and you were picked to fill it. Don¡¯t be such a wasteland baby.¡± She takes her bat from its sling. Handing it to me, she says, ¡°You can use Lincoln.¡±


    I accept the metal weapon, letting its head drop to the ground. ¡°You¡¯d let me use your boyfriend? Really?¡± I raise an eyebrow and smile. ¡°This is a surprise.¡±


    She squints at me, the shadows from the torches making her face even scarier. Maisy¡¯s sixteen. She isn¡¯t the oldest in the camp, but she¡¯s older than most.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t make me regret it.¡±


    I nod and lift the weapon, resting its head in my hand.


    ¡°Good. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    She turns around, but I stop her. ¡°Wait. What will you use?¡± I look her up and down.


    At first glance, Maisy isn¡¯t intimidating. Not many of us are, even past first impressions. Most kids in the camp don¡¯t bother with Ranger shifts. They enjoy their walls, and they¡¯ll do whatever job they can that lets them stay inside them. Everyone, if old enough, is assigned a job, and being a Ranger is one of the most dangerous, Supply Runner being the other. As unintimidating as a bunch of children are to other survivors, we¡¯re especially not a threat to the monsters we¡¯re scouting for during our shifts. Maisy needs something more than her scowl for protection.


    She pulls out something from behind her back. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, Junior.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± I snap, but the weapon she holds catches me off guard, stopping my frown.


    The camp doesn¡¯t have many guns, but Supply Runners scavenge a few here and there. They even find ammo sometimes, too.


    ¡°You¡¯re cleared to carry?¡± My eyes widen. ¡°Since when?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Everyone on Night Shift gets one.¡± Her tone is matter-of-fact.


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t I get one?¡±


    She raises an eyebrow, then quickly turns away, tucking the pistol in her pants. ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± she says. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because you¡¯re a stand-in and haven¡¯t trained with a firearm. A gun in your hands and you¡¯d be more of a liability than an asset.¡± She laughs before continuing, ¡°Let¡¯s go before we get reamed for being late.¡±


    I want to continue arguing, but she tilts her head back and whistles, shutting me up. I look to watch the kids stationed at the crows¡¯ nests yank chains, setting the pulley system in motion. The gate rises with a rumble and stops about five feet from the ground. It never goes any higher, and it doesn¡¯t really need to. We¡¯re kids. We¡¯re all pretty small, and the higher the gate goes, the more exposed the camp is.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Maisy says as she ducks under the gate. ¡°I¡¯m done waiting around.¡±


    ¡°Good luck, guys!¡± one of the Lookouts shouts down to us.


    The current Lookouts, Simon and Sam, are twins, and I can never tell them apart when they¡¯re up there, especially when it¡¯s dark. To save both him and myself the embarrassment, I wave back without a word and follow Maisy.


    I always wonder if the twins know their job has them cornered; or do they think being that high off the ground gives them more of an advantage? Maybe that¡¯s why they agreed to do it. I wouldn¡¯t. One entrance and exit? You¡¯re stuck. And creeps can climb. Poor guys. I¡¯d take my chances running. Then again, I¡¯m the one leaving camp every day to scout for the monsters forcing us to hide behind these walls in the first place.

 Two

    Once Maisy and I are outside, the gate lowers, the grating sound more noticeable without the crackling fires and murmuring voices within the camp.


    Caught in the quiet moment, I yawn, then say, ¡°So¡ª¡± My volume shocks the exhaustion out of me. With how calm the night is, my normal voice sounds like I¡¯m shouting with hopes of hearing my echo. I wince, and at a whisper, start again, ¡°So where do you go on Night Shift? Normal route?¡±


    Maisy clicks on a flashlight and shines it around. ¡°Yup. Circle the perimeter and make sure there¡¯s no unwanted visitors. Nothing fancy.¡± She looks back at me, her expression lost in the dark. ¡°Did you bring a flashlight?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    She groans. ¡°What is wrong with you?¡± She doesn¡¯t mind not whispering. ¡°You didn¡¯t come prepared at all.¡±


