Sofia stepped carefully, planting her feet on one tree root after another to avoid slipping on the mud as they descended the hill. Despite the dense canopy above, the rain hadn’t stopped since sunrise, and the trek had been agonizingly slow. It had taken what felt like an eternity to cross that hill, and they still had a day’s walk ahead. The grey sky above the dark, skeletal trees mirrored the mood of the group—somber and tense.

Since leaving Malmö, the three of them had exchanged few words, their silence heavy with unspoken exhaustion and unease. Jonathan, holding the map, had taken on the role of leader, guiding them north toward a place called “Store Sjö.” At least, Sofia thought that’s what it was called—Przemek’s attempts to pronounce it were unintelligible, and Jonathan’s Danish accent didn’t help much either. Some of the maps didn’t even label it.

Sofia tried to match Przemek’s pace. He was clearly injured and struggled up the hill, his breathing labored, but he pressed on like an ox, his determination unshaken. She glanced back at him, his face smeared with dirt and his chest heaving as he gasped for air. He noticed her watching and gave her a tired smile. “Don’t worry about me. Just make sure you don’t trip and break your leg,” he said, his voice rough but teasing.

Jonathan was about ten meters ahead, moving steadily through the rain as though it didn’t bother him. Sofia envied his endurance. At least the temperature had risen since the bitter cold of a few days ago. Their body heat, generated by the constant movement, made the rain almost bearable, though condensation from sweat and rain trickled down her neck. Her clothes were soaked through, and her shoes squelched with every step. They weren’t made for this kind of terrain, but the thought that Jonathan and Przemek were enduring the same ordeal—with twice the weight in their packs—gave her some small comfort.

She had hiked before, but not like this. The conditions were brutal, and the fear of running into more trouble weighed heavily on her. Ever since encountering that massive group following their trail, they had stuck to the worst possible routes, avoiding crossroads and settlements to stay hidden. The terrain was unforgiving, but safety was their priority.

As they reached the bottom of the hill and stepped into an open field, the rain intensified. Buckets seemed to pour from the sky, drenching them even further. Jonathan stopped in the middle of the field, spreading his arms and looking up at the downpour as if embracing it. He turned back toward them with a grin. “We’re going to be soaked either way, so use the rain to wash off the mud!” he said with surprising cheerfulness.

Sofia raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or losing it. “At least the bad guys will stay inside thanks to the rain,” Przemek muttered as he caught up to her, his voice laced with exhaustion.

Sofia frowned, her stomach twisting. She wasn’t so sure. Those demons they had encountered before didn’t seem to care about rain—or anything else.

The group trudged across the field until they reached a road. Jonathan knelt in the muddy crevasse beside it and pulled out the map. “National 21,” he said, squinting at the markings. “We’re making good progress.”

Sofia noticed something strange—Jonathan seemed... lighter. The rain, for whatever reason, had lifted his mood. She glanced at Przemek, but he was silent, his eyes fixed on something down the road.

“Is that a gas station?” Przemek asked, pointing toward a building near an exit up ahead.

Jonathan lifted his rifle and peered through the magnifying scope. “Doesn’t look like one. Maybe highway maintenance or something,” he replied.

Przemek shifted his weight, his voice hesitant. “You guys think we should check it out? It’s late, and we need shelter for the night. If it’s not a gas station, it’s less likely to attract attention.”

Jonathan looked back at Sofia, waiting for input. She stared at the building. Despite the rain and the cold, she couldn’t shake a bad feeling. “What do you think?” Przemek asked, his tone impatient but still kind.

She hesitated, glancing at his pale, feverish face. He looked ready to collapse. Finally, she shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

Her hands tightened around her submachine gun as they started toward the building. Despite Przemek’s crash course in its use, she still wasn’t confident with it. Her pistol, at least, was something she could rely on.

The rain pelted their faces as they approached the facility. Przemek moved with slow, automatic steps, his exhaustion worrying her more by the second. She wanted to say something to break the silence, to reassure him, but her words caught in her throat. Jonathan marched ahead, rifle in hand, his focus unshaken.

The building came into view—a large structure with massive garage doors and long windows near the roof. The parking lot around it was unpaved and waterlogged, mud pooling in deep ruts. Sofia squinted through the rain, scanning the lot, but the downpour made it nearly impossible to see much of anything. She focused on her footing, ensuring she wouldn’t slip and fall.

