She smiled wearily. "We do. But we can't keep this up forever..."

Derek's expression turned grim. They needed help. He pulled out his phone to call emergency services. But instead of a dial tone, an automated message played:

"All of our operators are currently busy, transferring you to the next nearest 911 operator…" The call was transferred, rang once, and then went to another automated message. "All of our operators are currently busy, transferring you to nearest police, fire, or ems station." The phone rang once again and was picked up.

"You have reached the O'Mally Fire Department. If this is an emergency, hang up and call 911. Otherwise, please leave a message."

Derek's thumb hovered over the 'call' button, a sliver of hope waning as the automated message looped again. His grip tightened around the phone, the screen's glow casting sharp shadows across his face. With a curt shake of his head, he ended the call, the click of the button echoing a silent admission that they were on their own. The phone, once a lifeline to the outside world, now felt like nothing more than a useless slab of plastic and glass in his hand. He let out a heavy sigh, the weight of their isolation settling in his chest as he pocketed the device and turned back to face Marie. She was staring at the creatures lying dead on the ground.

Marie's voice trembled as she looked out over the sea of motionless forms, the stark moonlight casting long shadows across the yard. "What do we do now?" The fear in her voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the steely edge that had carried her through the gunfire and chaos. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady her nerves, her hands unconsciously balling into fists at her sides as if to anchor herself in the midst of the uncertainty.

Derek, sensing her struggle, moved closer, his presence a solid reassurance. "Rest and prepare," he said, his voice a low rumble of certainty as he slipped an arm around her, drawing her into the circle of his resolve. "Then keep fighting. I won't let them get to you or the baby."

Derek’s words strengthened Marie’s resolve. She nodded with conviction, her face showing her determination. As the rush of adrenaline faded, they began to feel their injuries. Yet, there was a silent promise shared between them: they would face any horrors together.

As the adrenaline wore off, his body started hurting. Marie helped Derek, supporting him as he limped back inside. The battle had taken its toll. The pile of bodies would take days to remove, leaving their house smelling like a mass grave.

Derek and Marie crossed the threshold into the relative silence of their home, the door thudding shut behind them, sealing off the chaos that lay just beyond the walls. Inside, the air was still, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of battle that still buzzed in their ears. The house, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now took on the role of a makeshift infirmary, the living room transformed by necessity. The dining area still had smears of goblin blood from where the corpses were dragged outside.

Derek eased into the nearest chair, wincing from the day's brutality, as Marie, with hands that betrayed no tremor, retrieved the first aid kit. In the sudden stillness, the only sounds were the soft rustle of bandages. She tended to his wounds with a gentle touch. Her unwavering support shone in her tired eyes. He understood how hard this was for her. His gentle wife, forced to spill blood for their survival, was not something he ever wanted for her.

"I'm so proud of you," Derek said softly, caressing her cheek. "You saved us."

Marie smiled through her tears. "We did it together."

After Marie cleaned his wounds, the best she could, Derek laid out the magazines in a neat row on the kitchen table. He picked up each magazine, inspecting it for damage before filling each to capacity. The repetitive motion was almost meditative. After she put away the medical kit, Marie sat next to him and joined him in the repetitive task. There was a grim comfort in the routine, as if spending time together over the trial of survival.

Derek's voice was steady, almost insistent. "You can stay here." It was the fifth time he'd suggested it.

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Marie shook her head, her eyes locking with his. "No, I'm going. You need me to watch your back."

She spoke with finality, not out of fear, but because of her unwavering dedication. It was the same tone she'd used when she decided she wanted to start a family, full of determination and hope. Derek's nod was slow, accepting the inevitable. He didn't like it, but they were all each other had.

Their steps echoed in the unsettling quiet as they patrolled the neighborhood. The occasional distant gunshot or the rustle of leaves punctured the silence only in the breeze. A child's tricycle lay on its side in the Johnsons' yard, its usual vibrant red out-of-place amid the day's grim palette. A garden hose, left running, sent water trickling down the driveway. The small, domestic details were absurdly out of sync with the day's horrors. They moved past the Miller's house, where a lawn mower sat abandoned at the edge of an only half-mowed lawn. The task interrupted, the normalcy of the chore a stark contrast to the now-urgent need for vigilance.

