The first thing I registered was the crying—high-pitched and relentless, tiny alarm clock that I hadn't set. My eyes fluttered open, wincing as sunlight filtered through the cracks in the roof, warming my face. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to bury my face in my arms and pretend it wasn't happening.
But the crying didn't stop.
With a groan, I forced myself upright, my body still aching from yesterday's ordeal. Emma was the culprit, of course. Her tiny face was scrunched up, tears rolling down her cheeks as she wailed like it was the end of the world.
"Alright, alright," I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "I'm up. What's the problem now, Princess?"
Emma didn't answer, obviously. She just cried louder, little fists waving in the air like she was trying to make a point.
"Food? Sleep? A throne? What do you want?" I sighed, crawling over to her and picking her up. Her tiny body squirmed in my arms, but as I bounced her slightly, the crying started to ease.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Just wanted some attention, huh?" I murmured. "Typical Emma."
I glanced around the loft, checking on the others. Noah was still asleep, sprawled out on his back like he didn't have a care in the world. Jack looked vaguely annoyed in his sleep, as if he could hear the crying but was too stubborn to wake up. Star and Cael were curled up together, their tiny fingers clutching each other's shirts.
Then I noticed something that made my stomach drop.
Mera.
She wasn't where I'd left her.
I turned my head quickly, scanning the loft until I spotted her—crawling determinedly toward the ladder.
"Mera, no!" I hissed, carefully but quickly setting Emma back down before scrambling over.
Mera had made it to the edge, one hand gripping the top rung of the ladder as she prepared to climb—or fall. Knowing her, probably both.
"Hey, genius," I said, grabbing her before she could make her first move. "What do you think you're doing?"
Mera looked up at me, her wide eyes innocent and curious. She babbled something incoherent, her tiny hands waving like she was explaining herself.
"Uh-huh, sure," I replied, hoisting her back into my arms. "Let me guess. You were going to 'explore.' Maybe fight a squirrel or something? Great plan, Mera. Really smart."
She just grinned at me, the mischievous glint in her eyes far too familiar. Even as a baby, she was a handful.
Carefully, I carried her back to the others, plopping her down on the floor where she couldn't cause more trouble.
"Okay," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "New rule: No one goes near the ladder unless I say so. Got it?"
Of course, none of them responded. They were babies, after all.
With a heavy sigh, I flopped back down onto the floor, still exhausted. But as I glanced at the sunlight streaming through the cracks, I knew I couldn't rest much longer.
We had survived the first night, but this was only the beginning.
As I let myself drift back into sleep, a persistent poking on my chin brought me back to the waking world.
"Ugh," I groaned, cracking one eye open to find Jack staring at me. Or, more specifically, poking at my chin with his tiny hand like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
Squinting a bit Jack looked like the youngest of the group in his toddler form, tilted his head at me, his expression oddly judgmental for someone who could barely form words. He poked me again, as if to say, Hey, get up. Stop slacking.
"Alright, I get it," I muttered, brushing his hand away gently. "I'm up."
He didn't seem impressed, letting out a soft grunt before toddling away, wobbling unsteadily on his little legs.
I sat up with a groan, stretching out my sore limbs. Yesterday's events had left me feeling like I'd run a marathon while carrying a truckload of bricks or should I say toddlers, but I couldn't let myself rest. Not yet.
Glancing at the others, I saw they were starting to stir. Star yawned, her tiny arms stretching above her head, while Cael blinked sleepily and clung to her side. Emma, who had cried herself back to sleep, was now snuggled up against Noah, who still looked like he was in the middle of the best dream of his life.
And Mera… well, Mera was suspiciously quiet, which meant I needed to keep an eye on her.
"Alright, everyone," I said, clapping my hands softly to get their attention. "Time to move. We're not staying here any longer than we have to."
Of course, none of them responded. They just blinked at me or ignored me entirely.
I sighed, crawling over to the ladder and glancing down. It wasn't a long climb, but carrying all of them at once was out of the question. My back still ached from yesterday, and I wasn't risking another close call with Mera and her adventurous tendencies.
"Okay," I muttered to myself. "One at a time."
Starting with Jack, I carefully picked him up and carried him down the ladder. He squirmed a bit but didn't make a fuss, which I appreciated. Once I set him down on the cabin floor, he plopped onto his butt and started looking around, his curious gaze scanning every corner.