    ¡°It slipped my mind.¡± I put up my hands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She shoves something at my chest. ¡°That¡¯s all I got. I didn¡¯t expect to have to pack for two. But I guess that¡¯s my fault.¡± As she walks away, she mumbles, ¡°This is what happens when I get stuck with children.¡±


    I press the button on the small plastic object Maisy gave me, and a thin beam of light appears.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, but she¡¯s already halfway to the trail. I hurry to catch up. The yellowed grass is as tall as my knees and sounds scratchy as we walk through it. ¡°So what¡¯s Louie sick with?¡± I look around, dragging Maisy¡¯s bat behind me. We haven¡¯t seen a single thing yet. Maybe Night Shift isn¡¯t as bad as everyone makes it out to be.


    ¡°Kelly said it¡¯s a cold. Nothing too bad.¡± She twists to shine her light at my face, stopping me in my tracks. ¡°Don¡¯t drag him,¡± she barks, before flicking herself back around to scan the light on the ground. We continue.


    I pick up the bat and lean it on my shoulder. ¡°So it¡¯s not the toxin then?¡±


    She scoffs. ¡°Don¡¯t be daft. Louie¡¯s fourteen.¡±


    I roll my eyes and shake my head. It¡¯s hard to keep track of everyone¡¯s age, but then again, that isn¡¯t my job. I¡¯m not a Nurse, like Kelly.


    Everyone¡¯s Threshold seems to be different. Some kids say eighteen. Others say twenty. I¡¯ve heard a story about someone¡¯s fifteen-year-old brother dying. To me, that might be the scariest part. It isn¡¯t dying or turning into a creep. It¡¯s not knowing when. If you know when, you know what to expect, but we¡¯re all living on our own clocks. Nobody has heard of anyone younger than fifteen getting sick, though. I¡¯m a year younger than Louie, so I have nothing to worry about for another couple of years, if I make it that far anyway.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    As random as Thresholds are, the only thing that¡¯s certain is the effect of the toxin, and that¡¯s something everyone knows too well: You breathe it in, get sick, and either die or turn into a creep, then die. The process isn¡¯t a quick one either. We¡¯ve tracked some creeps for months before they wind up dead, and they were living long before we started tracking them.


    I laugh, then say, ¡°Yeah. If the toxin started hurting kids as young as fourteen, there¡¯s no way we¡¯d¡ª¡°


    Maisy stops.


    I catch myself before bumping into her. ¡°What?¡±


    She shushes me. ¡°Did you hear that?¡±


    I duck and look around, shining my light between the black blobs I thought were trees the entire time. I could have been wrong. ¡°What is it?¡±


    There¡¯s a sound nearby.


    ¡°There!¡± she says, pointing to the bushes close to the forest. She runs and draws her pistol.


    ¡°Maisy, wait!¡± I strain a whisper and chase after her.


    The sound gets farther away, deeper into the overgrown grass. Maisy stops at the forest line, scanning her light from tree to tree. ¡°We lost it,¡± she grumbles.


    I make it to her side. ¡°Did you see what it was?¡±


    She grunts. ¡°Could¡¯ve been an animal. Could¡¯ve been a creep. Who knows?¡±


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be this close to the Outlands,¡± I say. ¡°It isn¡¯t safe.¡±


    The Outlands are ¡°no-go¡± territory¡ªfair game for animals and creeps alike to hunt and rip each other apart. Not to mention it¡¯s where most of the crawlies sprout. It¡¯s always one good gust of wind away from being nothing but a toxic cloud asking to be breathed in. The strict rules about the Outlands explain themselves if you know what you¡¯re dealing with, which we had to learn the hard way. Like I said, there will always be casualties.


