Chapter 9: The Point of No Return. Part 4

Haeri: Uh... A flute?

Yong Haeri was distracted once again. Even though her hands were busy, her mind was elsewhere. She was unable to focus on the task in front.

She had distributed rations, arranged furniture, and now, at her companion Xiomara's request, she was washing the plates and plastic cups alone with rationed water.

It wasn't working. She kept thinking about him.

She shook her head and focused on the task, on the plates in her hands.

She looked up.

The sound of life in resistance, broken murmurs, the scraping of chairs against the cement floor. People occasionally walked from one room to another, most sitting on the furniture and sheets scattered in the dining room of the shelter, the mansion.

From the kitchen, she saw the female office worker they had met days before, Nerina Luna, insistently clinging to Nisha's arm. She'd asked him for favors for hours, and they'd become so close to each other that it would raise suspicions in any onlooker.

Haeri: (Isn't he supposed to be dating that girl? Izzy? Or is she his sister?) —She thought, getting distracted again— (No. Focus, Haeri.)

It wasn't working. In fact, seeing them together reminded her more of him.

A little boy approached and left another plate in the sink. Knowing what he did, he smiled mockingly and left immediately, back to talking and playing with his sister and mother in the dining room.

Haeri: (Lucky I never had younger siblings...)

She took a deep breath and returned to her task once more.

Haeri: …

For some reason, it still wasn't working.

She couldn't stop thinking about him.

Him.

Always him.

As if she could see him in the reflection of the water between her hands, in the dirty glass of the windows, or in the opaque surface of the stagnant water in containers.

She remembered his thick hand clasping her shoulder firmly to his trained torso, her responding by massaging his thick back.

The girl felt a warmth and a chill in her chest, a combination of excitement and anxiety. A gnawing need that grew dangerously, as if she were about to lose control of herself.

She could hear it in the broken whispers of those speaking in the distance; babble from the refugees that faded as the echo of his deep, masculine voice insinuated itself in her head.

Yes, she could hear him in her head. In fact, she could genuinely hear him.

'Haeri...?'

It wasn't her fault she was imagining things again. The tone of his voice permeated her, and she was convinced this time it was his voice. There was no mistaking it; it was a barely audible call from the shelter's corridors.

She turned sharply, her breathing ragged, as her black eyes scanned the faces of the refugees as they continued with their tasks. She took advantage of the fact that they were minding their own business to leave hers unfinished.

Hastily wiping her hands on her pants, she left the dining room and found herself in the corridors.

'Haeri!'

The call filtered through again, but she couldn't recognize which room it was coming from.

The building was still new to her; she hadn't bothered exploring it, and the fact that the windows had been covered by sheets made it harder to know where she was and where to start looking.

She took a step forward, then another, cautiously moving down the quiet corridor, each creak of the wood beneath her feet feeling amplified in the stillness.

Unknown: Where are you? Haeri!

Again.

Her name, more clearly this time, came from the third room on her right, with its half-open doors. The sound had come from inside, she was sure of it.

She moved quickly and entered, pushing aside the doors in a single movement and revealing its interior.

It was an office like the others. A dark wooden desk occupied the center, covered in papers filled with graphs and numbers. Along the walls, metal filing cabinets remained open, with empty drawers. A corkboard still hung on the wall, with a few notes stuck to it.

Dust drifted in the air, passing along different entrances that connected the room, carried by the gusts of fog from outside that filtered through the cracks.

Haeri: Gitta?

And like the other offices, it was difficult to see in the darkness. She walked to the desk, looking everywhere.

Something wasn't right.

No one was there. Perhaps she was in one of the rooms below—

Unknown: Ha eee iii llly…

Haeri: !

She heard a voice, and it wasn't the voice.

Rashy, sudden, unnatural, as if the syllables had been torn from a throat foreign to the known world.

The young woman felt her stomach tighten at that moment. The voice could be heard right in front of her, but ahead of her, there was no one.

The atmosphere grew heavier, the darkness more intense. The heat of her breath became unbearable, but more than anything, the new nauseating smell of iron was worse.

