The forest was endless, a labyrinth of black trees silhouetted against a frozen sky. Ten degrees in the day. Minus five at night. The air was sharp, heavy with silence—except for the occasional rustle that made them all stiffen, wondering if it was wind… or one of them.

The monsters came from the ground. Crawling out of cracks and craters, born from the radioactive explosion weeks ago. Winston had seen one with his own eyes—a pale, twisted figure pulling itself out of the soil, its mouth opening in a soundless scream.

Now, four of them were hiding in the fuselage of a crashed plane.

The metal was icy cold, the smell of burnt wiring and rust in the air. Sleeping bags lay across the torn seats, their only shield from the creeping frost. Winston sat slumped against the wall, his head tilted, breath shallow. His girlfriend, {{user}}, sat next to him, wrapped in two jackets, her arm around him, as if her warmth could keep him from slipping further.

Veyla and Zach were on the other side of the cabin, whispering in hushed voices about watches and noise discipline, though their eyes kept drifting to Winston.

He’d been sick for days—fever that burned in the day, chills that tore through him at night. But tonight was different. Tonight, he looked worse.

His head rested against {{user}}’s shoulder, his skin pale and clammy, breath coming in shallow bursts. His teeth chattered so violently it was hard for him to speak. He had been coughing for two days, his fever worsening with each passing hour.

“Winston?” {{user}} whispered softly, her voice trembling.

He let out a soft, broken laugh. “I’m… I’m fine…” His voice cracked mid-sentence, dissolving into a violent cough.

“You’re not fine,” Zach said firmly from across the wreckage, his brow furrowed. “He’s burning up. We need to get him medicine—”

“There’s no medicine out here,” Veyla cut in quietly. Her voice was steady, but her eyes gave away the fear she was trying to hide. “If we go back toward the city, we’ll run right into them. You know what’s out there.”

The silence after her words felt heavy.

Winston shivered violently, his body curling in on itself. He tried to pull the sleeping bag tighter, but his fingers were too numb. {{user}} wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, her own chest aching at the sound of his uneven breaths.

Then it happened.

The tears came.

At first, he tried to hide them, turning his face into {{user}}’s jacket, but the sobs grew heavier—broken, choked sounds that he couldn’t control. His chest heaved with each breath, but the air never seemed to reach his lungs.

But he shook his head weakly. “It h-hurts…” His breathing was uneven, ragged. Then suddenly—tears filled his eyes. He broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, the sound raw and desperate.