    Maisy shoots me a look. ¡°Don¡¯t lecture me about the rules. I know the rules.¡±


    I frown. ¡°Let¡¯s just get back to the route,¡± I say, turning around. ¡°I¡¯m not a fan of following things that go bump in the night.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, it could¡¯ve¡ª¡±


    She¡¯s cut off with a yelp, and when I glance over my shoulder, the words ¡°are you okay?¡± barely leave my mouth before I realize she¡¯s gone.


    I whip around, pointing my light at the trees. ¡°Maisy?¡± There¡¯s rustling. I wince, gripping the bat as tight as I¡¯m clenching my teeth.


    Maisy screams and gunshots go off, quick flashes sparking the black forest. Then silence.


    The beam from my flashlight shakes with my hands. ¡°Maisy?¡±


    There¡¯s movement. I point the beam to my right and ready the bat, but there¡¯s nothing. The sound comes from my left. I shine the light that way. Nothing again.


    Every advice I¡¯ve been given says to run in situations like these. But Maisy was here¡ªshe was just here.


    I couldn¡¯t leave her.


    I swallow the tickle in my throat threatening to escape as a scream and ask, ¡°Is anyone there?¡±


    Something answers, not in a voice but as a growl.


    From the darkness, between trees, whatever made the noise, whatever brought Maisy and me here, comes out. My light catches the pale glint of skin before I drop the flashlight, and a warm sensation streams down my leg, into my sock. I run, fast¡ªas fast as I can to the point my heartbeat suffocates my eardrums. If that thing is chasing me, I can¡¯t hear it. And I¡¯m not looking back to find out.

 Three

    A shriek echoes behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I see it: a black mass on two legs getting closer¡ªcloser¡ªcloser. I turn around and pump my arms faster. The torches on the crows¡¯ nests come into view. I see the barricade. I¡¯m almost there. I¡¯m almost¡ª


    The blow to my back sends me sliding into the dirt, and the too-close-for-comfort growling makes me spin on my elbows. The black figure stands over me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the bat, but I don¡¯t risk it. Anything can set a creep off, and I¡¯m not at all in a winning position.


    The creep leans down, its face inches from mine, its warm breath striking me in a disgusting odor of rancid milk. Dark drops dribble down its chin. Its chapped, blistered lips peel back into a snarl as it sniffs me. I close my eyes, ready to do the only thing I can: accept my fate.


    The creep growls, and I hold my breath, but nothing happens. Instead, I hear footsteps get farther and farther away. When it¡¯s quiet, I open my eyes.


    The creep¡¯s gone.


    I sit up and look around, spotting nothing but trees.


    It left me¡­alive?


    My gut hardens, and I¡¯m ready to vomit. ¡°But why?¡±


    I slowly grab Maisy¡¯s bat and get to my feet, taking one last look before deciding running back to camp is a better idea than sticking around, wondering what the heck just happened.


    When I make it, I pound on the gate. ¡°Let me in!¡± I shout to the twins.


    ¡°Jay, is that you?¡± one of them asks. ¡°Where¡¯s Maisy?¡±


    ¡°Just let me in!¡± I punch the gate again.


    After a moment that feels way too long, the gate rises. I squirm as I wait, looking over my shoulders. When there¡¯s enough space, I scramble underneath.


    ¡°Lower it! Quick!¡±


    The twins let their chains go, and the gate falls to the ground with a loud crash. In a matter of seconds, I¡¯m swarmed by every kid in the camp. The younger ones push their way to the front while the older ones crowd the back, whispering. Gaped mouths and wide eyes put me in the spotlight.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± A voice comes from the crowd.


    The group of kids breaks, allowing a path. A tall, older boy with longer hair comes forward, his hands tucked inside the pocket patched onto the front of his sweatshirt. His frown disappears when he sees me.


    ¡°Jay?¡± he asks. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something out there, Caleb,¡± I say, panting, pointing my finger to the gate. ¡°It got Maisy.¡±


    Everyone gasps. A few of the little ones whimper and cry on queue, hugging the nearest older kid.