Next was Emma, who whined softly when I picked her up but quieted when I held her close. She still looked like she thought she deserved better accommodations, but she didn't put up much of a fight.
One by one, I carried them down—Star and Cael together, since they refused to let go of each other, then Noah, who woke up mid-descent and immediately started giggling at the "ride."
Finally, there was Mera.
She gave me her best innocent look when I picked her up, but I wasn't buying it.
"Don't think I've forgotten about your little stunt earlier," I muttered as I climbed down.
She just grinned at me, her tiny hands grabbing at my shirt like she thought it was hilarious.
Once all of them were on the cabin floor, I took a moment to catch my breath. They were quiet for now, but I knew it wouldn't last.
"Alright," I said, looking at the group. "Let's figure out what the hell we're doing next."
As I scanned the cabin's main room, it struck me how utterly ordinary it seemed at first glance—at least, for something abandoned in the middle of nowhere.
The wooden floor was scuffed and worn, the planks groaning softly under my weight as I moved. Two doors stood on opposite sides of a cracked stone fireplace, their hinges rusted and barely holding the splintering wood in place. The fireplace itself looked like it hadn't been used in years, its bricks chipped and covered in cobwebs.
To my left, a sturdy-looking table sat near the wall, its surface rough and weathered but far less dilapidated than everything else in the cabin. Nearby, a single chair stood beside it, the wood warped slightly from age with a skeleton sitting on it, with a shattered window that was broken inwards like someone broke in.
Wait a skeleton?
It wasn't until my eyes wandered back to the chair that my brain registered what I was actually looking at.
A skeleton.
I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I stared at the thing slumped in the chair. Its bony arms rested on the table, the left one dangling off the side. The skull tilted at an unnatural angle, as though it had been staring out the window before… whatever happened to it.
And then there was the window itself, shattered inward as if something—or someone—had forced its way inside. Glass shards littered the floor beneath it, glinting faintly in the sunlight.
For a moment, I couldn't move. My brain struggled to process what I was seeing.
"A skeleton," I muttered, breaking the silence. "In a chair. Just sitting there."
The babies didn't seem to notice. Jack was busy inspecting the table legs, Emma was fussing with her dress, and Noah… Noah was poking a cobweb near the fireplace like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
Great. I was the only one freaking out.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to move closer, my footsteps hesitant. The skeleton didn't react—of course it didn't—but something about it felt wrong.
Its bones were yellowed with age, some of them cracked, and its clothes were little more than tattered rags clinging to its frame. Judging by the height and build, it had probably been an adult man, but there was no way to be sure.
What had happened here?
My gaze shifted back to the window, then to the doors. The one on the left was slightly ajar, revealing only darkness beyond it. The one on the right was firmly shut, but its surface was marked with deep gouges, as though something with claws had tried to get through.
"This place just keeps getting better," I muttered under my breath.
Still, the skeleton didn't seem like it was going anywhere, and we needed shelter. One step at a time, I told myself. I could freak out later—after I figured out what was going on.
For now, I had to focus on keeping the group safe.
Shaking my head and muttering, "Later, definitely later," and deciding the skeleton could stay where it was I tore my gaze away from the skeleton. The last thing I needed was to dwell on it. It wasn't like I had the tools—or the energy—to deal with it right now. When I find a shovel or something, I thought, making a mental note to handle it as soon as I could.
Instead, I focused on the two doors. The one on the right, with its deep claw marks, felt like the logical place to start. Something about it made me uneasy, but I figured it was better to confirm what was behind it than to let my imagination run wild.
I stepped over to the door, cautiously pushing it open. The old wood groaned, and I held my breath as the darkness beyond came into view.
It was a staircase.
The narrow wooden steps led down into what I could only assume was a basement. A faint, musty smell wafted up, mingling with the scent of damp wood and decay. My skin crawled as I stared into the black void below, and a shiver ran down my spine.
"Yeah, nope," I said, shutting the door quickly.
The latch barely held, and the idea of something lurking down there made my stomach twist. Without hesitation, I grabbed whatever I could find to barricade the door—a broken chair leg, a loose plank, even a piece of the shattered window frame. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.
"Out of sight, out of mind," I muttered to myself, stepping back to admire my hastily constructed barrier.
With that handled—at least for now—I turned to the other door.
This one was in much better shape, the wood less splintered and the hinges slightly less rusted. I opened it cautiously, bracing myself for whatever might be inside.
