The Trap
The day had been uneventful—long stretches of empty wasteland, her boots crunching over cracked earth, her thoughts wandering to the map tucked away in her pack. The sun hung low now, turning the sky into streaks of gold and crimson, and the air carried a stillness that was almost comforting.
Almost.
Jenny paused mid-step, tilting her head. There it was again—the faintest sound, carried on the wind. A cry.
Her heart quickened, and she turned, scanning the horizon. It wasn’t her imagination. The sound came again, faint but unmistakable—a voice, hoarse and broken.
“Help... Please...”
Jenny’s fingers tightened on the strap of her rifle. Her instincts screamed caution, but something deeper, louder, pushed her forward. What if it’s someone like me? Alone, scared, needing help?
The voice called again, weaker this time, and Jenny started moving. She walked quickly at first, then broke into a jog, her braid bouncing against her back as she followed the sound. Her boots kicked up dust, her rifle bumping against her side.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice steady but loud enough to carry. “I’m here! Where are you?”
No response.
Jenny slowed, her breath quickening as unease crept in. She wasn’t stupid—she knew the wasteland could be cruel. But this didn’t feel like cruelty. This felt like... desperation.
She rounded a ridge and saw them.
A figure was slumped on the ground, half-hidden in the shadows of a rocky outcrop. Their clothes were tattered, their body thin, trembling. They raised a hand weakly, their face obscured by the failing light.
“Help...” the voice rasped, barely audible now.
Jenny hesitated, glancing around. Her grey eyes scanned the area, sharp and calculating. The wasteland had taught her to trust her instincts, and something about this felt... off. The stillness. The way the figure’s movements seemed too deliberate, too slow.
But what if I’m wrong? she thought, guilt biting at her resolve.
She adjusted her rifle, stepping cautiously closer. “Hey,” she called out, her voice softer now. “I can help. Are you hurt? Can you stand?”
The figure didn’t answer, their hand trembling in the air. Jenny took another step, her boot crunching loudly on a loose rock.
The figure’s head snapped up.
For a split second, the world seemed to freeze. Jenny caught a glimpse of their face, pale and hollow, their eyes sunken and sharp like blades. Their lips parted, revealing teeth that were too clean, too white, set against skin that looked like it hadn’t seen the sun in years.
Her instincts screamed at her to run.
Something struck her from behind.
The world spun as pain exploded at the back of her skull. Her knees buckled, and she fell forward, her rifle slipping from her grasp. She tried to reach for it, but the ground rushed up to meet her, and everything went black.
----------------------------------------
Jenny woke to the sound of dripping water. Her head throbbed, and the taste of blood lingered in her mouth. She tried to move, but her hands were bound behind her back, the coarse rope biting into her wrists.
She blinked, her vision clearing slowly. The room around her was dim, lit by a faint, flickering light—firelight, she realized, coming from deeper within the cave. The walls were jagged, the air damp and cold. Shadows danced across the stone, twisting into shapes her mind couldn’t quite follow.
Her rifle was gone. Her pack, too. She was sitting on the ground, her legs stretched awkwardly in front of her, and the tightness in her chest told her they’d taken her jacket as well.
Footsteps echoed from deeper in the cave. Slow. Measured.
Jenny’s heart raced as a figure emerged from the shadows.
They were tall and gaunt, their movements deliberate, their face pale and sharp. Hollow eyes stared down at her, and their mouth curved into a smile that was too controlled, too knowing. They looked human, but only just.
“Awake,” the figure said, their voice smooth and low, like silk sliding over steel. They crouched in front of her, their head tilting slightly as they studied her. “You’re... different from the others.”
Jenny swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Let me go,” she said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts.
The figure’s smile widened. “Of course. After all, we’re not savages.”
From the darkness behind them, more shapes emerged. They moved with the same unsettling grace, their eyes glinting faintly in the firelight. Jenny counted three, then four, then six. Each one bore the same pale complexion, the same predatory calm.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
The first figure leaned closer, their face inches from hers. Their voice dropped to a whisper. “But first, let’s see what you’re made of.”
Jenny’s blood turned to ice as they smiled wider, their teeth gleaming.
----------------------------------------
The leader straightened slowly, his hollow eyes sweeping over her with a cold, calculating hunger. He motioned with one hand, and the others moved in eerie synchrony, untying her from the post and dragging her forward.
Jenny bucked and thrashed, her legs kicking out uselessly as their fingers dug into her arms and shoulders. Panic exploded in her chest. Her head spun with half-formed thoughts, none of them comforting. Were they raiders? What did they want?
Her mind raced back to the bunker, to a memory she hadn’t touched in years. Greg, lanky and awkward, standing just a little too close in the shadow of the generator room. They were fourteen, both red-faced, their friends snickering a few feet away. It had been a bet—she’d lost.
“Fine,” she’d muttered, her voice tight with annoyance, “but don’t think this means anything.”
Greg hadn’t answered, just leaned in with all the grace of a stumbling drunk. Their lips met, dry and uncertain, and Jenny had pulled back almost immediately. It wasn’t good, wasn’t bad. Just a thing they’d done, like trying the weird rations from the storage room or seeing who could hold their breath longest.
It was a moment she barely remembered, and now it filled her with cold dread. If they were going to... Her stomach turned, and she fought harder, kicking one of them hard enough to earn a grunt.