    ¡°What do you mean ¡®it got Maisy¡¯?¡± a small voice speaks and a short, lanky boy steps out. It¡¯s Daryl, Maisy¡¯s younger brother.


    I choke back at the sight of his wide eyes and trembling lip. Before I say anything, Caleb gets between us.


    Crouching down to put his hand on the little boy¡¯s shoulder, he says, ¡°Daryl, I need you to go to your tent, okay?¡± He flicks his head at the crowd, and an older girl with short, curly hair steps forward. ¡°Jenny will take you, yeah?¡±


    The girl nods and takes Daryl by the hand. The scared boy glances at me over his shoulder as they walk away, his pained expression striking me harder than this metal bat¡ª


    Oh!


    ¡°Daryl, wait!¡± I jog to meet them halfway. Handing the bat to Daryl, I say, ¡°Maisy would¡¯ve wanted you to have this.¡±


    He takes the bat. With his small hands and weak arms, he can barely hold it up. Sniffling, he whispers, ¡°This was our brother¡¯s bat.¡± As he and Jenny turn away, I step back, sliding my hands into my coat pockets, tucking my chin to my chest.


    Caleb stands and sighs. ¡°As for the rest of you,¡± he says, ¡°let¡¯s get the little ones to bed. It¡¯s late.¡± The older boys and girls start taking the young ones¡¯ hands to lead them away. ¡°Don¡¯t forget to put out the fires,¡± Caleb adds.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    As everyone leaves, the only people left are Caleb, Kelly, and Shift Manager Kirsten. Oh, and me. I envy the kids heading to their tents. That rickety cot sounds like a blessing right about now, and I wouldn¡¯t mind the knot in my back if it means I¡¯d be asleep and not dealing with this.


    ¡°Jay, what happened out there?¡±


    I bring my eyes from the crowd to Caleb, his bushy hair nearly hiding his brow. There¡¯s no hiding his frown, though. I know it isn¡¯t aimed at me, but I can¡¯t help feeling like it should be. This is my fault, isn¡¯t it?


    I swallow hard. ¡°Maisy and I were on Night Shift tonight,¡± I say. ¡°She saw something, so we followed it to the forest¡ª¡±


    ¡°To the forest?¡± Kirsten chimes in, flicking her ponytail behind her as if the mere mention of it offends her. ¡°The Outlands are off limits!¡± She folds her arms. ¡°Crawlies are out there. You didn¡¯t touch any, did you? Did you breathe in the toxin?¡±


    I shoot her a look. ¡°Maisy wanted to make sure it wasn¡¯t a creep. We didn¡¯t go into the forest.¡± I throw up my hands. ¡°And we didn¡¯t touch the stupid plants! We didn¡¯t even see any! We didn¡¯t see anything until after we got to the forest.¡±


    ¡°Then where¡¯s Maisy?¡± Kelly asks, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her messy bun is a step down from purposeful. She looks like she hasn¡¯t slept in days. Kelly is¡ªwas¡ªMaisy¡¯s girlfriend. I wish I could spare her the pain she¡¯s clearly in. Too bad there¡¯s no going back now.


    I sink into the soles of my boots, murmuring, ¡°A creep took her.¡±


    Kelly slaps a hand over her mouth.


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t see anything.¡± Kirsten raises an eyebrow.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t see anything,¡± I explain. ¡°Not at first anyway. Then she was gone, and a creep was in the forest, so I¡ª¡± I pause, feeling my cheeks burn. Shooting my eyes to the ground, not knowing whether or not I should tell the entire story, I whisper guiltily, ¡°I ran.¡±


    ¡°So you left her?¡± Kirsten sounds horrified.


    I snap my head up and catch myself in a staring contest with her, but before I say anything, Caleb extends his arms to either side. ¡°Enough,¡± he growls. ¡°We have more important things to deal with.¡± He lowers his arms. ¡°Jay, is the creep still in the forest?¡±


    I keep my eyes on Kirsten for a moment longer before turning to Caleb. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say.


