She didn’t remember jumping—only the sensation of air tearing past her as she made her decent down to the icy waters. The darkness of the water rising fast beneath her. Her stomach launched into her throat as control slipped past her fingers.

  Eight days. Eight days of running, hiding, starving, and now here she was falling to her possible death. Was this it? Was this how it all ends? She would have laughed if she wasn’t bracing for impact.

  The rolling creatures were still above, uncurled from their bodies, scraping and screeching along the cliffs edge—their limbs snapped outward like blades, tails tipped in curved stingers that pulsed with venomous purple light. It was otherworldly, resembling scorpions, but ones that were the size of an SUV and turned into a rolling ball of death at a moment’s notice. She can still hear their clicking echoing in her mind—a rhythm that felt like a countdown to her imminent death. Sloane couldn’t outrun them. Not anymore at least. Not with her body starved, shaking, and every muscle screaming from exhaustion and dehydration.

  Eight days. She barely had enough food to stay upright. No sleep worth counting. Not with the dreams that kept her up at night and the constant threat of being hunted. There was no one she could trust—not after what desperation did to people. Some had turned feral just for a few scraps. And others had been waiting for the end like this was their true calling in life.

  Where are they?

  The thought hit harder than the fall— Where was her family? Her friends? Were they alive, dead, somewhere fighting the same fight? She didn’t know. No one knew. The world went to hell without instructions, and everyone was left to their own devises. Some people were prepared with their own personal stock pile of canned goods and enough guns and ammo to supply a military base. Some snapped the second things went bad. Others — like her — just kept moving because stopping meant dying. Her life went to complete shit. Her job, her dreams, every small victory she’d bled for—felt meaningless now. What was the point of all of it if she was only going to die alone? Maybe not alone. She did have the rolling turds on her tail for the last five days.

  I worked so hard. For what? To drown? To die on impact?

  The crisp cold water rushed closer. She wanted to close her eyes and let it take her. She was tired of running. Tired of surviving and there was no end in sight. Survival wasn’t just a necessity—it was instinct. Something living inside her that refused to die.

  That instinct pushed even when she didn't want to move. It guided her to caves, to abandoned cabins with dusty cans of food left behind, to rivers when she was moments from collapsing. She didn’t know how she was still alive. There was a feeling of someone or something pulling her forward by her hand. With her line of work, she would chalk this up as trauma driven survival response. The mind takes over even when the body doesn’t want to.

  But her mind felt distant, like she was having an out of body experience—some stranger making decisions she wouldn’t have ordinarily chosen. If this were a movie, she would have called the woman falling through the sky impressive. Extraordinary. The kind of person who knew no fear—who took life by the horns and dared it to break her.

  But she didn’t feel like any of those things. She felt human. A pathetic human, who’s only means of survival was pure luck and maybe a little bit of adrenaline. Just like what she was feeling now as the water surged up and swallowed her whole.

  Cold hit like a physical blow, bringing her back to reality away from her thoughts. She kicked, her arms slicing through the water, lungs burning for air. Every part of her wanted to stop fighting, to let the darkness pull her under and end the story before it started. But something kept her moving. Something always kept her moving.

  Not yet.

  She broke the surface with a gasp, breathing in the crisp Washington air. It tasted like salt and desperation on her tongue. She needed warmth and fast. The cold water started seeping deep into her bones, breaking her spirit.

  She looked up towards the cliffs edge to see what she was up against. The creatures skittered and screeched, seemingly unimpressed with her quick decisions. She can tell that they were planning, scheming —and it left her little room to think. Not that she had much of a choice: freeze in the water, or get to shore—and possibly freeze there anyway.

  She gave the creatures the middle finger, teeth chattering uncontrollably. Whipping her head around, she took in her surroundings and struck out for the nearest shore, grunting as she did. The pine tree line was all she had.

  She’d hoped the movement would warm her.

  It didn’t.

  It seemed none of the rolling turds followed her path. Good. Though probably not out of mercy—what she did was sheer stupidity. They might as well call her dead now. On the bright side, that meant they probably wouldn’t come looking for her. A win for the day. She would take it.

  She dragged herself along the rock-strewn shoreline, palms scraping stone as her hands trembled, searching for the strength to stand. A ragged breath tore from her chest, lungs burning with exhaustion.

  What had she gotten herself into?

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  It would take a miracle to survive this. She’d survived close calls before—but this one took the cake. Who was she kidding? Every close call was its own private horror. They were just… different flavors of hell.

  When could she go home? She just wanted to go home. Any home. Somewhere with walls. Somewhere safe. Somewhere that wasn’t here—where she was wet, frozen, and scared shitless. Though at this point, Fear almost felt normal now. It had become a constant, a steady hum beneath her skin. Anything outside of it—anything quiet, gentle, or still—was what truly terrified her. She’d grown so used to fear she wasn’t sure she’d ever remember what peace felt like.

  The brisk air felt like a million needles prickling her skin. Her long, soaked auburn hair clung to her face and neck like a literal wet blanked, amplifying the cold. What she would give to be able to sit by a fire. She kept a running list of what she needed, and honestly, she’d sell her soul for half of it at this point.

