Donnel wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed as they lay low in the ruined shack. Both of them had taken turns scouting the surrounding area, and as near as they’d figured, Old Gordhurst was northeast of their position. That made the plan simple: avoid heading that direction and hope that the ghouls would wander further into the woods. As long as they kept quiet and did not draw attention to themselves, they’d eventually find a window to escape the pack that they knew of.

It was the other ghouls in the area that they were not sure about, though. Occasional moans would carry on the wind, driving the periodic caws and chirps of the local birds into silence. The effect was nerve-wracking as the sudden silence of the birds put Donnel’s neck hairs on end. He couldn’t be sure if the ghouls were closing in or not.

Garen kept calm, at least he appeared calm; Donnel could tell he was afraid. Nobody in their right mind would show no fear here. Perhaps if they were seasoned veterans and masters of ghoul-slaying, they would not be so on edge. But Garen was still a child in many ways, and Donnel was a coward in most ways.

What little light carried across the woods on an overcast day was fading, and the sky was growing red. By Donnel’s count, tonight would be one to three nights before Umbra was full, and the purple moon was always a bad sign. He hoped he would be back home by then. From there, he would quit the patrols and find a different job. Mucking shit again seemed preferable to being surrounded by the dead. 

They were dumb, not a mind between them, but in groups, they seemed to overwhelm. What chance did he and Garen have against a group?

He shook his head and put the thought out of his mind. As long as he and the kid were cautious and saw to one another, they had a chance. Maybe.

After a few worry-filled minutes, Garen spoke up, his voice low, trying not to draw unwanted attention.

“You mentioned a trap earlier. Iron jaws, right?”

Donnel nodded. “Bandits out here have been using the dead to pick off wanderers and robbing remains after they clear the area.”

“The bodies don’t get up on their own feet?”

“Nobody sticks around to see. At least from the village. There was a traveler who came to town, and we were thinking he was a bandit who tried to sell off some stuff. Nathan got him real, real drunk, and he spilled his beans.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“A while back, maybe two or three years after… You know. I was a chore boy and heard it all as I was working. Nobody told me nothing. Nobody knew I was listening. Saw Nathan slit the guy’s throat, knew he was a bandit the whole time.”

Garen shuddered. “How do you think they survive out here?”

Donnel stepped toward a gap in the shack wall and peered outside, warily. “They’re road folk. They’re built different than us. Hard lives make hard people. Something I heard Egg say once when he was real fucked up.”

Garen shook his head. “I don’t think this patrol stuff is worth it.”

Donnel sighed and leaned against the shack wall for a moment. It creaked.

“It really isn’t-”

The wooden wall, aged and rotten, crumbled under Donnel’s weight, and the clatter echoed among the tree line surrounding the small clearing. Donnel yelped as he fell over shin-high slats and fell on top of the pile with a further crash. The sound was apocalyptic, and Donnel immediately scrambled to his feet, and Garen rushed over to steady him.

“Oh gods, no. No,” Donnel muttered.

The air was still, and the woods around them were silent. Then, as though to punctuate their doom, one moan sounded out from the trees in the west, and other moans from the south. In moments, the first ghoul stumbled from between an oak and a tangle of brush.

Then another, a dozen feet along the tree line. Then more.

Donnel wasn’t good with numbers, but he knew when he had more than ten. How many more, he wasn’t quite sure. But this was far, far more than ten.

Within seconds of entering the clearing, a cacophony of guttural howls filled the clearing, and the ghouls began lurching toward the shack. He froze, his legs nearly giving out on him.

Donnel felt something shoved into his hands and saw that Garen had thrust Donnel’s own spear at his chest. The kid somehow managed to grab it from inside and make sure Donnel had it within seconds.

Then, Garen grabbed at the bindings that kept Donnel’s armor laced at the chest and pulled at him as hard as he could.

“Run!”

The wall of undead meant there was only one place to go – Old Gordhurst. Garen began to run at full speed. Donnel glanced at the incoming ghouls, cursed the gods, and followed after the boy. It was all he could do.

While the wave of ghouls had come from the opposite side of the clearing, away from the old town, there were sure to be ghouls ahead. The pair pushed through the trees and brush, aware of every snap of a twig and crunch of the leaves. Behind them, moans faded into the distance, but ahead, new moans grew louder.

“We need to find shelter,” Garen shouted back, “we can regroup and find a way out.”

Donnel said nothing. He felt his stomach drop and felt his knees crack. Garen kept shouting ideas, rallying Donnel as best he could, but all Donnel could hear was the torrent of blood in his temples and his own choking gasps. He slowed down, then, pausing to cough, and Garen came to a skidding stop and ran back, pulling at Donnel, who pushed him away.

Garen screamed at him. “Gods damn it, Donnel. Fucking run!”

“Go, go. Get out of here, kid.”

“No! We’re getting out of here!”

Garen took a few steps back. It looked like the kid was fighting the urge to leave him, and Donnel just wished he would. Garen’s eyes kept darting between Donnel and the scatter of trees that they had run through. Garen looked nervous, and the sounds of the ghouls crunching through the brush explained everything. Soon, Garen was bouncing in place, waving Donnel over, and practically whimpering – but the kid was falling back, more and more. Soon he’d give up – leave him. Donnel wanted that.

Garen continued to shout and holler. He pleaded, but Donnel didn’t heed it.

Then, a moment later, there was a crash of leaves and a yelp. Donnel glanced up to find that Garen had fallen into a pit and was clinging to the edge, unable to climb up under his own power.

“Fuck! Help!”

Ghoulish noises seemed to echo out from the pit, and in an instant, Donnel threw himself toward Garen and saw the hole was far deeper than he’d thought. He also noticed it was not just a hole – there was a tunnel.

As Donnel reached down to grab Garen, the boy lost his grip and fell many feet with a horrible thump. Without thinking, Donnel stuck his spear into the dirt just at the edge of the hole and lowered himself down, landing a couple of feet from the kid. He knelt.

“Are you okay? Can you walk?”

“Yes, but we need to get out of here!” Garen pointed to the tunnel behind Donnel. “They’re in here too!” 

Donnel didn’t glance behind him. It didn’t matter.

“I’ll help you out, come on!”

He pulled Garen to his feet and began to help him climb out of the tunnel. In front, as he lifted Garen over his shoulders, he saw shining eyes in the dark, approaching slowly.

Garen had just hoisted himself up and over the lip of the pit and belly-turned back around, throwing his hands back in to help Donnel climb out.

But by then, the first three sets of greasy hands had found purchase on Donnel’s armor and began pulling him deeper into the tunnel as Garen watched helplessly. Donnel’s eyes went wide for a moment as another hand grabbed at his hair.

Donnel smiled briefly, and as he was pulled into the dark, he said his final words: “I hope you get to see her.”