    Caleb¡¯s silent, his expression blank. The torchlights by the gate flicker, casting shadows across his face. We turn to him, expecting an answer that¡¯ll make this go away, an answer that¡¯ll bring Maisy back. I don¡¯t think any of us is willing to accept there isn¡¯t one.


    After a moment, he finally speaks. ¡°Kirsten, change the Lookouts. We need better eyes. You know who to put on.¡±


    ¡°Will do!¡± Kirsten says with a quick nod before scurrying off.


    ¡°Kelly, help keep the nursery tight all night. I don¡¯t want any of the toddlers getting out. Sometimes they¡¯re sneaky.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll head over after checking on Louie.¡± Kelly wipes tears from her eyes, then walks away.


    I wince at her whimpering. I didn¡¯t even apologize. I told her I left Maisy to die, and I didn¡¯t even tell her ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯. I stare at the ground, grinding my teeth, visions of the creep standing over me fresh in my mind. I can still feel its breath against my cheeks¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to go through that,¡± Caleb says, pulling me from my thoughts. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± I glance up from the dirt. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­I¡¯m just sorry.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault. I¡¯ll have to talk to Daryl about it in the morning, though.¡± He pauses, his eyes widening. ¡°That¡¯s the hardest part of my job, you know?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    His shoulders slump. ¡°Telling someone their friend or sibling isn¡¯t coming back. It¡¯s my fault. I send you guys out every day and every night, and sometimes, you don¡¯t come back.¡± He tucks his chin to his chest, the light showing the bags under his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s my fault.¡±


    We all owe a great deal to Caleb and his sister. They built the camp. It used to be just him and her until they found more and more kids in need of a home, which makes sense considering the amount of adults that died Before.


    It sucks most of us didn¡¯t get the chance to meet his sister personally. She aged into her Threshold, and one day, she got a little too close to the forest and breathed in the toxin. She got sick and died. She was seventeen. Caleb considered it lucky she didn¡¯t turn into a creep. He was left to run the camp by himself at fifteen. Now he¡¯s eighteen.


    I rub my arm, not knowing how to comfort the boy who saved my life. In a way, that angers me more than my fear of the monsters. I don¡¯t know how to help the person who helped me.


    Finally, I say, ¡°You¡¯re doing your best, Caleb. That¡¯s all any of us can ask for.¡±


    He sighs, and in that sound, I hear someone who never asked to be the leader, who never asked to grow up faster than kids are supposed to. I hear someone with nothing but good intentions, who just wants to keep us safe. We¡¯ve learned the hard way we can¡¯t save everybody, and I think the guilt might kill him before the toxin does.


    ¡°You should get to sleep, Jay,¡± he says. ¡°Guy and Jerry will keep an eye out for the rest of the night.¡±


    Two guys armed with binoculars, signal horns, and rifles come from behind me. The twins climb down their ladders, their binoculars dangling in one hand while they carry their horns in the other. Having a better look at them now, I realize it was Simon who waved ¡®goodbye¡¯ to Maisy and me earlier. They¡¯re identical, from their blond hair down to their slightly stuck-up nose. The only difference between them is the pink birthmark stretching from Simon¡¯s neck to his face.


    Neither of them say anything to me as they walk by.


    By the time Simon and Sam are past the first group of tents and out of sight, their replacements are in the crows¡¯ nests. Guy already has his binoculars pressed to his face, while Jerry scans the surroundings through the scope of his rifle.


    Without another word, I slip past Caleb, looking back to see him with his face in his hands, shaking his head. Poor guy. He didn¡¯t ask for this.


    None of us did.

 Four

    The sound of the zipper as I close the tent is music to my ears. I shed my jacket and throw it on the ground, then go to my cot and sit. My eye catches the notebook on my nightstand, and like a sick routine, I count the twenty tally marks, before taking the pencil from the notebook¡¯s binding and drawing another next to the rest.


