The stairs shook as though the house itself was coughing up bones.
Madison braced beside Gavin, knife lifted, shoulders hunched like he was about to take on a blitz. His chest heaved, beard damp, eyes wide. The sound of feet above them multiplied, overlapping until it was no longer separate impacts but one rolling thunderclap of hunger.
Gavin tightened his grip on the revolver. Only two rounds left. Two, and an ocean coming down the steps.
The basement air turned hot, wet, rank. Dust sifted from the joists, coating his tongue with bitterness. The space felt smaller with every heartbeat, walls inching closer, ceiling dropping lower. The smell of old paint, motor oil, and earth mixed with the rank tang of sweat and blood until it was hard to tell which belonged to him and which belonged to the things above.
"Plan?" Madison whispered, voice trembling in a body built like a wall.
"Don't get bit," Gavin said.
"That's not a plan."
"It's the only one we got."
The first figure rounded the top step, half-crawling, half-falling. Its hands slapped the wood like wet meat. One arm dangled uselessly but the other dragged it forward with lunatic speed. Its face had been a man's once. The jaw was gone, torn away at the hinge, but the eyes blazed like high beams.
Behind it, more pressed forward. Too many. Their snarls collided, building a chorus that stripped the air of oxygen.
"Back wall," Gavin said.
They retreated deeper into the cellar, shoes squeaking on concrete. His father's old workbench loomed, cluttered with jars of screws, wrenches dulled with rust, a half-empty box of nails. Gavin shoved the bench hard. It screeched against the floor, angling into a crude barrier. Not much. But maybe enough to buy them a heartbeat.
The first creature reached the bottom, toes scraping, teeth clacking. Gavin lined up and fired. The revolver roared. The skull snapped back, spraying a fan of red against the wall. The body collapsed into a twitching spasm.
"ONE," Gavin shouted over the echo.
The next two barreled down, tripping over the corpse, arms flailing. Madison met them with a guttural roar. His knife carved into the first neck, catching bone. He wrenched it free with a grunt and brought the hilt down on the second's temple. Bone cracked. The thing didn't drop—it just screamed with a hollow sound and clutched at him.
"Mad!" Gavin barked.
Madison headbutted it. Skull met skull. The monster reeled. Gavin swung the cleaver in an arc that split its face like ripe fruit.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then more poured down. Four. Five. Six.
Gavin fired his last round. Another skull opened. The revolver clicked empty.
"Shit!"
He hurled the useless gun aside and raised the cleaver. The blade caught a shoulder, slicing deep but sticking fast. He shoved with his whole weight, knocking the body backward into its companions.
Madison slammed the bench forward, crushing one against the wall. Its ribs popped like bubble wrap.
"Too many!" Madison roared.
"Keep moving!" Gavin shoved him toward the far wall, where the coal chute gaped like a black mouth. His father had sealed it with plywood years ago, but the nails had loosened. Gavin rammed his shoulder into the panel. Wood cracked. A seam opened. Cold night air spilled in.
"Through here!"
Madison threw his bulk against it. The wood split with a gunshot crack. Nails screamed free. The panel toppled outward into the yard, smoke curling through from the burning barn.
They didn't wait. Gavin dove through first, landing on grass slick with dew and ash. Madison tumbled after, rolling heavy.
Behind them, claws scraped concrete as the creatures crashed against the broken panel. Fingers curled through the gap, nails snapping. One head wedged into the opening, jaw snapping, eyes wild with idiot hunger.
Gavin raised the cleaver high and brought it down. The skull burst against the sill. He kicked the twitching body back into the dark.
"MOVE!" he shouted.
They sprinted into the yard. Smoke from the barn clawed their throats, the night lit orange by collapsing timbers. The roof groaned and then caved inward with a roar. Sparks whirled skyward, painting the sky with false stars.
The heat seared their faces, sweat mixing with soot. Shadows twisted across the pasture. Something screamed—a high, inhuman keen that echoed over the fields. Gavin's stomach clenched at the sound.
Through the haze, more shapes stumbled from the pasture. Bare feet, torn clothes, eyes glowing pale. The cattle had gone silent; what moved among the broken posts weren't animals anymore.
Madison wheezed, knife still raised though his arms shook. "We're not getting out if they circle us."
"Truck," Gavin growled.
They ran. The service truck crouched in shadow beyond the pecans, still idling, its engine a low growl like an animal waiting to be ridden. Their boots hammered the dirt, lungs burning. The ground was uneven, gouged by fleeing cattle. Madison tripped once, caught himself, spat curses that steamed in the cool night.
Behind them, the basement finally gave way. The plywood shrieked off its nails. Bodies spilled into the yard like rats from a burning ship.
The sight punched Gavin in the chest harder than any linebacker had ever managed. His home—a fortress of memory—was gone. The barn burned. The house vomited monsters. His father's tools, his mother's photos, every inch of wood worn smooth by years of living—it was all ash and ruin now.
He didn't let himself look again. He vaulted into the cab, slammed the door, jammed the key forward. Madison dove into the passenger seat, knife still gripped, eyes wild.
Figures converged on the truck, fast and uncoordinated, a storm of limbs. The windshield shook as one hit it full-on. Fingers slapped the glass. Teeth squealed against it. Another thumped onto the roof, scrabbling, nails shrieking against paint.
Gavin gunned the engine and threw the truck into gear. Tires spit gravel, the rear fishtailing before catching. The truck leapt forward, crushing two under its wheels with a sound that rattled in his bones.
The house shrank behind them, flames licking higher, barn collapsing in sparks. The air tasted of smoke and blood.
Madison turned once in his seat, saw the shapes boiling out of the yard, and slammed his fist against the dash. "Your place is gone, man."
"I know." Gavin's voice was stone. He jammed the accelerator. "So now we find another."
The truck roared down the county road, darkness swallowing them. Behind, the only home he'd ever trusted burned itself into memory—one last light against the coming dark.
No going back.