Rules of Surviving the Forest
1. Do not fight the monsters.
2. Do not provoke the forest.
3. Do not touch or eat anything you see.
4. Do not listen to or follow any voices.
5. Do not follow the water.
Natalie always found ways to mention the seemingly bizarre rules, but they had apparently been passed down from her own mentor — carved into her mind like markings on stone. Kess remebered them all, even though she had never set foot outside the bunker.
"—Luckily, I'd confiscated Chelsea's lighter earlier, so I managed to burn through the web before we all became arachnid dinner. Or worse—incubators." Natalie grinned as she leaned back into the sagging cushions of the old sofa. "Maybe I should stop pestering her about quitting smoking. It was pretty helpful this time. Though if she blows that crap in my face again, she's going straight in the river."
Kess let out a chuckle. Leonard sat frozen, mouth slightly open.
Seeing their reactions, Natalie's grin widened into a full smile as she glanced at the dusty wall clock.
"Oof. Look at the time." She stood up and stretched, her joints cracking audibly. "Alright, I think a certain young man should be heading off if he's gonna get home in time for his bedtime."
Kess giggled. Leonard frowned.
"Can't I stay a little longer? I'll go through the vents, they won't even know."
Natalie raised a brow. "Didn't you promise them last time?"
"They don't even notice when I'm gone," he muttered, kicking at a loose tile with the toe of his boot.
Natalie didn't soften. "Even more reason to keep your promises. Go on. You can come back tomorrow. The Sector's not going anywhere."
She yawned, rubbed her eyes, then ruffled Kess's hair on the way out. "Make sure the lights are off when you head to bed."
"Sure," Kess said.
Natalie disappeared into her room. The soft clunk of the lock clicking into place followed.
Leonard gave a long sigh and stood. "You heard the boss."
Kess smiled. "Just a couple more years. Then you can have your own dark, leaky hole to hide in."
They were both fourteen now. Just four years away from autonomy — at least in the upper districts. Down below, kids didn't move out so much as disappear when the bunk beds ran out. But here in District Five, life still followed the illusion of rules.
Leonard waved lazily as he ducked out the side hatch. "Night."
"Night."
Kess sat alone for a moment after he left. The hum of the walls returned, soft and even. She glanced at the couch, at the blanket Natalie had tossed aside, and wondered how much of the story had been true. Probably all of it. Natalie didn't embellish — she didn't need to. The forest sounded terrifying even without exaggeration.
A place where voices could trick you. Where trees could bleed. Where monsters crawled out of rivers like something out of a fever dream.
She wondered what it smelled like, outside. What the sky looked like now.
Kess lay down and stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts drifted.
***
"BOOM!"
A thunderous explosion woke her up with ringing ears. The room pulsed red with flashing lights as the alarm blared throughout the district. She barely had time to register any of it before Natalie burst in.
Fully armored. Helmet clipped to her side. Rifle slung over her sholder.
"Kess!"
Natalie grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her. "Get up!"
"Wha-what's happening?"
"Something's gone wrong. Real bad. We don't have time—get to the elevators. Guards should be there. They're evacuating to the upper district."
The lights turned the whites of Natalie's eyes blood red. The smell of smoke hit next — bitter, choking.
Natalie pulled her into a tight hug. "Don't argue. Just go. Stay alert."
Something cold and solid pressed into Kess's palm. She looked down. A gun — compact, matte black. Her fingers curled around it instinctively.
"Natalie—"
But she was already gone.
Kess ran.
The corridor outside was unrecognizable. Smoke curled from a shattered panel overhead. Sirens wailed across the ceiling. People screamed. Some ran. Some staggered. Others just stood in shock, clutching bags or children or each other.
She held the gun to her chest like it was a piece of Natalie.
Elevators. Go to the elevators.
She moved against the flow, slipping between frantic bodies. The air smelled of burning plastic and blood. Somewhere nearby, a section of wall had collapsed. Steam hissed from ruptured piping.
Halfway through a junction, a scream made her stop.