    Twenty-one.


    ¡°It should be twenty-two,¡± I say, as if someone¡¯s there to convince me I¡¯m wrong, but there¡¯s no one. There¡¯s only me and my thoughts, and all I can think about is how the creep took Maisy but left me alive. My leg bounces. I rub my thighs. What¡¯s left of the monster¡¯s breath still warms my cheeks and burns my nose.


    I stand and slap the notebook off the table. ¡°It should be twenty-two!¡±


    After the words leave my mouth, a low, hollow sound of the signal horns echo through the camp. I stiffen. I¡¯ve never heard the signal horns before, but the reason for the call sinks in, too deep to swallow without choking:


    We¡¯re under attack.


    I swipe my jacket and bolt outside. As kids exit their tents, campers who have been here longer move faster than others who look more confused than worried. I realize among the clueless expressions, I¡¯m one of them. I have no idea what to do. But the call continues, until every kid, except the toddlers, has rushed by, shoulder-checking me and shoving me on their way to the gate. I follow.


    Once there, Caleb¡¯s already shouting over the worried campers, his words unclear. I¡¯m in the back, my view blocked by taller kids scattered throughout the crowd. The horns stop, and the silence they leave behind is deafening.


    ¡°We have a runner!¡± Guy shouts, thrusting his finger at something.


    The campers finally shut up, leaving Caleb to speak. ¡°What do you see?¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Jerry takes his eye away from the scope of his rifle, his attention remaining on whatever¡¯s out there. ¡°I think...I think it¡¯s Maisy!¡±


    Gasps come from the crowd. Mine catches in my throat, and I feel my stomach drop lower than my knees. Even Caleb is silent at first.


    ¡°She¡¯s being chased!¡± Guy adds. ¡°Three creeps!¡±


    The campers start an uproar, conflict shooting at Caleb. Some campers demand the gate be raised, while others demand it remain closed.


    ¡°They¡¯re getting closer!¡± Jerry puts his eye back on the scope.


    ¡°Do you have a clear shot?¡± Caleb asks, and the question angers a lot of the crowd.


    Jerry slowly moves his body as he aims. ¡°Nope!¡±


    ¡°For God¡¯s sake¡ªopen the gate!¡± a desperate female voice shrieks above the chatter. My eyes find Kelly weeping into her hands.


    ¡°No!¡± another female voice strikes back. ¡°Keep it closed!¡± Kirsten¡ªI¡¯d recognize that ¡®all-knowing¡¯ attitude anywhere. I find her among the others, but more importantly, I spot the pistol tucked in her pants.


    My fingers twitch, the cries, shouts, and sobs of the campers unintentionally reminding me this is my fault, as if I need to be reminded. The uncomfortable wetness in my pants is enough.


    I don¡¯t let the thought pass my mind twice, and I don¡¯t give a smarter thought the chance to fight it. I dash into the crowd, weaving around bodies, passing Kirsten just long enough to swipe the gun, giving her no time to react, and continuing before stumbling out at the front, at Caleb¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Jay?¡± He sounds confused.


    I steady myself, hearing Kirsten¡¯s voice getting closer as she tries to stop me¡ªnot from doing what I¡¯m about to do but from using her gun¡ªand stare Caleb in the eyes.


    ¡°Open the gate, Caleb.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± He steps back, looking horrified.


    ¡°They¡¯re gaining on her, Caleb!¡± Guy shouts.


    I stomp my foot. ¡°Open the damn gate!¡±


    The crowd hushes, and that¡¯s when Maisy¡¯s screams and the creeps¡¯ awful panting are heard.


    Caleb¡¯s eyes fall to the gun I¡¯m holding.


    Kirsten steps from the crowd, demanding the weapon, but I ignore her. All I care about is this moment. I¡¯m still on Night Shift. This is my responsibility. It was my mistake. And I don¡¯t see anyone else offering to fix it.