What greeted me was... surprisingly normal.
It was a kitchen—or what was left of one.
The small room had clearly seen better days, but it was leagues better than the rest of the cabin. A sturdy counter ran along one wall, though its surface was scarred and stained. A rusted sink sat in the middle, and above it were a few hanging cabinets, their doors crooked but intact.
The remnants of an old stove stood against the far wall, its surface caked in dust and grime. Beside it, a wooden pantry door hung slightly ajar, revealing shelves that were mostly bare save for a few scattered cans and jars.
A small table and two mismatched chairs sat in the center of the room, their surfaces scratched but usable.
"Huh," I muttered, stepping inside. "This... isn't terrible."
It wasn't exactly a feast hall, but it was functional. The cabinets might still hold something useful, and the pantry was worth investigating. At the very least, it gave me a place to prepare food—assuming I could find any.
I turned back to check on the group.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a kitchen," I said, half to myself and half to the babies who were still obliviously exploring the main room. "Now, let's see if there's anything edible in here."
I rummaged through the pantry, pulling out cans and jars and placing them on the counter. My hopes for finding anything remotely edible quickly faded as I inspected each item.
Most of the cans were rusted, their labels barely legible. The jars weren't much better, their contents either discolored or congealed into unrecognizable masses. I cracked one open just to be sure—big mistake. The smell nearly knocked me off my feet, and I quickly sealed it back up, gagging as I tossed it aside.
"Great," I muttered, wiping my hands on my pants. "Rotten, rotten, and more rotten."
Still, something caught my eye: the expiration dates.
Every can and jar had a label, faded but still readable if I squinted. The dates ranged from 1880 to 1980.
Wait a second.
I picked up one of the cans, turning it over in my hands. The expiration date clearly read "1980," but the design on the label and the style of the print looked like something straight out of a history book.
What kind of place has food this old sitting around?
The implications started sinking in, my mind racing back to yesterday. The people I'd seen—humans with powers like something out of a comic book. Monsters that looked like they'd crawled straight out of nightmares. And those robots… I still couldn't wrap my head around those. They looked like animals, but their mechanical parts didn't belong in anything remotely modern—or functional, for that matter they are way to futuristic.
'The only possible explanation was we are in an alternate Earth', I thought, the idea forming as I pieced it all together.
It was the only explanation that made sense. This wasn't my world. It couldn't be. Between the bizarre war I'd stumbled into and now this—ancient food and technology that didn't match any era I recognized—it was clear I wasn't in Kansas anymore.
The thought should've been terrifying, but after everything that had happened, it barely registered.
"Alright," I muttered, setting the can down. "Alternate Earth or not, it doesn't change the fact that we need food."
The revelation didn't solve anything. If anything, it raised more questions than answers, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. I had six babified friends to look after, and I couldn't afford to let my mind wander too far from the present.
"Focus," I told myself. "Find food. Keep everyone safe. Figure the rest out later."
Taking one last glance at the pantry and its useless contents, I turned back to the kitchen. There had to be something else here—maybe a hidden stash or tools I could use to hunt. For now, survival came first.
After what felt like an eternity of searching, I had a pitiful collection of items laid out on the rickety table in the kitchen.
The "treasure" I'd uncovered included:
A rusted knife, its blade barely holding together and likely to snap if I so much as sneezed on it wrong.
A collection of ladles, some metal and others wooden, most of them corroded or covered in a fine layer of moss that made my skin crawl.
Two pots and a pan, all of which looked like they'd been left to rot in a swamp for a century.
A couple of bowls, chipped and stained but otherwise intact.
"Great," I muttered, staring at the sad assortment. "Just what every survivalist dreams of."
Still, I couldn't dismiss it entirely. Even in their degraded state, the pots and bowls could hold water. The knife, while practically useless for fighting, might come in handy for cutting something soft—assuming it didn't fall apart first. The ladles… well, they were probably the most useless of the lot, but I wasn't about to throw anything out just yet.
This was my life now, I supposed: scavenging scraps from a forgotten world and hoping they'd be enough to keep us alive.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck as I glanced toward the main room. The kids were still there, blissfully unaware of my growing frustration. Jack was poking at the broken chair I'd used to barricade the basement door, while Emma seemed fascinated by the cobweb-covered fireplace... I don't know why but I'm not gonna question it my head already is hurt than it already is.
