Page 53 of The Last Man on Earth
Vincent bolts upright, alert now. “Don’t move,” he whispers.
The rustling grows closer. I hear branches snapping, roots tearing. Something’s rooting around beyond the fire, sniffing, grunting.
My chest hurts. “Vincent?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s already sliding forward toward the opening. The fire throws jagged light across his face, but it has us at a disadvantage. Whatever’s out there can see us just fine, but we can’t see beyond the fire. There’s only darkness.
Then I hear it—a snarl.
“Oh my God.” I whimper, tears welling up. This is it. This is how it ends. Not in that plane. This will be more violent. This is where we suffer.
Vincent grips the axe, its metal glinting as he steps out.
For a few seconds, it’s eerily quiet.
His eyes dart around.
More quiet.
Then, all hell breaks loose.
I hear a roar, something between a scream and a growl. The sound splits the night, followed by Vincent’s yell. The terrifying noise is quickly swallowed by the chaos of leaves rustling and bodies thudding against the ground.
I can’t see them, only their shadows thrashing near the fire. The crackle of flames, the grunt of the beast, the sound of metal hitting flesh—each noise tears through me, leaving me frozen in terror.
I cover my ears, but it doesn’t help. I feel like a child who’s afraid of the dark, terrified of the monster lurking under the bed. But this monster is real, and it’s deadly, and it’s here.
And this might be the end.
Then the noise just…stops.
Oddly enough, the silence is more terrifying than the noise was. I crawl toward the edge of the platform, my hands shaking violently. “Vincent!” My voice breaks. I poke my head out just a little, scanning the faint light of the fire. I can’t see him. I can’t see anything except the disturbed dirt and a trail leading into the dark.
“Vincent!”
Still nothing.
The tears come fast and hot.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
I whisper, “Please,” into the darkness just before my throat closes.
Then, something moves, and I hear it. A deep voice, weak with pain.
“Ari…”
He steps into the light, staggering sideways, the axe dangling from his hand. His shirt is torn, his arms slick with blood. He looks dazed, like a zombie after the apocalypse. He’s not entirely here, but thank God, at least he’salive.
I scramble out of the shelter and run to him. “Oh my God, Vincent!”
He drops the axe and catches me before I run into him. My hands are on his face, his shoulders, his neck, trying desperately to see where’s he’s hurt. He’s covered in blood, but his eyes—his eyes are clear.
I burst into tears. “I thought you were dead.”
He exhales hard, pressing his forehead to mine. “Nah. It takes more than that to kill me.”
I grab his hands and lead him back to the place we call home, praying we make it through the night, and that nothing else emerges from the darkness to steal him away from me.