    Caleb puts up his hands as if to calm me down. ¡°Jay, whatever you¡¯re thinking about doing, you don¡¯t have to do it.¡± His voice is level.


    Mine¡¯s not. ¡°Open it!¡±


    Our staring contest lasts a heart-stopping moment longer before finally, he shouts, ¡°Open it!¡±


    The gate rises, and before Caleb has a chance to say anything else, I bolt past him and under the only thing keeping any of us alive.

 Five

    The darkness swallows me as it did at the start of my shift. Maisy¡¯s screams only get louder. I see what I¡¯m guessing to be her running through the field. I also see the three black blobs closing in on her.


    ¡°Maisy¡ªhurry!¡± I call out, raising the pistol with shaky hands.


    I¡¯m not sure how long Maisy has been running, but once she hears my voice, she speeds up, creating space between her and the creeps¡ªspace that won¡¯t be there for long.


    I¡¯ve never used a gun before. I was too young when my dad died, and my mom didn¡¯t have the skills to teach me. I grew up using blunt weapons, or what my mom¡¯s favorite tactic was: running away. And I did that. Earlier I ran and left someone behind. I refuse to run this time.


    After aiming the gun at, or what I hope to be at, the creep gaining more ground than its friends, I squeeze the trigger. The recoil thrusts me off balance, and I stumble back. Recovering, I realize I missed, and the creeps aren¡¯t even bothered.


    By the time I ready my second shot, Maisy¡¯s stopped, doubled over in pain next to me. I don¡¯t look at her. I only shout, ¡°Get inside!¡± before firing the gun.


    She disappears under the gate. Even while expecting the recoil, I stumble slightly. I missed again. I don¡¯t have enough time to fire a third shot before the creeps are within twenty feet of me.


    All three stop to surround me, the darkness of the night hiding their appearance beyond having a human form. They snarl. They growl. They shake their heads violently. As they slowly circle me, I aim from one to another to the other, my heart racing, my throat dry, my breathing coming in gasps. Each creep strikes out, pretending to lunge. I keep aiming, as if the sight of the weapon is keeping them away. I hope it is. But as the show goes on, I start feeling like the beasts are smiling at me, mocking me, playing with me. They could¡¯ve killed me by now. But they choose to stalk and fake me out.


    One of their fake outs gets a little too close for comfort, and my finger bites the trigger. The creep yelps, but not from a wound, from the loud noise. The cry for help seems to set its friends off, and they both lunge. I can¡¯t react quick enough. I throw my hands up and brace for the impact.


    Two gunshots go off. I uncover my eyes in time to see the third staring at something else. It growls and looks back at me, then lunges. Before it strikes, I¡¯m grabbed from behind and pulled under the gate.


    When I¡¯m inside the camp, the gate falls, landing with a crash that vibrates all the way through the metal.


    The creep collides with the barrier. It pants and snarls as it scratches the aluminum. I don¡¯t see who it is, but one of the Lookouts fires a third and final shot, and the beastly noises stop. Every noise stops. I twist and turn as the owners of the hands who grabbed me back away.


    ¡°Maisy!¡± someone cries. Daryl darts from the crowd and into Maisy¡¯s weak embrace. In the torchlight, I can see bloody wounds all over Maisy¡¯s face and arms.


    As if she didn¡¯t witness what just went on, Kirsten storms up to me and snatches her pistol, pursing her lips and giving me a hard look I couldn¡¯t care less about. My eyes lock on the brother-sister reunion, until a strong, forceful whap smacks my upper back, followed by, ¡°Holy crap, Jay! You¡¯re a freaking hero!¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The smack seems to wake me, and that¡¯s when I look around and see all the wide eyes staring back at me.


    ¡°Jay.¡± Caleb walks up to me, but before he says anything else, the crowd erupts into applause, whistles and whooping noises, pumping fists and hollers claiming I ¡®saved the day¡¯. Something small runs into me and wraps around my legs, startling me.