A grinning shadow loomed behind her, where no one else should have been.

Too tall and too close.

She didn't have time to react. The arms had reached out, slipping over her shoulders and closing around her torso.

She didn't see it coming; she only felt an enormous weight clinging to her, embracing her, enveloping her with a suffocating pressure that prevented her from expanding her diaphragm to continue panting desperately.

Haeri: A-AGH...! HH...!

She was paralyzed, unable to move, to speak, to breathe, just lying there, staring up at the dark ceiling of the room.

A shiver ran through her body as the pressure increased. Her breathing was now erratic, and his, imperceptible.

It loomed beside her, mere inches from her face.

Haeri didn't dare look. She knew that if she turned her head and tried to see what was holding her with that overwhelming force, her sanity would shatter. Yet, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it peeking out, which hammered her heart with panic.

Haeri: G-GH!

She was fading.

Haeri: ...!

Her face, which had previously been reddened by the pressure, was turning blue.

Her legs were wobbly, her vision blurred in a world where everything was spinning. However, this hadn't been an effect of dizziness.

In her fading consciousness, she had somehow ended up on the ground, the air suddenly refilling her lungs as if she'd been submerged in icy water, her gaze barely able to focus on what was happening around her.

Something, someone, had rushed toward the shadow that had been enveloping her. A second shadow leaped behind the first, revealing it.

Haeri: …

The one who had grabbed her was the "anarchist"; Enderson, the man they had negotiated with days before to join their cause and who had disappeared after the incident.

But he didn't look the same. No beard. The Viking appearance that characterized him no longer existed. His head, now partially bald, had bloody pores as if it had been forcibly torn out. His limbs seemed longer than before, and his body was so thin it was surprising he had remained standing.

A faint luminescence shone from the shadow's hand behind the man, sliding quickly into his neck. A dagger.

It was over as quickly as it began.

The bloodstained gloves loosened the few strands of hair, letting them fall beside the dying body drowning in its own bloody fluids, at her feet.

She had slit his throat. And now it was no longer breathing.

A black silhouette stood before Haeri, its weapon still raised.

Haeri wanted to speak, to ask, to understand, to scream, but her body was still stunned by what had happened. Even so, she could hear her words.

Izzy: Where's Nisha?

The still sleepy young woman only slightly raised her gaze, and could only glimpse the black shadow above her, calmly observing her.

Time passed.

She didn't know what had happened or was going on.

She had heard the sound of trinkets, the voices of people, sounds so distant they felt like a dream.

However, her consciousness returned, trying to understand what was happening.

Night had arrived, accompanied by a dense fog that drifted and lingered in the air.

The girl's body ached, as if she had spent her time sleeping on the hard ground. But the surface that had bothered her shone and creaked with every movement.

She shook her head, wiped her wet mouth, and once again looked up, this time realizing she was being carried by someone else.

This person was wearing steel plate armor. From the slits in his helmet, she immediately recognized the longed-for gaze. It was Gitta Vintana, both of them in the back of a large truck.

A flute continued to play in the distance.

At this point, the young woman was wondering if there was really something wrong with her head that caused her to become so delirious.

He looked at her, occasionally looking around. He looked dismayed. By subtly turning her head, Haeri had assimilated.

The shelter, the mansion, was now a hotbed of panic.

Screams, hurried orders, the cries of children… They mingled with the thunder of hurried footsteps, the sound of backpacks and bags being loaded into the truck's cargo bed. The rusty office doors creaked as they opened and closed, a crowd pushing desks and shelves in their way. There were no more blockades. Every exit was open from side to side.

Some ran, clutching the little they were carrying; others struggled with bags too heavy for them.

Doger: What the hell are you doing?! Leave those things and get in now! Fucking shit…!

Xiomara: W-What's going on?!

Doger: Here they come! The Dreamers! That's what's going on, 'Mara! Get in!

Nisha: N-No way…

Sein: THERE'S NOTHING LEFT! THEY-THEY STOLE EVERYTHING! LET'S GO!

Izzy: Tsk!