Noah, as usual, was causing chaos—this time by trying to climb the skeletal remains in the other chair.
"Get down from there, Noah!" I called, more out of habit than hope.
The gremlin froze, his wide eyes meeting mine for a split second before he flashed a mischievous grin and scampered down on his own terms.
"Morale's high, at least," I muttered to myself, shaking my head.
I turned my attention back to the table, trying to figure out what to do next. We couldn't stay here forever—there was no food, and the barricaded basement door gave me the creeps—but leaving meant heading back into the forest.
Neither option was ideal, but I had to make a decision soon. The kids wouldn't stay content for long, and I wasn't sure I could handle another day of their antics without a plan.
"Alright," I said, mostly to myself. "First thing's first: water. Then food. Then… maybe figure out what the hell I'm going to do with all of you."
With that, I grabbed the least mossy ladle, one of the pots, and the knife, hoping they'd be enough to get me started.
Before heading out, I made sure to do a head count. One, two, three… six. All of them accounted for. It was a weird sense of relief to see their tiny, babified faces, even if it came with the monumental task of keeping them alive.
I picked them up one by one, cradling the ones who seemed fussier—Emma and Jack—and securing the rest however I could. Noah, predictably, squirmed the entire time I carried him, but I managed.
"Alright, team," I muttered under my breath. "Time to find some water."
I reasoned that since this cabin existed, it was probably built near a reliable water source. No one in their right mind would set up shop in the middle of nowhere without access to running water—or at least a river or stream.
As I trudged forward, lost in thought, a sudden, sharp pain snapped me out of my head.
"Ow!" I winced, shifting my load to see Noah's guilty face. He'd just bitten my shoulder, of all things.
"Noah!" I snapped, glaring at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
The little gremlin just giggled, as if my frustration was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. My hands were too full to properly deal with him, so I could only grit my teeth and keep moving.
Just as my temper was about to boil over, I felt a soft poke on my side. I glanced down and saw Jack, who had somehow wriggled his tiny hand free. He pointed silently toward something up ahead, his expression surprisingly calm for a toddler.
Following his gaze, I froze.
There it was: a river.
The sunlight glinted off the flowing water, and the sound of it rushing over rocks was like music to my ears. It wasn't too far ahead, just past a small clearing in the trees.
I let out a long breath, some of the tension melting away.
"Good eye, Jack," I said, giving the little guy a nod.
He didn't respond, just blinked at me with that oddly serious expression he sometimes wore. Meanwhile, Noah cheered as if he'd been the one to find it, kicking his legs excitedly and almost making me drop him.
"Alright," I muttered, adjusting my grip on the squirming toddlers.
I crouched by the river, carefully scrubbing the rusted pot and mossy ladle with a handful of gravel. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. The water glinted in the sunlight, its gentle rush soothing my frayed nerves, if only a little.
"One step at a time," I muttered, rinsing the pot for the third time.
Once I was satisfied, I my left hand reached for the knife tucked on my belt, intending to give it the same treatment.
Only… it wasn't there.
Frowning, I froze mid-reach, my brain doing a quick inventory. I had the knife earlier. I clearly remembered setting it there before heading out. So where—
A chill ran down my spine as I come to the realization.
Slowly, I turned my head.
There stood Mera, her toddler-sized frame barely managing to hold up the rusted knife, the jagged blade catching the sunlight. Her grin stretched ear to ear, a mixture of mischief and… something else.
"Oh, no," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of the river.
Mera tilted her head, her expression an eerie echo of the in-game avatars she used when "knife-killing" people in online games. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of chaotic energy I recognized all too well.
"Mera," I said cautiously, raising my hands like I was trying to calm a wild animal. "That's not a toy. Give me the knife."
She didn't move, her grin widening ever so slightly.
"Mera," I repeated, keeping my voice steady despite the growing sense of unease. "I mean it. That thing can still hurt someone—"
Before I could finish, she made a sudden lunge forward, the blade wobbling precariously in her tiny hand. I scrambled backward, narrowly avoiding her swing as I grabbed Noah and Jack to shield them.
"Why are you like this?!" I blurted out, my voice rising in panic.
Mera just giggled, the sound somehow more terrifying than reassuring. She looked down at the knife, as if considering its potential, before raising it again.
"Okay, that's enough!" I said, springing into action.