To her left — past a warped doorway — she saw them. An elderly woman slumped against the wall, her leg bent at an impossible angle. Two children stood beside her, crying. One boy, maybe nine, held her hand and looked around desperately. A girl — even younger — clung to a stuffed animal and sobbed, quiet and breathless.
No one else stopped. The hallway moved around them like a tide ignoring a rock.
Kess stared.
Elevators. Go.
She took a step forward instead.
"Hey," she called out, crouching beside the woman. "Are you—" Stupid question. "Can you stand?"
The woman shook her head. Her lips were pale. "I-I think my leg's broken."
Kess glanced at the kids. "They're with you?"
The boy nodded and tried to press out words throug sniffles "Grandma. We were—she fell—". The younger girl had tears streaking down her face.
"It's okay," Kess said, voice steadier than she felt. "We're going to move. We'll get you to the elevator."
The girl stared at her with wide, wet eyes, silent.
Kess shoved the gun into her waistband and looped the woman's arm around her shoulders. It wasn't ideal. The weight nearly toppled them both. But she didn't stop.
"You two," she said over her shoulder, "stick close."
And they did.
Together, they moved back into the hallway, into the chaos, step by step.
***
The elevator station loomed ahead — a concrete cavern filled with flashing lights and noise. The line was chaos. Families crushed together, arguments breaking out between neighbors, strangers elbowing past each other. Guards pushed people back from the loading platform, shouting over alarms that no one was listening to.
Kess clung tighter to the woman's waist, helping her move as quickly as the swelling in her leg would allow. The children kept pace, both unnervingly quiet now. The boy's face was set in a mask of focus. The girl just kept her eyes on the floor and didn't let go of Kess's coat.
Then someone shouted through the crowd:"Kessie! Kessie Lioren!"
She flinched, instinctively reaching for the gun at her hip.
A soldier was pushing through the mass — broad-shouldered, breathing hard, helmet askew, and a stubbled chin. He reached them, scanning the faces, and when he locked eyes with her, his relief was obvious.
"You're Kessie, right?" he asked. "Kessie Lioren?"
She nodded cautiously. "Yeah."
"Lieutenant Riggs. I've been ordered to get you on the next elevator. Natalie's orders. You're top priority."
"What?" Her voice sounded too loud even to herself.
"Come with me."
He didn't wait for agreement — just gently took her arm and began guiding all of them toward a side corridor, past the waiting masses. The other evacuees glared at them, shouted things she didn't hear. It didn't matter. The noise blurred together into a rising wave.
They reached a gated checkpoint just off the main chamber. A few guards stood near a glowing terminal, monitoring the flow of people.
"There's one spot left on this lift," the soldier said, already tapping at the screen. "I can get you on it. Right now."
Kess looked back at the grandmother, who had slumped against the wall, sweating and pale. Then the children. The boy stood firm, watching her carefully.
"One seat?" Kess asked.
He nodded. "That's all I can do."
The woman shook her head. "Take the children. Please."
"No!" the boy said, sudden and sharp. He stepped forward. "You're hurt, grandma. You go. We'll wait for the next one."
"Micah, no—"
"I'll look after her," he said, chin trembling but proud. "We'll be okay. Right?" He looked to Kess.
Kess hesitated. Then knelt down to the girl's level.
"Do you want to stay with your brother?" she asked.
The girl nodded. Silent, but firm.
The grandmother's eyes were glossy with tears. Her voice cracked. "You're just children."
The woman looked at Kess for a long, searching moment — a lifetime in a second.
Then Kess nodded.
And that was enough.
The woman turned away, jaw clenched. The soldier helped her to the platform as the elevator doors opened. The chamber was packed, people crammed in shoulder to shoulder. The woman didn't look back as the doors slid shut.
The station quieted, just for a second.
Then a sound like tearing metal rose from above.
A vibration rippled through the floor.
The girl gripped Kess's arm. The boy looked up, eyes wide.
"What was that?"
Kess didn't answer.
She was already turning, heart pounding.