“I feel like the rain is the only reason my fever’s not worse,” Przemek muttered, his voice faint.

They circled the building cautiously, arriving at the back entrance. A narrow alley between the building and a chain-link fence shielded them from view. The rain drummed against the plastic roof of the overhang, the only sound besides their boots squelching in the mud.

Przemek reached for the doorknob and turned it. Locked. He sighed and looked back at the others, shaking his head.

Jonathan stepped forward, dropping his backpack and rifle beside the door. “Hold on. I’ve got something for this.” He rummaged through his pack and pulled out a small plastic box, extracting two metal pins. Kneeling at the door, he began to pick the lock.

Przemek snorted, sharing a glance with Sofia. “Full of surprises, this debil,” he said with a tired grin.

Sofia smiled faintly but stayed alert, her eyes scanning the alley. Above the door, she noticed a small window about two meters up. Nudging Przemek, she nodded toward it. He followed her gaze and frowned, considering the possibility.

“Guys,” Jonathan muttered as he worked at the lock, glancing back at Sofia and Przemek.

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They turned to him, both looking puzzled. “You got a…” Jonathan trailed off, clearly struggling for the word.

“A what?” Sofia asked.

“The thing for the door,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

“The what?” Przemek echoed, still confused.

“You know, the thing… Helvede... metalstift,” Jonathan cursed under his breath, waving the lockpick in his hand. “Like this.” He held it up, but their blank expressions made him sigh. “Forget it,” he grumbled, returning to his lockpicking.

Sofia shook her head, dropping her pack beside the door. “Lift me up, and I’ll take a look inside,” she said. She could already feel Przemek’s eyes on her, about to make the same suggestion.

“Alright, but take a good, long look, okay?” Przemek said. He dropped his pack, setting his rifle down beside it.

She nodded, placing her submachine gun on her pack before stepping on Przemek’s gloved hands. He gripped her calf and lifted her toward the window. Sofia grabbed the windowsill for balance and peered inside.

The dim light from the overcast sky barely illuminated the space, but she could make out enough. A snowplow sat in the center of the garage, its yellow paint streaked with rust. Stairs led to an upper room, and despite the darkness, the space looked oddly clean and dry. Her eyes moved to the far wall, where three bare mattresses lay on the floor, surrounded by boxes and cans. Her stomach twisted at the sight.

She scanned further, leaning in slightly, until her gaze dropped directly to the door. Her heart stopped.

Her voice came out in a panicked whisper. “Put me down! Get away from that door!”

Jonathan looked up, confused, just as the door swung open from the inside. A boot shot out of the darkness, slamming into Jonathan’s face. He staggered back, dazed, before the attacker lunged at him, grabbing his collar and raining down fists and headbutts.

Przemek barely had time to react before another figure emerged from the darkness, swinging a crowbar with both hands. The blow aimed for his head missed, but the impact as he blocked it with his wrists sent a shock of pain up his arms. His hands screamed in agony, but he held on to the crowbar, refusing to let go.

The figure kicked Przemek in the head, but he didn’t falter, gripping the weapon with a stubborn determination. Meanwhile, Sofia scrambled back to her feet, struggling to process what was happening. Her hands fumbled for her submachine gun as she tried to steady herself.

That’s when she saw him.

A third figure emerged from the far side of the building, coming from the same direction they had approached. A tall, naked man carrying a shovel, his skin pale and glistening in the rain. He locked eyes with Sofia, his expression devoid of reason, only a sick and unrelenting hunger.

He moved toward her with an unsettling jog, shovel raised. Sofia froze, her breath catching as she raised her submachine gun. Her hands shook as she aimed for his chest and squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out, striking him in the upper chest, but before she could fire again, her weapon jammed. Panic surged through her as she desperately tried to clear the malfunction. The man staggered, falling to one knee, but he wasn’t done.

Sofia dropped the submachine gun, pulling her father’s pistol from her jacket. The man rose, his face twisted in rage, and hurled the shovel at her. The crude weapon spun through the air, narrowly missing her and Przemek.

With trembling hands, Sofia chambered a round and fired. The bullet struck him in the chest again, driving him back, but he kept coming. She fired again, and again, each shot sinking into his torso until he finally fell, collapsing onto his back.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she stared at the motionless body. The gunshots seemed to echo in her ears, drowning out everything else—until a sharp movement caught her eye.