Ducking low, I lunged toward her, scooping her up in one arm while snatching the knife away with the other. She let out a surprised squeal, her little legs kicking in protest, but I held her tight.
"Not happening," I muttered, holding the knife up to inspect it.
The blade was so worn down it couldn't cut butter, but it was still sharp enough to do damage in the hands of a toddler with too much enthusiasm and zero self-preservation instincts.
I glanced at Mera, who was now pouting dramatically in my arms, her earlier grin replaced by an exaggerated frown.
"You're lucky I know you, or I'd be way more scared right now," I said, shaking my head.
Her pout deepened, but I ignored it, focusing instead on tucking the knife securely into my waistband where no small hands could reach it.
"Alright," I said with a sigh, setting her down on the riverbank. "No more sharp objects for you. Got it?"
Mera crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out at me.
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, turning back to the pot and ladle. "Just… don't scare me like that again, okay?"
Behind me, I heard the unmistakable sound of Noah's giggle.
"Glad you're so entertained," I grumbled, scrubbing the pot harder to distract myself from the fact that my survival team consisted of toddlers who might actually get me killed.
Hours later, as the sun dipped below the treetops, the sky turned a mixture of soft oranges and deep purples. I trudged back toward the cabin, my makeshift sack that are made of remnants of clothes heavy with the fruits of my labor—literally.
I'd managed to scavenge a decent haul: a dozen apples and an impressive amount of berries. They weren't much, but they'd have to do for now.
Testing the berries had been a tedious process. With every new cluster I found, I'd rub a few on my forearm and wait to see if there was a reaction. No itching, swelling, or discoloration so far. That didn't guarantee they were safe to eat, but it was a good start.
The apples were less of a gamble. Their vibrant red and yellow skins practically screamed "normal fruit," though I'd made sure to pick the ones that looked the freshest and least bug-ridden.
I placed the kids in the cabin and exit the cabin to I was washing the fruits and berries no way I'm using that mess of a kitchen.
The kids were surprisingly quiet when I arrived back at the cabin, though I could hear occasional giggles and the soft thuds of tiny feet. Stepping inside, I found the usual chaos:
Emma was trying to drape a piece of torn cloth over the skeleton in the chair like it was some kind of morbid doll, really should put that thing some where else instead of just letting it just sit there. Jack sat on the floor, stacking rocks into a precarious tower. Noah was somehow covered in ash from the fireplace, grinning like he'd just pulled off the heist of the century. And Mera… well, Mera was sitting suspiciously still, staring at me with her trademark mischievous grin.
"Alright, you little gremlins," I called, setting the sack down on the rickety table. "I've got food."
That got their attention. Emma abandoned her skeleton-dressing project, and Jack's rock tower collapsed as he scrambled over to see what I'd brought. Even Noah, still streaked with ash, perked up and ran to my side.
I pulled out an apple and held it up like a prize. "These are apples. You eat them, not throw them." I shot Noah a warning look, and he responded with an innocent smile that didn't fool me for a second.
Next, I opened the sack to reveal the berries. "These are berries. Don't eat too many, or you'll get a stomachache. Got it?"
Mera was the first to grab an apple, biting into it with gusto. The others followed suit, though Noah immediately started juggling his instead of eating.
"Thank god they have teeth to chew otherwise I don't know what to do," I let out a long sigh, watching them enjoy the small feast.
It wasn't much, but it was a start. We'd survived the second day, and for now, that was enough.
The cabin had fallen into a comfortable quiet as the toddlers—my babified friends—munched on their apples and berries. Mera gnawed on her apple with a concentration I hadn't seen since her gaming days, Emma cradled hers like it was some precious treasure, and Noah, as expected, still hadn't actually eaten his apple, instead rolling it around like a toy.
Grabbing an apple for myself, I bit into it, savoring the crisp sweetness. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
I leaned against the creaky table, surveying the scene in front of me. Even in their current state, they felt like my old friends. Sure, they were pint-sized chaos incarnate, but the familiarity in their personalities was undeniable.
Time for a headcount.
"One," I muttered, pointing at Mera, who had finished her apple and was now eyeing the sack of berries.
"Two," I counted, spotting Emma, who had dozed off mid-bite, her half-eaten apple rolling out of her tiny hand.
"Three," I said, watching Jack carefully peel the skin off his apple with his tiny fingers, his expression one of intense focus.