Through the broken windows and half-open doors, the first knocks could be heard in the settlements. The fog made it impossible to see any further than their hearing could reach, but it must have been less than a mile at a rough estimate.

Waves of Dreamers were approaching.

Garwin: IS THAT ALL OF THEM!?

Doger: YES, JUST GO!

The stragglers climbed into the truck, pushing each other, panting. A woman picked up her son and held him in her arms just as a slender hand reached out of the darkness.

Unknown: GO!

Tires squealed against the cracked asphalt, kicking up dust and gravel as they drove away from that refuge now consumed by the dark mist.

-[Ø]-

03:00:00 hours.

Slowly, the vehicle finally came to a stop with a faint engine noise, sinking onto its shock absorbers.

It wasn't due to a lack of fuel, nor was it a malfunction with the truck. They simply couldn't go on.

No one moved at first, as if their bodies didn't understand that the frenzy was over for now. Only the labored breathing of the inhabitants and the occasional creaking of the truck's frame were noticeable.

The first to react was the hyperactive Doger. With clumsy, mechanical movements, he tried to stand on the platform and, holding onto the side rails, scanned the surroundings.

Trees as far as the eye could see.

The truck remained motionless in the middle of a dense forest. The vegetation surrounded it, forming a wall along multiple paths with no apparent end. The tops, so high that they hid the stars in the sky, hid any possible source of light. Only the truck's headlights illuminated the road for a few meters.

Doger: …

What the boy heard immediately made the knot in his shoulders relax. He listened to the buzzing of insects, the chirping of crickets, making the dry leaves rustle in the cold drafts.

It seemed as if they could finally take a breath, but inside the vehicle, the tension hadn't completely disappeared. Some overreacted to the slightest ambient sound; some with their heads down, tried to catch their breath, trying to ignore the racing pulse in their temples. Others scurried deeper among the boxes and containers. Everyone couldn't stop being alert.

The driver, Garwin, leaned toward the dashboard, turning off the headlights. The darkness closed in even further on them. It was an instinctive gesture: less visibility meant less chance of being seen, he thought.

He ran a trembling hand over his thick eyebrows. His fingers gripped the leather.

Garwin: Just... five minutes —he stammered.

No one contradicted him. Clearly it would be more than five minutes.

They remained in their seats, each trapped in their own thoughts, in the memories of what had happened, in a night that stretched like an ocean with no promise of safety.

The wind whistled softly through the trees. A faint, peaceful sound, almost unreal after the pandemonium they had experienced not so long ago.

The flow of water was heard pouring. Unwrapping a package of plastic cups, Izzy filled them from the dispenser loaded into the truck, distributing each cup among those present.

Haeri took one and offered it to Gitta at her side.

Haeri: Uhm... Gitta?

He was still wearing his plate armor, collapsed on the platform floor, exhausted from supporting his own weight. He probably needed help removing it.

He had listened to his partner and slowly removed his helmet to drink.

Gitta: ...

He lacked the energy to express gratitude.

Haeri: ...

For her part, the young Xiomara lit some matches she had managed to glimpse among the containers they were carrying. She used them to light a rustic oil lamp that she placed in the middle of the platform, between the group's members.

Xiomara: We'd better—

Doger: Shh! Don't talk so loud —he murmured.

Xiomara: ...O-Okay.

Ema: Excuse me, do you have any sheets? —The woman hugged her two sleepy daughters.

Xiomara: I'm not sure, but let me check.

Ema: Thanks.

Xiomara was a little annoyed by Doger's abrupt comment, although no one could be blamed this time; she had been safely sheltered in the mansion during the incident, so she had no idea what had happened outside, what he and the rest of the explorers had experienced.

Doger: ...Okay, sorry. Ah... Man...

Maybe it was time to explain. Doger exhaled heavily, feeling the pressure returning as he pushed himself off the railings of the truck.

He ran a hand over his face, removing dirt and sweat, trying to shake off the exhaustion that clouded his thoughts, and finally came to plopping down next to the others, crossing his legs on the metal surface of the truck's bed.

