Chapter 6: The ghost trail

Lena slammed the door to her sleeping nook, the raw echo of Cain’s roar still vibrating in the stone. Sleep would not come. The image of his silver eyes, the impossibly sharp teeth, flickered behind her eyelids.

She rose at dawn, the stiff cold in her joints mirroring her resolve. They couldn’t stay here. She found Cain still huddled by the cold hearth, unmoving.

“Get up,” Lena said, her voice flat. She packed her rifle, food rations, and water filters with practiced efficiency. Cain slowly lifted his head, his eyes dull.

“We’re leaving,” Lena stated, devoid of inflection. “This place is compromised. You made sure of that.” He flinched, but slowly pushed himself to his feet.

Lena led the way, pushing open the heavy gate. The air outside was thick with mist, damp and biting cold. Cain followed, his steps hesitant, slipping on wet moss.

They moved through the dense forest, broken branches snapping under their boots. Every rustle tightened the knots in Lena’s stomach. Cain’s initial clumsiness slowly gave way to a fluid, uncertain gait.

Hours bled into a strained silence. Suddenly, Lena stopped, her hand flying up. A thin plume of smoke curled into the sky ahead, smelling of damp earth.

They moved closer, rifle held ready. A bent old man emerged from a dilapidated cabin, his watery eyes fixed on them.

“Well now,” the old man rasped. “Ain’t seen a living soul out here in a dog’s age.”

“We’re looking for Jeb,” Lena stated, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Old Jeb.”

“Jeb, you say? Aye, I know Jeb. Or knew him, anyway.” He eyed Cain. “Name’s Thom. And you’re Lena, aren’t you?”

Lena nodded. “Jeb. Where is he?”

Thom’s eyes narrowed. “Depends on who’s asking. Haven patrols been getting mighty bold.”

“We’re not Haven,” Lena clipped. “Just passing through.”

Thom sighed. “Jeb ain’t here no more. Moved on, like everyone else with sense.” Cain shifted behind Lena, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“What in the blazes…?” Thom’s voice was a startled whisper.

“He’s… a bit spooked,” Lena said quickly. Thom didn’t look convinced, his gaze fixed on Cain.

“Still, Jeb always said a soul in need was a soul in need, even if it had claws.” Thom paused. “Moved inland. Deeper into the old hunting grounds.”

“Details,” Lena urged. “Coordinates. A marker.”

“Why you so keen on finding Jeb? You got trouble trailing you?”

“Always,” Lena replied truthfully. Thom finally beckoned them inside. The cabin was small, smelling of old woodsmoke. He offered them bowls of stew. Lena ate slowly, her gaze sweeping the space. Cain sat by the window, listening, his silver eyes occasionally flickering.

“So, Jeb,” Lena prompted.

“Heard a lot of things about Jeb. He’s been getting bolder too.” Thom stirred his stew. “Haven’s tightening their grip. Expanding their patrols. Taking more… resources.” His gaze met Lena’s. “They’re not just after supplies anymore. They’re after people.” Cain flinched.

“Jeb told me they’re building something,” Thom continued. “Out east, deep in the mountains. A new stronghold. Called it ‘The Citadel.’ Says they’re pulling in everyone, even the children.” Lena gripped her spoon, her knuckles white. Her own memories clawed at her.

“What about Jeb’s new place?” Lena forced herself to ask.

Thom pushed his bowl away. “He said he found an old ranger outpost. Further north, past the Black River. He gave me a rough map, in case… well, in case he didn’t make it.” He pointed to a small chest. “I can draw it out for you. But listen. Haven’s got scouts everywhere. And something else. Something in the shadows. Been seeing strange tracks. Not crawler tracks. Bigger.”

Cain’s head snapped towards Thom, his nostrils flaring. A low hum emanated from his chest. Thom recoiled slightly.

“What was that?” Thom asked, his voice shaking.

“Nothing,” Lena said quickly, placing a hand on Cain’s arm. “Deal,” she agreed, ignoring Thom’s fear.

Thom reluctantly retrieved a worn piece of parchment. He drew a crude map. “Old logging trail,” he mumbled. “Follow it north. You’ll hit the Black River. Follow the river east, then look for a triple-forked pine. Jeb’s place is a half-mile due north from there. He calls it… Raven’s Roost.”

He handed the map to Lena. “Just get out of here,” Thom replied, his gaze still wary on Cain. “And be careful. The forest is awake. And it’s hungry.”

As dusk settled, Lena and Cain made their goodbyes. The silence between them as they re-entered the mist-shrouded forest was thick with unspoken questions. They walked for hours, the terrain growing rougher.

As night descended, they made a small camp. “You take the first watch,” Lena instructed Cain, handing him her knife. Cain nodded, gripping the knife, his eyes scanning the darkness.

Lena closed her eyes. Her mind replayed Thom’s words, the tightening grip of Haven, the mention of children. The raw power of Cain, the hints of forgotten violence. What was he?

A distant howl pierced the night. Cain’s head snapped up. His eyes seemed to glow faintly

The howls faded, replaced by the crackle of a distant campfire and the low murmur of voices. Lena and Cain crept closer, expecting Haven patrols, but what they saw through the undergrowth chilled Lena to the bone: not soldiers, but figures cloaked in rags, performing a strange ritual around a fire, and at their center, bound and gagged, was Old Thom.

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