"Four," I added, locking eyes with Noah, who grinned back at me with a look that screamed, You'll regret leaving me unsupervised.
I frowned, glancing around the room.
"Wait. Where's Cael?"
Panic started to bubble in my chest as I scanned the room. My heart pounded as I frantically checked under the table, behind the fireplace, and near the stairs leading to the second floor.
"Cael?" I called, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
A soft giggle from behind me made me spin around. There he was, perched precariously on the broken chair near the skeleton. He held a piece of torn fabric in his tiny hands, waving it like a flag.
"Cael, you little—!" I cut myself off, rushing over to grab him before he could fall.
He squealed in delight as I scooped him up, his laughter infectious despite my frustration.
"Five," I muttered, holding him close.
I looked around the room again, my gaze landing on Star, who was sitting in the corner, quietly chewing on her apple like the chaos around her didn't exist.
"Six," I sighed, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders.
With everyone accounted for, I sank onto the floor, letting out a long breath.
God these kids are gonn kil me with a heart attack, I swear.
"Alright," I said, more to myself than anyone else. "Now all that's left is to survive the second night."
The toddlers, oblivious to the weight of our situation, continued their antics. I watched them with a mixture of fondness and exhaustion, biting into my apple again.
The sun had fully set now, and the cabin was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. The sounds of the forest came alive, the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves filling the air.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, I'd take this small moment of peace
I glanced at the broken window, the last hints of sunlight fading into darkness. The cabin felt eerier now, the worn-down furniture and shadows casting long, ominous shapes across the floor. My stomach twisted at the thought of what could be lurking outside in the dark.
Turning back to the table, I saw the toddlers lounging in various states of contentment. Apple cores littered the table and floor around them, a sign that they were full for now. There was even some food left—a small victory in our otherwise grim situation.
"Alright," I muttered to myself, pushing off the table and gathering the apple cores. They weren't much, but leaving any kind of scent indoors was a bad idea. No telling what kind of animals—or worse—might come sniffing around.
I stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin. The forest seemed alive, the sounds of nocturnal creatures filling the space around me. Keeping a wary eye on the treeline, I dumped the apple cores far enough from the cabin that they wouldn't attract unwanted attention.
Heading back inside, I immediately set my focus on the next task: getting the kids back up to the loft. They'd be safer there, even if the room was cramped.
"Alright, one at a time," I said, mostly to keep myself motivated.
Mera was the first. She wriggled in my arms, clearly not ready for bedtime, but I managed to wrestle her up the ladder and into the loft without too much fuss. Star went next, quiet as always, letting me carry her like a little sack of potatoes.
Noah, of course, was a challenge. He clung to the ladder on the way up, giggling and pretending to "climb" on his own, nearly making me drop him. "You're going to give me a heart attack," I grumbled, plopping him onto the loft floor.
Emma was already half-asleep, making her the easiest to transport. Cael followed, his eyes wide with curiosity as he reached for the ceiling beams while I carried him. Jack was last, still holding the apple peel he'd been fiddling with earlier, his quiet demeanor a welcome break from the chaos.
Once everyone was safely in the loft, I returned downstairs for the remaining food. I gathered the apples and berries, carefully tucking them into a corner where they'd be out of reach of tiny, grabby hands.
Looking around the dimly lit cabin, I felt a small sense of accomplishment. For all the insanity of the day, I'd managed to keep everyone fed and safe.
"Not bad," I muttered to myself, climbing the ladder to join the others.
The kids were already sprawled out, their tiny forms huddled together in a way that made them look almost peaceful. I leaned against the wall, letting the exhaustion wash over me.
The second night had begun, and the world outside was as dangerous and unpredictable as ever. But in this moment, surrounded by my chaotic, babified friends, I felt a flicker of hope.
We'd made it through the day.
We could survive another.
I close my eyes as I let myself succumb to exhaustion.
I stirred in the middle of the night, groggily blinking turning my head, only to feel a tiny finger poking my cheek insistently. Only to be meet with Jack unamused face.
"Jack, what are you—" I started,
I was about to brush him off when I heard it.
A low, guttural growl rumbled from downstairs, freezing the breath in my lungs. My heart skipped a beat as I slowly turned my head toward the loft's edge, peering down into the darkness below.
The moonlight filtering through the broken window cast faint silver streaks across the floor, and there it was—just barely visible.
The monster.
