The first thing Luke became aware of was the smell of fire. Not the raging inferno of the mansion’s burning halls, but something smaller, controlled—a faint, smoky warmth carried on the wind. Then came the ache. A dull, punishing pain that spread through his ribs and down to his fingers, throbbing with each shallow breath. His body felt foreign, broken in ways he hadn’t fully processed yet.

He tried moving his fingers, but a sharp sting shot up his arm. His right hand was wrapped in rags, a crude splint running across it to keep it in place. The bandages were stiff with dried blood. He swallowed, his throat dry as sandpaper. Everything ached. His limbs were leaden, his head foggy. He lay there for a moment, letting the fire’s glow settle against the darkness behind his eyelids, gathering the strength to move.

Then it came back.

Lord Malric’s eyes.

Cold. Ancient. Piercing his mind even now. He remembered lunging, the desperate, useless swing of his weapon, the impossible speed of Malric’s counterattack. The pain of impact, the air being torn from his lungs. Michael’s terror-stricken face as Malric loomed over him, grinning like a demon.

Luke bolted upright with a gasp—pain exploded through his ribs, his vision swam, and he nearly collapsed again.

“Luke!”

Jake’s voice. Footsteps crunching against the dirt. Then hands—firm but careful—grabbing his shoulders and guiding him upright, easing him against something solid. A steel beam, rusted and cold against his back.

Jake crouched beside him, his face drawn but lit with relief. “You’re awake.”

Luke took a breath, wincing as his ribs protested. “How long?” His voice came out hoarse.

“A couple of days,” Jake said. “We made it about thirty miles. Would’ve gotten further, but… rations are low. And we had to drag your ass.”

Luke let that sink in. Two days. Thirty miles. It should’ve been more. He should have been there to help, to fight through it with them. But he’d been unconscious, dead weight. Weak.

His gaze flickered to the others. They were gathered around the small fire, huddled together for warmth. Three pets, two other slaves. Lexie and Maria among them. Their faces were drawn, hollowed by exhaustion. Shadows flickered across their expressions, unreadable.

For a long moment, none of them spoke.

Then Jake exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Since we’re all in this together now…” He looked at the others. “We should know each other. Our real names.”

There was a pause. Then, one by one, they gave them.

Luke.

Jake.

Maria.

Lexie.

The other two slaves—Daniel and Rowan.

The last pet—Anya.

Their names felt small in the vastness of the ruined world around them.

Luke took in their surroundings. The air was still, heavy with the scent of rust and decay. The land stretched out, cracked and barren, littered with remnants of a world long lost. Skeletons of buildings loomed in the distance, their steel frames jutting into the sky like broken ribs. Some had crumbled entirely, swallowed by time and neglect.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Beyond them, far on the horizon, lay the remains of a city. Twisted. Hollow. A graveyard of what humanity had once been. The structures bore scars of war—blasted apart by explosives, burned, shattered. It looked foreign now, like the land itself was trying to erase every trace of human existence.

The wind whispered through the ruins, carrying a chill that sank into their bones. No signs of life. No movement. Just silence.

Hopelessness settled over them like a shroud.

For the first time since escaping, Luke truly understood—they weren’t free. They were simply running. And the world they were running into was no longer theirs.

The wind had a sound to it now—low and hollow, slipping through the ruins like a whisper from the dead.

Luke adjusted the crude sling holding his broken hand in place, feeling the rough fabric bite into his skin. His ribs ached with every step, a dull, grinding pain that reminded him of his failure. The others trudged beside him, their footsteps dragging through the dust and rubble of a forgotten world.

The road ahead stretched into nothingness—cracked asphalt broken by patches of dried grass and jagged remnants of civilization. Rusted-out cars sat abandoned on the roadside, their windows shattered, doors left open like the people inside had been ripped away mid-journey. Some still had skeletal remains slumped in the seats.

The silence pressed down on them. There was no life here. No birds, no insects, not even the distant hum of wind turbines that once dotted the horizon. The world had been hollowed out, leaving only remnants of what used to be.

Hunger gnawed at their bellies. They hadn’t eaten since they left the mansion, and what little energy they had left was fading fast.

“Check the cars,” Luke muttered. His voice came out hoarse.

Jake nodded, already moving toward a rusted sedan. The others hesitated before following suit, their movements sluggish with exhaustion.

Maria pulled open the door of an old truck, her nose wrinkling at the stench inside. “Nothing.”

Lexie checked another. “Empty.”

Rowan, one of the other slaves, gritted his teeth and pried open a trunk. Inside, he found a backpack. The group gathered as he rummaged through it, pulling out a few stale granola bars and a water bottle.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Jake divided the bars, giving each person a small piece. They ate in silence, chewing slowly to make it last. The water was passed around, each sip feeling like a tease rather than relief.

Then they heard it.

A sound in the distance.

Low. Long. Drawn out.

A howl.

The air seemed to tighten around them.

Everyone froze.

Jake’s gaze snapped to Luke. They both knew what that sound meant.

Feral vampires.

Another howl answered the first, further away but no less chilling.

Lexie whimpered. Her hands trembled as she clutched at herself, eyes darting in every direction. “No, no, no… not out here. Not now.”

Maria swallowed hard, gripping her arms. Even Rowan and Daniel the strongest of the other slaves looked unsettled.

But Anya, the smallest of the pets, broke.

She stumbled back, eyes wide, chest heaving. “I… I can’t—” Her breath hitched, hands clawing at her own arms as if trying to steady herself. “I can’t do this. I can’t—I thought we’d be safe out here, but we’re not. We’re just waiting to die.”

“No one’s dying,” Jake said gently, stepping toward her.

But she shook her head, backing away. “You don’t know that! You don’t know what they’ll do if they find us.” Her voice cracked, raw and shaking. “Do you know what they did to the last pet that tried to escape? Do you? They let the ferals have her. They watched. Just for fun. And when she wasn’t enough to satisfy them, they threw another. And another.”

She covered her mouth, sobbing into her palm. “I don’t want to die like that.”

Jake knelt beside her, his voice softer now. “Hey. Look at me.”

Anya didn’t move.

Jake placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. With us. And we’re going to make it.”

Her lip trembled. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not,” he admitted. “But I do know this—if we break now, we don’t stand a chance.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against her knees.

Luke watched, silent.

He understood the fear. The hopelessness. But emotions weren’t going to keep them alive. Strength would. Strategy would.

Caring was a luxury.

Jake met his gaze for a second—maybe expecting him to say something.

Luke said nothing.

Maria did, though.

She studied Luke, something shifting in her expression. Then, slowly, she moved closer to Jake, subtly drawing toward his warmth, his reassurance.

Luke felt nothing about it.

Because it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered. Not comfort. Not tenderness. Only survival. Only growing strong enough to take back what was stolen.

That was all that mattered.

And soon, the howls would get closer.

Soon, they’d have no choice but to keep moving.