Watching the elevator doors close, Kess fought the urge to bombard the lieutenant with questions. There were so many things she wanted to ask. What was happening? Why were they evacuating to the upper district? Where was Natalie? But she knew better. Now was not the time.
Lieutenant Riggs, having just secured the elevator doors, was already shouting orders and waving guards into motion. The elevator machinery whirred as it hauled over a hundred people upwards, metal cables straining under the weight.
Kess scanned the surrounding crowd for any hints or answers. Some people were angrily shouting at the soldiers, others knelt in prayer, whispering to gods long forgotten. Panic clung in the air like smoke, but not everyone was afraid. Some looked... exited. For those in the lower districts, a ride to the top floor was a fortune few could afford. Now, without warning, the sick, the poor, the forgotten — all were invited. The golden ticket out.
The lieutenant eventually circled back, slightly worn out but still strong. "Next elevator should be here in ten minutes. You and the kids all have spots on it."
Kess glanced down to the young boy beside her. He stood straigth, lips pressed tight. His little sister clung to him, trembling.
"What's happening anyways?" she asked. "Those explosions... they were bombs, right?"
Riggs hesitated. "I don't really know the details," his eyes darting to the side. "And I don't really think I can say much." He tried to look calm, but Kess notices the slight quiver in his lip. "The important thing is that everything should be fine once you get to the upper district."
His voice carried a hint of fear pooled just beneath it, but it still rang clearly conviction.
Kess stared at him. What could frighten a soldier like that?"
She opened her mouth to press further, but was soon interrupted.
A metallic screech tore through the air. Then, a sharp, violent snap.
They all looked up.
The elevator, not even halfway up the shaft, was falling.
For a moment, the world froze. The crowd stared in silence, unable to breathe, unable to move, as the massive chamber plummeted.
Then a scream — raw and broken — shattered the stillness.
The little girl cried out, "Grandma!"
Kess grabbed her before she could run, pulling the boy with her. The girl thrashed in her grip. Riggs was already moving — he hauled all three of them up into his arms and started running.
The elevator roared past them, metal screaming against the shaft walls. Then came the impact — a deafening boom as it struck the lower levels, the air around them rippling from the blast. Fire licked out from the shaft, lighting the corridor in hellish orange.
Screams echoed behind them. The crowd had broken, panic turning into a stampede. Some tried to follow. Others froze, fell, were trampled. The fire subsided, but something worse replaced it.
A new sound emerged — a low, wet clicking.
Kess, still hoisted over Riggs's shoulder, twisted her head to look back.
From the top of the shaft, a long glistening limb emerged, curved like a sickle and armored in obsidian plates. Then a head — eyeless, glossy black, with twitching mandibles and a mouth that didn't seem to open so much as tear itself apart.
It kept coming. A centipede-like body slithered out after it, plated and barbed, supported by tens of legs that scraped along the metal walls.
And it wasn't alone. Soon came another. Then one more.
Screams rose like a wave. Some people ran. Some collapsed, unable to process what they were seeing.
Riggs didn't stop. He barreled through a side corridor, shoulder-checking a heavy emergency door open. It creaked as it gave way. He ducked into a service passage, kicking aside storage crates and debris. Behind them, the sound of screaming grew muted.
Kess felt every jolt, every heartbeat as she clung to the children. The boy had gone quiet. The girl buried her face in Kess's chest, still sobbing but now too tired to wail.
A turn. Another door. This time made of thick iron. Riggs pressed his hand against the scanner. A click and the sound of gears turning, and the door slid open. Once inside, he slammed his hand onto a red button. The door sealed behind them with a satisfying thud.
Silence followed. Heavy. Almost claustrophobic.
Riggs put them down gently, then leaned himself against the wall, catching his breath.
"This'll hold," he muttered. "For now."
They were inside an old military storage room — steel walls, crates of goods, dusty folding chairs pushed to the corner. A single flickering light bulb buzzed above.
Kess knelt beside the children. The girl had gone limp with exhaustion, cradled in her brother's lap. The boy, Micah, was still alert — eyes fixed on the door.
They sat in silence until Kess finally broke it.
"What... was that?"
Riggs stared into the air, the question clearly hanging on his mind as well.
Kess had a guess. But she asked for confirmation.
"They came from the portal chamber around midnight." His voice low and brittle "Higher-ups tried to contain them to District Two sealing all the exits and entrances. But those things... they quickly broke through. District Three was overrun in less than an hour. They realized sealing them in wouldn't be enough, so they tried different something else—"
"The explosions..." Kess muttered.
Riggs nodded. "The plan was buy time for the other floors' evacuation to the Upper District. The elevators were risky, but they are the fastest way up."
He glanced at the children. The girl, Mariah, was still passed out, but Micah was listening to every word.
"I don't know what they are. But they must've come from... the other side. The portal shouldn't be able to activate like that—not without an interface, not without—"
"Spinecrawlers," Kess cut in.
Riggs turned to her. Micah's eyes lifted too, curious.
"That's what the Guides call them," she continued "I've heard about them from Natalie."
She closed her eyes. The memory rose automatically — her younger self, curled under blankets after a nightmare. Natalie sitting at the edge of the bed, smiling gently as she told her about creatures that hunted in the dark. It was one of the first stories she ever told Kess after taking her in. Meant to soothe her, in a strange, twisted way. By being scarier than the nightmare, but somehow safer too. The memory brought the faintest smile to her lips.
"They're blind," Kess said, "but they have an extraordinary sense of hearing, and—"
She glanced at Micah. He was watching her, eyes wide with focus.
She hesitated.
Riggs let out a sigh of relief. "Then we should be fine here. The room is meant for storage, but its basically soundproof to the outside."
He stood up and started rummaging through the supply crates. "There's enough food for a week, maybe two. But we can't stay long. The longer we wait, the harder it'll be to get through."
Micah still stared at Kess.
"Big sis…" he said, voice small. "Are we going to die?"
Riggs turned. First to Micah. Then to Kess.
She didn't answer. Not right away.
Then Riggs spoke again, this time quieter. "There's more, isn't there? More to those things."
Kess closed her eyes. Thought back to Natalie's story. The scaries stories for children always had a common theme. Usually she'd think it was an exaggeration, but Natalie wasn't type to invent details.
Not Natalie.
"The Spinecrawlers are blind," she said. "But in return, they have a heightened sense of hearing, and something else—"
She looked at Micah, he looked to be around nine years old, his sister, Maria, sleeping on the ground, couldn't be more than six.
"—they can sense children."