    Daryl buries his face into my side, sobbing as he says, ¡°Thank you so much.¡± When he lets go, searching for his sister again, Maisy gives me a gentle look I¡¯m not used to seeing on her face.


    ¡°Everyone, quiet!¡± Caleb calls out. The campers do as their leader demands. ¡°I think it¡¯s time for everyone to return to their tents for the night,¡± he continues. With that, confused voices whisper, but once again, Caleb silences them. ¡°There were three¡ªthree-¡ªcreeps out there, and we don¡¯t know if any more are near. It¡¯s best to stay quiet and turn in before our commotion draws more creeps out. It isn¡¯t up for discussion.¡±


    Despite being clearly annoyed, the campers leave, heading back to their tents. It¡¯s a rare day anyone doesn¡¯t listen to Caleb.


    With everything happening, I almost don¡¯t notice Kelly breaking off from the crowd to hug someone she thought she¡¯d never see again. The two girls share laughs and tears as Kelly takes Maisy¡¯s hand and kisses it.


    I smile.


    A hand rests on my shoulder. ¡°You did something really stupid, Jay, and you got lucky. You very well could¡¯ve not.¡±


    I nod, fully aware of the gamble I took, yet also aware I don¡¯t care. As soon as Maisy made it under the gate, I didn¡¯t care if the creeps ripped me apart right then and there. Of course, thinking now, with the rush of adrenaline fading, I can feel my stomach churning. But at that moment, nothing else mattered but Maisy.


    Caleb sighs. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go to your tent, Jay? We¡¯ll talk more in the morning.¡±


    I take one last look at the Lookouts¡¯ in their crows¡¯ nests. Saying nothing more, I walk away, past Kelly, Maisy, and Daryl, and into the cluster of tents and campsites.


    I hear Caleb suggest taking Maisy to the medical tent before their voices become too distant. Thin trails of smoke rise from recently put out fires, the smell lingering. Most of the lanterns inside tents are still on.


    I make it into my tent and zip it up behind me, the thought of sleeping this night away itching my mind. I kick off my boots and strip my jacket, then change my pants, throwing the dirty pair in a corner, before grabbing sweatpants from under my cot and slipping them on.


    Sitting on the edge of my bed, my stomach knots. All the thoughts I pushed away come back, and I¡¯m too tired to keep them out.


    I stare down at my trembling hands. I¡¯m a hero. I saved the day. But nobody knows the creep left me alive. Nobody knows I had a chance to kill, or at least wound, the thing that took our friend. The creep spared me, and all I did was run.


    My trembling hands turn to fists. I¡¯m a coward who got lucky.


    I don¡¯t have the right to be a coward. Not in a world like this. We¡¯re all scared. Who says I can run from the things that scare me? No one. I¡¯m a coward who shouldn¡¯t get to act like one.


    I frown at the notebook on the ground, before leaning over to pick it up. Since I¡¯ve been here, we¡¯ve lost twenty kids, whether from the creeps, the toxin, illness¡­There had been more, before I arrived, and I hear the stories of their deaths all the time.


    Twenty kids.


    I take the pencil and scribble out the tally I drew earlier, then toss the notebook back to the ground. Twenty almost became twenty-two tonight. Maisy got free and survived, but the only free I was, was free-for-the-killing. Twenty shouldn¡¯t have been twenty-two, but it should¡¯ve still been twenty-one.


    Leaning over to dim the lantern, I glance at the Teddy bear on my desk. I frown at its missing nose and threaded smile, its matted, faded fur and the loose strings sticking out from their seams. Shaking my head, I stand and snatch it, then lie down on my cot. Tilting the stuffed animal toward the light, I read, in a heart sewn into its chest:


    Junior.


    Tears form in my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away and lay the only thing I have left of my mom next to me. I stare up, through the mesh ceiling, seeing nothing but stars. The moon¡¯s gone, and the pain sinking my stomach gets worse. The tears come again.


    ¡°I never asked for the night shift.¡±