“Front toward enemy.” The last three words you want to see, especially while you have tension on a tripwire. My whole body shook with fear, and I reprimanded myself internally for being so careless. Thankfully I had only been walking forward, so not tripping it would be simple. Hopefully. I sucked in a breath and started pulling my foot back. My heart leaped into my throat as I saw the wire moving along with my boot. Somehow, the wire had gotten entangled with the laces. My mouth felt dry, and my shaking had only worsened. The hammering in my chest felt like it was going to explode out of my ribcage with how hard it was beating.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I whispered shakily. “What the fuck do I do?”

I ran my options through my mind. I could try untangling the wire, but if I fucked up, the explosion would kill me. If I tried to pull my leg away, I might get out with only my calves blown off. I’d rather die instantly than bleed out slowly—especially with the side effects of the ambrosia I took earlier. I shuddered at the thought of how much pain that would cause—and immediately forced myself to stand still. I had to make a decision. I couldn’t stand there forever. Eventually, the wire would become tense enough that it’d be tripped either way, killing me painfully. A deep breath wracked my chest, shuddering as I inhaled and exhaled.

It’s an ancient mine, I thought. It’s from at least the 2030s. Maybe the trigger mechanism has deteriorated enough to slow down the explosion? It was hopeful thinking, but I didn’t have many other options. I sucked in another breath and began scooting my left foot backward. If this was going to work, I’d need to time this perfectly. It was life and death if—I stumbled backward, causing the wire to snap.

Pure instinct took over as electricity shot through my veins. I threw myself backward, curling into a ball, ignoring the agony tearing through my arm. My whole body was tense as I waited for the inevitable explosion… which never came. My hands shaking, I uncovered my head, looking over my shoulder. The mine remained on the wall, and not exploded. The sound of blood rushing flooded my ears, making it hard to hear my own thoughts. I suddenly felt sick. I tore off my mask and threw up onto the grimy carpet underneath me. The bitter taste of bile stained my lips as I spat, trying to rid myself of it.

Eventually, I wiped my mouth and got to my feet. My knees felt wobbly as I crept by the mine, afraid that it’d explode just by me existing near it. But it didn’t. It remained stationary on the wall, its ominous instructions of “Front Toward Enemy” watching me as I walked past. I turned my attention to the reason I had even been back here—the counselor’s office. I only knew it was the counselor’s office, thanks to the plaque on the door. A quick glance inside caused my spirits to soar, my close encounter with death almost forgotten. On the wall behind the desk was a map, encased in glass.

The door was locked, but reaching through the shattered window allowed me to unlock it from the outside. I pushed the door open and double-checked the ground for any other traps. Thankfully, I didn’t see any. A short walk across the room and around the desk, and I was in front of the map. It was of decent quality, aside from water damage and such. All that mattered was that the side of the school I was in was on the map. A few taps from my crowbar and the glass was broken. I brushed it away and pulled out the pins keeping the map in place. The paper made quiet rustling noises as I took it down.

According to this, I need to go back out of here, turn right, go past the cafeteria, and through a few more hallways, I thought, studying the map. That shouldn’t be that hard.

—/—|—\—

It was, in fact, that hard. I tapped my foot in frustration at the collapsed wall in front of me. Glancing down at the map told me that if I continued straight ahead, I would almost be at the northern stairwell. But, of course, I had to be blocked by a giant pile of rubble. I wish Ava was here, I thought, a pang of worry radiating through my gut. I hope she’s safe. What if—I shut down that train of thought immediately. It was useless to stress myself out about things I didn’t know. I would just have to pray that she was okay.

I glanced back down at the map, putting myself back in survival mode. An alternate path through the cafeteria revealed itself to me after a few moments of studying the paper. A bit of backtracking would be necessary, but if things worked out in my favor—when have they ever done that?—I’d have gotten back on track quickly. I folded the map carefully and tucked it into my coat pocket. My gaze wandered over the grimy floors and the dilapidated walls and ceiling as I walked back the way I came. I found myself near the foyer, standing in front of a pair of double doors.

The metal screeched loudly, hurting my eardrums, as I pushed open the door. My heart sank as I found that the ceiling had caved in. Sunlight and snow drifted in, coating the mountain of rubble in white powder like a fancy sort of breakfast cereal. A strange sort of smell lingered in the air, giving me a sense of deja vu. I wasn’t going to be crossing the cafeteria as easily as I had hoped. I groaned quietly as I stepped inside, scanning the debris. There wasn’t any way to pass it. The gaps in the mangle of concrete and steel probably led to dead ends, or could easily crush me if the pile was unstable. And going over it was equally as stupid since I could fall in and get crushed—or impaled.

