The dawn came gray and thin, as though even the sun was too weary to rise. Lena and Caleb packed in silence, both aware that leaving the bunker meant gambling everything.
The forest was still when they emerged, yet the silence was unnatural. No birds. No insects. Only the distant hum of rifts, like the earth itself was groaning under the strain.
They moved quickly, following the dirt road toward the mountains. Caleb carried the rifle strapped across his back, while Lena gripped her knife, its edge newly sharpened. It was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.
Hours passed. The road twisted through overgrown fields and abandoned farmhouses. Once, they passed a car overturned in a ditch, its windows shattered, dried blood streaked along the doors. No bodies remained—only drag marks leading into the tall grass.
Lena forced her eyes away.
By midday, they stopped at the husk of a gas station. The windows were smashed, shelves stripped bare, but Caleb found a few dusty bottles of water behind the counter. As they rested, Lena's gaze fell to the horizon.
A shimmer, faint but unmistakable, hovered in the distance. A rift. Its violet glow pulsed against the clouds, spreading outward like ink in water.
Caleb noticed her staring. "That's miles off. We keep north, we might skirt it."
Lena nodded, but unease coiled in her stomach. The memory of the creature's voice echoed inside her: Because you still hope.
That night, they camped in the ruins of an old barn. Caleb took first watch while Lena tried to sleep on a bed of hay, though rest came fitfully. Every time her eyes closed, she saw fragments of the black glass plain, the creature's shifting form.
Then came the whisper.
It slithered into her dreams at first, then into her waking mind: You are already ours.
She jolted upright, heart pounding. Caleb looked over, his eyes sharp. "What is it?"
Lena hesitated. "I… I heard it again."
"Them?"
She nodded.
Caleb's jaw tightened. "Then we move at first light. No more waiting around."
---
By the third day, exhaustion gnawed at them both. Food was running low, and the roads grew worse, choked with wreckage and burned-out towns. At one point, they crossed a river choked with corpses, their skin pale and bloated, eyes open to the sky. Lena forced herself not to retch.
Near dusk, they stumbled upon survivors.
Four of them, gathered around a fire in the ruins of a church. At the sight of strangers, the group stiffened, hands going to makeshift weapons. A man in a torn leather jacket stepped forward, his gaze wary.
"Not many left walking these roads," he said. "Where you headed?"
"North," Caleb answered carefully. "Zone Echo."
The man's lips curled in a humorless smile. "So are we. If it even exists."
A woman in the group snorted. "Echo's just another lie, same as Delta. Same as all the broadcasts. They keep people moving, keep 'em from curling up and dying where they stand."
Lena shook her head. "No. I heard them. There are survivors. Supplies."
The woman's eyes hardened. "Or maybe you just think you heard them."
For a moment, silence stretched. Caleb's hand lingered near his rifle, while Lena's pulse quickened. Were they allies—or another threat in a world with too many already?
Finally, the man in the jacket spoke again. "We can share the fire tonight. After that—we'll see."
Lena and Caleb exchanged a glance, then nodded.
As night fell, the fire crackled, and the strangers spoke in low tones about what they'd seen: rifts swallowing entire towns, riftspawn hunting in packs, visions that drove men mad. Lena listened, her stomach twisting. Their stories matched her own.
When sleep finally came, it was shallow, uneasy.
And once again, the voice found her.
"You think you march toward safety. But all roads lead to us."
This time, Lena didn't wake screaming. She woke with tears on her face, and a new, terrible certainty in her chest.
Zone Echo might exist. It might even offer walls and food.
But it would never be safe.