  It had to be the extinction of the human race. What else could it be? There are resources here, but maybe instead of killing humans outright, they’d make them their personal slaves. The reality could easily be that they are rounding everyone up right now. Where is the military? Who is saving human kind? She hadn’t heard a single helicopter or a jet engine in the sky. It was dead. Everything was dead. There were no means of communication—not even a radio. You never realize how essential technology is until it’s gone.

  She had to keep moving. At minimum: don’t get caught, don’t die. The only way to accomplish the latter was to find shelter. There was a cabin a few miles back, but where? She completely lost her bearings. And how to get back up that way without tipping off those creatures?

  She looked up at the cliff edge she’d so enthusiastically catapulted herself from. Empty. Of course it was. The creatures were gone—at least for now. She could only hope they’d finally lost interest, gotten bored, found someone else to terrorize.

  At this point, she figured if she ever ran into them again, she should probably ask their names. They’d crossed paths often enough for it to feel rude not to. Practically intimate, really. If they were going to be the ones to eventually catch her and end her life, the least she could do was offer a polite greeting. Maybe even commit their names to memory. It seemed only fair—after all, she’d already memorized the ways they liked to try to kill her.

  Seeing that there was no other alternative, she put one foot in front of the other. Furthermore, she was hell bent on sticking to the woods. If she learned anything from movies, cities were a death sentence. And no matter how much she wanted to give up, her body wouldn’t allow it. The last few days, she’d thought about death—what it would feel like, what it would mean.

  Dying sounded really good with the current state of things. But the thought swung back and forth in her mind like a pendulum. Just like standing at the edge of a bridge, staring into the fall—the idea of the pain was hard to get past. Not to mention the question that followed: what happens after? Hard to believe in pearly gates right now. And if she didn’t die—if she survived—what then? Would she be a slave? Would the world even exist long enough to matter? Was it worth the fight?

  Maybe that’s why she was still walking. Maybe she wanted whoever—or whatever—was watching to see it. To know she wasn’t done. Screw them. She’d destroy the things that destroyed her. She’d lost everything that meant anything to her; there was nothing left to lose.

  Or maybe—just maybe—someone would come and save them. Fix everything. Put things back the way they were. And one day, everyone would laugh about this moment in history. Remember that? Wasn’t that a crazy situation? How’d you survive?

  Ha. Ha. Ha.

  A good enough reason to keep moving forward. She stumbled over a branch here, a rock there. The crunch of leaves beneath her boots sounded unnecessarily loud, but she gave up on stealth. She was shaking uncontrollably now. The sun was finishing its final descent, and the temperature was dipping along with it. If she knew anything about basic biology, she didn’t have long before hypothermia set in. She didn’t have much meat on her bones to keep her warm in the first place. Not to mention, now she had wet clothes that were starting to feel heavier, as if they were forming a barrier of ice.

  Building a fire was out of the question —those creatures would see it from a mile away. And she would rather freeze to death than look one of them in the eye as it sliced her head clean from her shoulders.

  Just as she felt her last thread of hope thinning, a shape emerged through the trees —a makeshift cabin. She couldn’t believe it.

  “No. Way.” She said to herself.

  What were the odds?

  At this point nothing surprised her. This sort of thing was a daily occurrence. When she needed something the most, she was blindly led towards it. Call it fate. It kept happening enough that she should probably start playing the lottery when the world was normal again—assuming normal was still a thing.

  The cabin was old, clearly unoccupied for quite some time. The two doors she found were rusted shut. Lucky for her one of the windows wasn’t. It began to mist—not unusual for the area—but given her already drenched state, she was counting her blessings.

  She pushed the window up slowly, the frame groaning as it slid open—loud enough to send nearby critters scurrying. She froze, holding her breath, praying nothing larger had heard. And she wasn’t talking about bears. She would welcome the sight of one at this point.

  She clumsily fit her body through the small window, grateful that she could, in fact, squeeze through. She wasn’t as flexible as she used to be—age did that to a person. There was no perfect landing on the other side, anyway. Nimble or not, she was exhausted, frozen. Her whole body thumped against the floor, dust coating her hands, face, and clothes. She began coughing, quickly sitting up and reaching for the window to close it. No one—or nothing—needed to hear that.

  The cabin was simple—a small living space with a kitchenette and a single bedroom. Unfortunately, there was no bathroom. The woods would have to do, not that she had anything in her to even pee. Her urine was nearly brown now, dehydration thickening it like syrup in her body. But there was a bed and there was a blanket.

  She peeled off her wet shoes and clothes, skin reddened and numb beneath them. For the sake of surviving another day, she hung everything to dry, though she wasn’t holding her breath. She was bracing herself for a day of walking around with damp clothing.

  She checked the mattress for bugs, then collapsed beneath musty blanket. The smell was stale, damp, clinging like old smoke and rot—but she didn’t care. She smelled way worse.

  After some time, feeling returned to her fingers and toes. She welcomed the small sparks of pain. At least she wouldn’t be losing any limbs. Not today, Satan.

  Her shivering eased, muscles loosening, and her breath no longer a ragged tremor. Sleep was calling to her, soft and heavy, pulling her under. For the first time in days, she didn’t fight it. She just hoped she’d open her eyes again. And if she did, she just hoped there was nothing standing over her —waiting for the moment she finally faced her own death.