I growled and pressed my palm against my forehead. How the hell am I supposed to get past this? I paced in a circle, grumbling quietly. As I turned, I paused. There was a shuttered doorway, which led to what appeared to be another section of the cafeteria. I crept up to it, the strange, rotting smell growing stronger with each step. I still couldn’t identify it, but it was extremely familiar as if I had encountered it recently. The bottom of the shutter was cracked open, and I crouched down to look through. It appeared to be some sort of serving area, where students would line up to get their lunch.

It’s a better option than anything else I’ve got, I thought, crawling under the shutter. As I stood up, my tail accidentally clipped it, causing it to slam shut with a massive metallic bang. I stood frozen, my ears pricked for any other sounds. Silence. The area I was in was a long, narrow room. It spanned to my left quite some distance, most likely to accommodate how many students were attending the school comfortably. I took slow, tentative steps, my gaze flitting over the several cheesily named miniature “restaurants” the school had for attendees to choose from. Blaze of Glory, Little Italy, and Rodizio Grill were just a few names that stood out to me.

Upon further inspection, each of the “restaurants” had no means of cooking food, though the double doors at the back of each room told me that the cooking happened elsewhere. I paused as I spotted a streak of dark liquid spattered across the floor and over the counter of the Little Italy. A shiver ran down my spine as I noticed the ever so faint sickly sweet stench of Ether and blood lingering in the air like a phantom, warning me of danger.

I ignored my doubts, and continued forward, vaulting over the counter of the faux restaurant. The rotting odor was stronger here, and it was making me feel sick. My hands lingered over the doors, staring at the grimy glass pane that separated me and the kitchen. I have to do this. I have to go through it. Shoving my doubts away, I pushed the doors open, and—the stench of rotting flesh hit my nostrils like a semi-truck. I reeled backward, gagging, threatening to throw up a second time.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Oh, Umbra, I thought, clamping my hand over my nostrils. It occurred to me that my mask was still down. I tugged it back over my snout, the stench being dampened slightly. I felt sick as I approached the doors again, pushing them open with a loud, ear-piercing screech. Dread spread through my chest like an infection, weighing down my limbs and numbing my mind as I tried to process what I was seeing in front of me. There were piles of bodies crammed into the corners of the kitchen, almost to the ceiling. Almost all of them were skeletal, with newer blood-stained corpses sticking out like a polar bear in the desert. More bodies—the freshest—were strewn across counters with organs trailing and limbs missing. My mind glazed over, allowing me to stare at the bodies indifferently.

I moved forward robotically, trying to maintain my footing on the slick floors, and keeping my eyes glued to the blood-stained tiles. The stench of Ether and blood was overpowering. Whatever had been through here clearly wasn’t human—and very much active. I’d have to move quickly if I wanted to find Ava in time. Subconsciously, my pace picked up, and in my dazed state, I didn’t even try to slow down. Just keep on moving. Keep looking down. Keep on moving. Keep lo—

My heart leaped in my throat as my feet jettisoned out from underneath me, sending me to the floor. The taste of bile overrode my senses as I tried to push myself off the slick, sticky floor, and I managed to pull off my mask just in time. Once again, vomit spewed from my mouth, mixing with the viscera on the ground. The bright light from my headlamp did nothing to make it look any less abhorrent. I coughed and finally managed to pull myself up, stabilizing myself on the counter as my feet slid around underneath me. My clothes were wet with blood, chilling me further and staining the fabric irreparably. My fingers were freezing. My scales shivered. And I was tired. So, so tired. Sudden exhaustion threatened to overtake me, but I shook my head, trying to ward it off. I looked up, and froze, a jolt of energy shooting through my veins.

Written on the wall, in dark, runny letters, was the sentence, “Beware ol’ Wendy.”

The first sign of sentient life—that was probably long deceased by now—and it was a warning. Who the hell is ‘ol’ Wendy’? That thought terrified me. ‘Who.’ Not ‘what.’ I could feel terror overcoming me, rocking me to the core. What kind of person could do all this? What kind of monster could kill with so little thought? The corpses piled around me were enough of an answer.

The need to exit that room and find Ava as fast as possible overtook me, and I hurried across the room, avoiding skeletons that had fallen to the floor. I pushed through the double doors, panting as if I’d run a marathon. The image of the corpses stacked high was already fading from my mind—but I knew that it would haunt me, following me into unconsciousness. Focus, Kéron, I chided myself. Find Ava. Get the fuck out of this godforsaken school. I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out the bloodstained. Fortunately, the route I was taking was still visible. Stuffing the map back in my pocket, I hurried forward, trailing bloodied footprints.