The figure on top of Jonathan shoved Przemek and his attacker to the ground and lunged for Sofia. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her face into the mud. Pain shot through her skull as he climbed onto her lower back, pinning her down.

Sofia writhed, but his grip was iron. He held her head down, smashing her face into the muck again and again. Mud filled her nose and mouth as she struggled, gasping for air. Her pistol was just out of reach, half-buried in the mud.

Przemek, dazed but still conscious, caught sight of Sofia and forced himself up. Blood trickled from his head where the crowbar had struck him, but he ignored it, lunging toward the figure on top of him.

Przemek hit the ground hard, his assailant landing on top of him as they wrestled in the mud. The figure clawed at his face with a ferocity he hadn’t encountered before, its fingers tearing at his skin and smearing mud across his eyes. Pain shot through his hands, still aching from blocking the crowbar earlier, but he refused to let up. Kicking with his legs, he shouted, “PIEPRZ SIĘ!” as he finally managed to grip the knife strapped to his chest holster.

The attacker lunged at him again just as Przemek pulled the knife free. Its hands went for the blade, trying to grab it from the sharp side, but even the madness driving it couldn’t overcome the raw pain of cutting into its palms. It shifted its focus, reaching for Przemek’s arm instead.

Przemek didn’t give it a chance. The moment the opportunity came, he drove the blade into its face. The first stab was horrifying—he felt the knife scrape against the attacker’s jawbone and teeth as it pierced its cheek. The man let out a blood-curdling scream, but Przemek didn’t hesitate. He yanked the knife free and plunged it into its neck. In and out. Again. Warm blood gushed onto him as the figure finally stopped thrashing.

Panting, Przemek shoved the body off with a kick. He rolled onto his stomach, spitting out mud, and pushed himself to his knees. His arms trembled, the pain in his hands becoming unbearable, but he forced himself forward. His friends were still in danger.

Lunging toward the figure pinning Sofia, Przemek’s knife slipped from his grip as his hands gave out, numb and useless. Panic flared in him, but he didn’t stop. He grabbed the assailant by the shoulders and shoved it face-first into the mud, using his weight to pin it down. “WYKRWAWIĘ CIĘ!” he roared, fists hammering down into its back and neck.

His eyes darted to the ground, searching for anything he could use. His hand found a brick half-buried in the mud. Without thinking, he lifted it high and brought it down on the back of the attacker’s skull. Again. And again. The sickening crunch of bone caving in filled the air as Przemek yelled, his voice raw and ragged.

Sofia rolled onto her back, gasping for air as she watched Przemek finish the job. The figure went limp, its head a bloody ruin. Przemek sat back on his knees, rain streaming down his face, mixing with blood and mud.

Sofia forced herself up, unsteady but determined. Her pistol was still in her hand. She glanced at the naked man she had shot earlier, lying motionless a few meters away. She approached him cautiously, raising the gun. For good measure, she fired a round into his head. The crack of the shot echoed briefly before being swallowed by the rain.

Przemek collapsed onto his back, letting the downpour wash over him. His chest rose and fell in uneven gasps as he stared up at the grey sky. Sofia turned to him, their eyes meeting. They exchanged a long, wordless look, the shared chaos of what had just happened hanging between them.

Przemek suddenly remembered the possibility of more attackers. He forced himself to sit up, groaning as he grabbed his machine gun. “There might be more,” he said breathlessly, trying to sound composed but failing. “We have to make sure we’re safe.”

Jonathan staggered nearby, blood dripping down his face from a reopened wound. Przemek pushed himself to his feet, summoning the last reserves of his energy, and jogged toward him. He grabbed Jonathan’s arm and helped him up, steadying him. Jonathan spat curses through clenched teeth as he pressed a hand to his face, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Karabin szybki,” Przemek muttered, his voice cracking. “Inside. We need to get inside.”

Sofia stood there for a moment, taking it all in—the bodies, the blood, the mud—and then cursed softly in Bosnian under her breath. Slinging her backpack and submachine gun over her shoulder, she followed the two men toward the facility’s door.

Jonathan and Przemek entered first, blood pouring from uncountable wounds and their weapons raised scanning the dark interior. Sofia followed close behind, slamming the door shut behind her. The sound of the rain was muffled instantly, leaving the highway, forest, and facility eerily silent once again, as if nothing had happened.