As they made their way through the silent streets, the stark reality of their situation became impossible to ignore. Here and there, the bodies of their neighbors lay in twisted repose, a grim testament to the day's horrors. Derek's jaw clenched at the sight, the muscles in his neck standing out in sharp relief. Marie's hand found his, a wordless exchange of sorrow and support. They moved on, their steps measured, their eyes scanning for any remaining threats. Doors and windows were broken out of houses. Their neighbors' in the process of fleeing when something violently ended their lives.

In the circle around the neighborhood, Derek and Marie dispatched the few goblins they encountered with a grim efficiency that spoke of a resolve hardened by the day's brutal necessities.

After returning home, Derek walked around the yard, killing any of the dying goblins, while Marie went inside. His knife paused above a goblin, its breaths ragged and shallow. A part of him, a sliver that remained untouched by the day's brutality, felt a pang of something akin to mercy. It was a creature, yes, but a living being nonetheless, suffering in its final moments. But as he looked into its fading eyes, the memories of the day's savagery surged—a vivid flashback of Marie's face, pale with terror, and the relentless assault on their home. His hand steadied, driven by a surge of protective rage, and with a resolute motion, it shot forward into the goblin's heart with violent rage.

It was a grim task, but he felt no remorse, no pity, no hesitation. Each life further instilled the rage in his heart. To him, it was no longer about survival; it was about principle. He vowed in that moment he would do anything it took to slaughter every monster he could find. There would be no monster left alive before him. Each life he ended was a heavy stone in the foundation of his rage. With a quiet exhale, he wiped his blade clean and moved on, the resolve in his heart solidifying into concrete.

Marie moved through the familiar motions in the kitchen, the coffee pot gurgling a comforting domestic sound that was starkly at odds with the view from the kitchen window. Outside, the yard was a grim gallery of their recent struggle, dotted with the still forms of goblins. Derek watched her for a moment, the normalcy of her brewing coffee was odd when compared to the bloodshed. He stripped off his soiled clothes and stepped into a clean pair of shorts, the fabric soft and alien against his abraded skin.

As she handed him a steaming cup, the rich aroma filled the room, a slice of normal life that felt like a borrowed memory. They sat at the table, the EMT bag and sewing kit laid out like strange table settings. The bandages from earlier were soaked in blood and they needed the wound permanently closed. Marie grimaced as she looked at the sewing kit, but silently went about the task.

Marie's hands didn't waver as she threaded the needle, her focus narrowing to the task at hand. She started with the gash on Derek's cheek, the worst of the lot, pulling the skin together with a practiced ease that belied the gruesomeness of the wound. She moved on to his back, where multiple slashes mapped out the ferocity of the goblin's attack, and then to his leg, where a deep cut was still oozing. For the smaller abrasions, she applied butterfly bandages, each one a tiny barrier against the threat of infection. Derek watched her work, the sting reminding him of their reality.

The rifles lay within arm's reach, their magazines full. They were a heavy reminder of the weight they both carried now, a responsibility that wouldn't end with the setting sun. The caffeine from the coffee was a poor substitute for the adrenaline that had sustained them earlier, but it anchored them to the moment, to the reality that they had survived, at least for now. Derek insisted Marie rest, his voice a soft command tinged with concern. Reluctantly, she agreed.

Derek sat against the window, watching the yard as the dark sky darkened to blackness. Only the city lights reflecting against the clouds provided any light to the yard. He sipped coffee while cautiously scanning the yard and listening to the gunfire in the distance. Very few people would be sleeping tonight.

He listened to Marie’s gentle breathing and the soft loving woman hardened his resolve. His gaze flicked to the rifle for a moment. He had hoped that he would only ever hunt animals with it. Suddenly, it was an instrument for slaughter. The threat of the monsters only maintained a smoldering rage within his chest.