Working with Shaun, who would contribute what he knew, they began to recount what had happened as best they could.

It wasn't easy to put into words what had happened, not when they themselves didn't fully understand it. But people needed answers.

There were approximately twenty people in that truck, surrounding them. The expressions on their faces reflected the confusion and fear that still lingered in each of them. Some adults sat with their arms crossed, frowning, waiting for explanations with a mixture of anxiety and despair. Others, younger, hugged themselves, trying to find warmth in the cold dawn.

Most listened attentively to the boys' story, while the children, on the other hand, had been overcome by exhaustion; some leaning against the adults and others simply curled up in the farthest corners among the containers.

The narrators spoke without unnecessary embellishment, without trying to disguise the harshness of the events; for the first time on the trip, something they both agreed on.

They recounted the chaos that had erupted, the way the Dreamers seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, how the tide of amorphous bodies had swept away businesses, homes, and now their only refuge, without warning. An entire city lost in a single night.

They mentioned those who were left behind, those who couldn't run fast enough.

No, it wasn't a transparent explanation. Two truths had been hidden: those who were left behind, and how the group escaped thanks to them.

They didn't even remember their faces, much less their names. They were people who had recently joined the group, who they had merely found along the way, and whom they didn't hesitate to leave behind to save their own.

The young Audrey, a member of that group, remained in the corner hidden between her legs tucked into the passenger seat. The driver occasionally heard her sob quietly.

The story continued.

Each word they spoke seemed to plunge the listeners deeper into the harsh reality. Some nodded slowly, trying to process it all. Others squeezed their eyes shut, as if doing so could banish the images of the massacre now behind them.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken by the whisper of the wind through the dry branches.

There was nothing more to say, because the truth had already been spoken. Now they only had to decide what to do with it, and the duo sharing the last serving of the day was engaged in that task; Nisha Quinto took the cup from Izzy Rylee.

Nisha: Thank you.

Izzy: Gladly...

The drink was at room temperature, not cool at all, but it was the only one they had for their dry lips.

Nisha: Did you... have dinner?

Izzy: No.

A leisurely conversation.

Nisha: Iz...

Izzy: No issues. We managed to load up on supplies we found in the arena's storage room. Water... Canned food... Even toothpaste, bath soap, and so on. They must have been leftovers from the tourist shops after the events... Even if we lost everything else, this should be more than enough compensation... I couldn't say the same for the clothing.

Nisha: ...I see.

Izzy: Naturally, we managed to find replicas. Five containers. I'll count the pieces, sort them, and distribute them when dawn breaks.

She offered a report of the events even though it wasn't requested, an excuse the young man didn't really demand.

He didn't take his eyes off the girl. And she just stared at the glass of water in her hands.

Nisha: I apologize... —he said in a low, timid tone. A lengthy thank you would have been more appropriate, he mused, but the tragedy was so great that he didn't dare ignore his own responsibility.

Izzy: Why?

Nisha: We asked you out... And considering what happened... I... I know I couldn't have done much for you, but at least being there would have helped.

Izzy: Neither you nor I could have predicted what would happen, Nisha —she drank deeply from the cup and turned her clear eyes toward him—. You're safe. That's all you should care about.

Nisha: ...

Both shared glances for a long moment. This time he didn't look away.

Even in the darkness, he could appreciate the beauty of those fine, shining eyes.

Serene. At peace.

Nisha: I think I should be the one to ask you if you're okay this time, right?

Unusually assertive.

The young woman didn't reply. She simply raised her weak hand, retracting her thumb.

Izzy: Like the last quarter.

Nisha: …

She dropped her arm to her side. She breathed softly, indicating that she would sleep now, like the others.

It had been the longest day of her entire life, unaware if it would be the last.

Nisha: Izzy —he whispered her name, putting his empty glass aside, placing his hand over hers.

Izzy: ...

Nisha: I'm really happy you made it back safely... Really... —He expressed honestly— Heh, what am I saying now? It's embarrassing... Sorry, it's late, I guess.

She turned her hand over, interlacing her slender fingers with his.

To be continued...