My stomach dropped as I recognized its shape, even in the dim light. It was the same kind of creature that had chased us two days ago during the battle I saw. Its hulking form, the unnerving way it moved, the faint glow of its eyes cutting through the shadows—it was unmistakable.
How the hell did it find us?
I slowly shifted Jack behind me, my mind racing as the beast stalked through the main room, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.
Then it hit me.
The clothes.
I dragged my hand across my face in frustration as the realization dawned. Our scent was still on the clothes, the ones we'd been wearing ever since we ran. This thing must have followed our trail all the way here.
I clenched my teeth, trying to think.
The loft was a safe spot—for now. The ladder was rickety, and the monster didn't seem to notice us yet. But if it decided to climb, or if it realized we were up here...
No. I couldn't let that happen.
I carefully pulled Jack closer to the others, who were still sleeping soundly. Even Noah, the little troublemaker, was quiet for once. I took a moment to steady my breathing, weighing my options.
Fight or distract?
The knife flashed in my mind—a pathetic, rusted blade that could barely cut fruit, let alone a monster. But it was all I had.
I glanced at the broken window. If I could lure it outside... maybe I could lead it away from the cabin, give us a chance to escape come morning.
Or I could try to barricade the ladder and pray it didn't get smart.
My palms felt clammy as I reached for the knife I'd placed beside me earlier. This wasn't just about me anymore. These weren't just my friends; they were kids now—helpless and vulnerable.
I gripped the knife tightly, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The monster let out another growl, its glowing eyes scanning the room.
What the hell do I do?
I turned back to look at the sleeping toddlers, their peaceful faces completely oblivious to the nightmare downstairs. Jack, curled up beside a corner before looking at me with a face saying deal with it or we die, before he drifted off again after waking me.
The sight of my sleeping friends burned in my mind as I cursed under my breath. This was the kind of mess I could never have imagined even in my worst nightmares.
I tightened my grip on the knife and carefully climbed down the loft, each step deliberate and silent. My heart pounded like a war drum, drowning out the distant hum of the forest. The monster's growls echoed in the room, a cruel reminder of the danger just feet away.
The plan was simple—get it outside. Lure it away and make sure it didn't return. Easier said than done, especially with a worn-out knife and no backup plan.
I crept around the edge of the room, sticking to the shadows, until I almost near the door, but just I was nearing the front my foot scraped against the floor, the creature's head snapped toward me. Its glowing eyes locked onto mine, and a guttural snarl ripped through the cabin.
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Then it pounced.
I barely dodged in time but not after it injured my left eye. I felt my blood flowing out, clutching my hand instinctively as I my vision is now cut in half.
"Shit!" I spat, stumbling back toward the door.
Before I could recover, it lunged again, faster and more feral than I expected. I threw myself out of the way, but the force sent us both crashing through the door that led to the basement.
We tumbled down the stairs, the world spinning in a chaotic blur of pain and adrenaline. I hit the cold, hard floor with a thud, gasping for air as I struggled to get my bearings.
The monster didn't give me a chance.
It was on me in an instant, pinning me to the ground with a weight that felt like a boulder. Its hot breath washed over my face as it growled, its claws grazing my arm and chest.
I froze, my mind racing. My left eye stung, and when I blinked, everything blurred. My life flashed before me—fragments of laughter, arguments, and shared memories with my friends.
This was it.
The beast reared back, ready to strike the killing blow. That's when I saw it—a faint, glowing red circle on its face.
I was about to question whats going on but was reminded about the reality of my situation. Acting on pure instinct, I gripped the knife and plunged it toward the mark. The blade skidded off its tough hide, barely making a dent.
"No, no, no!" I growled, gritting my teeth and driving the knife down again with everything I had.
The second attempt it didn't work I tried again failed, then the fourth, just when hope seems lost the fifth strike finds its mark. The beast let out an ear-splitting screech, its body convulsing as the blade sunk deeper.
It collapsed on top of me, its weight crushing the air from my lungs. I shoved it off with trembling arms, using whats left of my strength.
After getting it off I tried to sit up, clutching my chest the world spun, the edges of my vision fading to black.
Just about reaching for the walls of the stairs. I was pressed
The adrenaline ebbed, replaced by a wave of exhaustion and searing pain. Warm blood trickled down the side of my face, dripping from my left eye.
The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the remains of the door the monster broken.
As I dropped to the floor inches to the stairs before darkness took hold.