As soon as they were out the door, they heard it—one of the captors was caught. His screams pierced through the night like a knife. Jonathan couldn’t make out where exactly the man was, but the sound was unmistakable: sheer, desperate terror.
Jonathan didn’t have the luxury to think about it. He needed to focus on getting his bearings. Down the street, turn right, then first left, and straight until the beach. He repeated the directions in his head like a mantra. Przemek must have known the way too—he wouldn’t have taken point otherwise, right?
They turned right, practically kicking the fence gate open as they ran. The screams behind them rose again, guttural and blood-curdling, followed by a faint “Hjælp!” before it devolved into the gurgling of blood. Against his better judgment, Jonathan made the mistake of turning around.
In the flickering streetlight, he saw one of the captors lying on the grass. Two of those things were on him. One had its teeth sunk into his neck—or was it his windpipe?—and blood gushed everywhere. The other crouched beside them, almost as if it were laughing silently, its face a grotesque mask of amusement. Jonathan couldn’t spot the third figure, and that absence terrified him more.
The sight jolted Jonathan’s body into action, adrenaline surging through every muscle. His legs moved before his brain could process anything. He sprinted, powered by fear. Przemek was already several paces ahead, rifle in one hand, taking long strides as he charged down the street.
They turned left at the intersection, only to freeze in place for a moment. Standing in the doorway of a nearby house, a figure loomed in the shadows. It looked directly at them as though it had been waiting for them to arrive.
Przemek was the first to notice it. The creature’s eyes met his, and in that instant, Przemek felt an overwhelming, primal dread. Its gaze wasn’t just predatory—it radiated malice, as if it lived only for torment. Its deep red eyes locked onto him, unblinking, while the rest of its body remained unnaturally still, coiled like a spring. Przemek jumped back instinctively, his breath catching in his throat.
For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved. Then Jonathan grabbed Przemek by the shoulder and dragged him away. Both men knew better than to fire their guns—the sound would draw everything in the area toward them. They turned and ran, expecting to hear the creature chasing them, but all they could hear was their own boots slapping against the wet pavement.
Either it was still standing there, or it was pursuing them silently.
They ran as fast as they could through the rain-soaked streets of the Danish suburb. Jonathan regretted bringing his backpack almost immediately. It felt like a rock strapped to his shoulders, bouncing with every step and slowing him down. He pushed through the pain, soaking wet and trembling.
The suburb, usually serene and orderly, had turned into a nightmarish maze. Houses lined the street with their lights off, their silhouettes looming like ominous sentinels in the storm. Jonathan recognized this type of neighborhood—an upper-middle-class paradise, far from the noise and chaos of the city. He’d stumbled through places like this before, usually during a walk of shame after spending the night with someone’s daughter.
Now, the streets were dotted with figures. They stood like statues in the rain, watching. Jonathan and Przemek ran past them, and the watchers didn’t give chase. Not yet. It was as if the creatures enjoyed toying with their prey, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
Przemek’s mind raced. He’d encountered these things before, but never in numbers like this. Part of him wondered if he’d have the strength to use his rifle on himself if they couldn’t find a way across the channel. Better a quick death than whatever fate awaited them if the creatures caught them.
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“Look!” Jonathan pointed to a sign—a cutout of a surfboard. The sea was just a few hundred meters ahead, visible even through the rain. Relief was short-lived, though. To their left, a shirtless figure emerged, sprinting toward them. Its muscular body glistened in the rain, closing the distance unnervingly fast.
“FIND SOMETHING!” Przemek yelled, pointing toward a small cabin near the beach, where the surfboard sign hung.
The rocky shore was uneven and treacherous, but they pushed forward. Przemek’s legs gave out for a moment, and he collapsed onto his arms. Forcing himself upright, he turned and fired two shots at the approaching figure. The muzzle flash illuminated his face for a split second, and the sound of gunfire shattered the eerie silence.
The bullets struck the creature in the chest, and it crumpled a few meters in front of Przemek. Even then, it didn’t stop. It crawled forward, dragging itself with its arms, its red eyes still locked on him. Finally, it collapsed and stopped moving, blood pooling beneath it.
Thunder cracked in the distance—the last of the storm. The rain lightened, but the danger hadn’t passed. Przemek spotted more figures emerging from the shadows, closing in. “FAST, KURWA! FIND SOMETHING OR WE’RE DEAD!” he shouted, glancing at Jonathan, who was kicking the cabin door.
Jonathan broke the lock and burst inside, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw a two-person paddleboard leaning against the wall. “YEAH, FOUND IT! COVER ME WHILE I TAKE IT OUT, JA?” he yelled.
Jonathan tossed two paddles onto the sand before struggling to lift the heavy paddleboard. It was sturdier than it looked, made of thick PVC, and far heavier than he’d expected. Grunting with the effort, he finally managed to haul it outside.
Przemek was firing shots at the approaching figures, his back turned to Jonathan. He didn’t see the creature barreling toward him until it slammed into him at full speed, knocking him to the ground. Pain exploded in his chest as if he’d been hit by a baseball bat. The creature straddled him, pinning him to the rocky beach.
Przemek stared into its face, inches from his own. Its red and black eyes were wide, unblinking, and completely devoid of emotion. It wasn’t panicked or angry—it was cold, focused. A machine designed for violence.
The creature grabbed a rock and smashed it into Przemek’s jaw. The pain was blinding. It raised the rock for another strike, but three gunshots rang out, and the creature toppled sideways. Jonathan dragged the body off Przemek and fired at another figure ten meters away.
Przemek lay motionless for a moment, blood dripping from his mouth. His head throbbed, his vision blurred. The sound of gunfire snapped him back to reality. His jaw felt like it had been shattered, but the creature hadn’t struck high enough to kill him. Groaning, he grabbed his rifle and fired blindly at a shadow, ignoring every weapon safety rule he’d ever been taught.
Jonathan pushed the paddleboard into the freezing water, his boots and legs soaked to the bone. He grabbed the paddles and threw them onto the board. “YOU GO! I’LL COVER!” Przemek yelled, his voice muffled by blood.
“Man, you’re wrecked! Get on the board! Don’t worry about me—I’ll be right behind you!” Jonathan yelled back.
“KURWA!” Przemek cursed, stumbling into the water. He shoved the board to knee-deep water and clambered onto it, nearly losing his balance. The board was heavier and more stable than it looked, and he managed to steady himself. He fired a few more rounds toward the beach as Jonathan struggled to climb on behind him.
The creatures had stopped charging directly at them, realizing the cost of open confrontation. Instead, they watched from the shadows, waiting for an opportunity.
Jonathan paddled furiously, his muscles screaming in protest. Przemek knelt on the board, his rifle trained on the shore. Dozens of figures stood silently, watching them. One held something in its hand—a decapitated head with a spine dangling below it. Przemek fired two more rounds, and the figures scattered.
Jonathan focused on paddling. The Øresund Bridge loomed in the distance, its vehicles still burning, part of the structure destroyed. The bridge, once a symbol of Scandinavian unity and engineering marvel, now stood as a monument to chaos and ruin.
Tears blurred Jonathan’s vision as he paddled. Fires raged in Copenhagen behind them, unchecked and unstoppable. His thoughts drifted to his mother. Did she deserve his grief after how she’d treated him? He thought of his uncle—a bear of a man, the strongest he’d ever known. This madness had taken him in the first days.
Jonathan wiped his tears away, steeling himself. He had a new responsibility now. Przemek lay on the board behind him, bleeding badly but alive. Together, they’d make it—across the water, or wherever survival took them. Slowly but surely, they would find safety.