“Let me go!” she screamed, her voice cracking as they dragged her toward the altar.
The leader chuckled, his pale face twisting into something that almost resembled pity. “Fight all you want,” he said softly, “but it won’t change the outcome.”
Her breath hitched as her head tilted back, her braid brushing against cold stone. Her body was pressed down against the altar, the rough surface scraping her back. She wriggled, twisting her wrists against the coarse rope that bound her, but the others held her fast.
Then she smelled it.
The metallic tang hit her nose like a slap, sharp and unmistakable. Blood. Thick and cloying, it clung to the air, sour and wrong.
Her struggles faltered, a new kind of fear setting in. The leader’s bony fingers reached down, but instead of her waistband or her throat, they hooked under the sleeve of her tee. He rolled it up carefully, almost methodically, exposing the pale skin of her arm.
Jenny’s chest heaved as realization dawned. This wasn’t about what she’d feared. This was worse.
----------------------------------------
The pain was blinding, a searing heat that tore through Jenny’s shoulder and into her chest. She thrashed against the restraints, her cries echoing in the dim cavern, but the ropes bit deep into her wrists, holding her fast. The leader of the cannibals stood over her, his blade gleaming faintly in the flickering firelight. His hollow eyes glimmered with something worse than hunger—detached curiosity, like a butcher appraising a particularly fine cut of meat.
Jenny’s breath came in ragged gasps as he pressed the edge of the blade against her skin. Her defiance sputtered out into terrified desperation. “Don’t... don’t do this,” she choked out, her voice trembling.
The leader tilted his head, his thin lips curving into an almost kind smile. “It’s not personal,” he murmured, his voice soft, measured. “You’re simply... necessary.”
The blade bit into her flesh. Jenny screamed, her body arching against the pain as blood ran down her arm, warm and thick.
And then the world exploded.
----------------------------------------
The cavern erupted in chaos as the sharp crack of a gunshot echoed through the air. The cannibal holding the blade reeled backward, a bloom of blood erupting from his chest. Another shot followed, dropping a second figure as they turned toward the commotion.
Jenny’s head swam as the pain threatened to drag her under, but she forced her eyes open. A figure moved in the shadows, quick and deliberate, the faint glow of the fire catching on a rifle slung low across their chest.
Her vision blurred, but she caught the outline of a man—lean, wiry, with a loose, confident gait that suggested he wasn’t worried about the odds. His rifle barked again, and another cannibal fell. The rest scattered into the shadows, their eerie composure breaking as they hissed and scrambled for cover.
The man moved toward her, his steps steady despite the chaos. Jenny blinked, her thoughts sluggish, the pain in her shoulder turning to a dull throb.
“Hey,” he said, crouching beside her. His voice was smooth, casual, like he was greeting her at a bar instead of cutting her loose from a cannibal’s dinner table. “Looks like you’ve had a rough day.”
“Who...?” Jenny tried to form words, but her throat was dry, her strength fading fast.
“Questions later, princess.” He glanced at her mangled shoulder, his expression tightening briefly before he masked it with a smirk. “Gonna hurt like hell, but you’re not dying here.”
The ropes fell away with a quick slice of his knife, and he hooked an arm under her, pulling her upright. Jenny’s vision swam, and her knees buckled, but he steadied her, his grip firm but careful.
“Easy,” he muttered. “You’re lighter than you look, but I’m not carrying you the whole way out. Work with me, yeah?”
----------------------------------------
Gunfire cracked behind them as the remaining cannibals regrouped. The man fired back over his shoulder, his movements precise, efficient. He didn’t waste a shot, each one dropping a pursuer or forcing them into cover.
Jenny stumbled beside him, her legs barely responding. Her right arm hung useless at her side, the blood loss making her dizzy. The cave walls blurred together, the flickering light turning the shadows into grotesque shapes.
“Almost there,” the man said, his tone steady. He glanced at her briefly, his sharp features lit by the muzzle flash of his rifle. His hair was dark and unkempt, his jawline shadowed with stubble. “You don’t get to pass out on me, alright? That’d be rude.”
Jenny tried to respond, but her words came out as a faint groan.
They burst into the open air moments later, the cool night wind biting at Jenny’s skin. She stumbled, her vision narrowing to a pinprick as the man half-carried her into the cover of a rocky outcrop.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he muttered, lowering her to the ground. His hands were quick and practiced, tearing a strip from his own shirt to bind her shoulder. Jenny hissed in pain as he tightened the makeshift bandage, but her head lolled against the rock behind her, her strength gone.
“Who... are you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He grinned, a rogue’s smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Call me Reed,” he said. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a soft spot for pretty blondes who wander into death traps.”
Jenny’s lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile before her eyes fluttered closed.
----------------------------------------
Reed sat back on his heels, wiping the blood from his hands. His eyes lingered on Jenny’s face, pale but peaceful now in unconsciousness. He sighed, glancing back toward the cave. The cannibals wouldn’t stay spooked for long.
“You owe me big for this, princess,” he muttered, slinging her rifle over his shoulder alongside his own. “And I don’t do charity.”
He hoisted her up carefully, cradling her against his chest as he stood. She was lighter than he expected, her frame wiry beneath the tattered remains of her uniform. Reed cast one last glance toward the cave before turning toward the distant horizon.
“Let’s get you somewhere less... bitey.”