The school felt quiet as if it was holding its breath as I walked, my footsteps ringing out against the dirty concrete floor. I shuddered at the thought. Instead, I tried to keep my thoughts optimistic. You’re gonna get out of here just fine, I assured myself. You’re going to find Ava, gut the jet, escape before whoever the fuck caused that mess in the kitchen, and wash the blood out of your clothes despite knowing it will never come clean, just like your memory–

I distracted myself by checking the map. A little jolt of hope pried at my heart—I was almost to the northern stairwell. If Ava had managed to find her way there, she’d be there, waiting for me, and we’d finally be able to leave. The anticipation grew in my chest as I walked forward, approaching the bend that would lead me to the stairwell. I found myself counting the steps until I rounded the corner. Five steps. Four steps. Three steps. Two steps. One step… Without waiting a second further, I stepped around the corner and was greeted by a long, dilapidated hallway. According to the map, the stairwell was just out of sight. Frozen by fear and anticipation, I stood, staring down the corridor, my ears perked. And there it was. Just the slightest sound of movement, imperceptible to anyone but me.

“Ava? That you?” I called, my voice echoing my own fear back to me. The sound paused. I could just make out the faint sound of her breathing raggedly. She must’ve been running recently, I thought. “It’s okay, Ava. It’s me, Kéron!” I don’t know why I felt the need to clarify that, but it felt important.

“Kéron?” She croaked quietly, her voice hoarse.

“Oh, thank Umbra,” I sighed. “Are you okay?”

“O-kay?” Ava mused. “Yes… I am… o-kay. I am very much o-kay. That is me. O-kay.”

“Alright, then,” I muttered, beginning to walk down the hallway. Don’t worry too much about it, I thought as her strange speech patterns crossed my mind. She probably hit her head, too. “I’m coming over there, Ava. I’ve still got some ambrosia on me, but it’s a little smushed.” She went quiet as I inched closer. “We’ve gotta get out of here, dude. There was a warning; ‘Beware ol’ Wendy.’ I don’t know who the hell she is, but she-”

“Wendy?” She asked.

I paused. “Uh, yeah. It’s not important, though—well, not that important—we’ve gotta get the hell out of dodge before we learn who she is.” A sense of unease began creeping down my spine.

“Wendy,” she repeated, almost sounding nostalgic.

“Yup. That’s her. Now stop dicking around so we can gut the fucking jet,” I hissed, becoming annoyed. I didn’t know what the hell she was on about, but it was beginning to freak me out.

A hissing sound emanated from the end of the hallway, sending chills down my spine. I was almost halfway down the hallway when the feeling that something wasn’t right finally settled over me. Like I had walked right into a trap. “Uh… Ava?” I whimpered.

“Gut the fucking jet. Gut the fucking jet,” Ava said, her voice growing hoarser with each word. I watched in horror as antlers crept around the corner, followed by a skull-covered snout, and a muscular, yet starved furry body that barely fit in the hallway. I felt like a deer in the headlights, staring at my impending death. “Gut the fucking you,” the wendigo said in its own grating, monstrous voice. “Language,” it chided.

“Oh, Umbra,” I gasped, stumbling backward and unslinging my rifle. My hands shook, and pain shot through my arm as I held the rifle’s barrel in my left hand. Frantically, I pulled the charging handle back, flicked the safety off, and set it to automatic. I could barely keep the sights trained on its head. How the hell did a wendigo get all the way out here? They’re supposed to be on the East Coast, not The Middle of Nowhere, Utah, I thought, panicked. As I backed away, the wendigo followed. I rested my finger on the trigger, forcing myself to be still. The sights lined up directly over the middle of the wendigo’s head, and I breathed a shaky breath and squeezed the trigger.

The explosion was deafening—and that was the worst part. The single gunshot. Horror overtook me as I processed the fact the wendigo was still standing and was staring down at the horn my singular bullet had shaved off. A vicious growl echoed through the hallway, prompting me to figure out what was wrong with my rifle. I tried to pull back the charging handle, but it wouldn’t move. The wendigo began pacing toward me, the growl in its throat growing in volume and ferocity.

“Shit!” I shouted, trying to pull back the charging handle with all my might. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Language,” the wendigo growled furiously, the white pinpricks of light from its sunken eye sockets piercing my soul. Without warning, the wendigo charged, letting out a horrific scream that shook me to my core.

Instinctively, I squared my stance and held my rifle like a baseball bat. “COME THE FUCK ON!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, staring directly into the jaws of death.