The mist grew heavier as they approached the refinery, curling around their legs like smoke. The metallic skeleton of the place loomed larger with each step — rusted towers, twisted pipes, and tanks that groaned softly in the wind. Somewhere above them, a loose metal sheet clanged rhythmically, echoing through the gray.
Soufiane signaled the group to spread out. Amal and Mourad took the right flank, while Cynthia and Juliane followed close behind him. Zahira stayed with the others near the entrance, guarding the boy and keeping an eye on their escape route. The refinery smelled of oil and decay — an odor that spoke of both machinery and death.
Soufiane's boots sank into the wet earth as he knelt near a trail of prints. The blood on them was still fresh. He touched it lightly; it was warm. "Someone's close," he murmured.
Amal raised her rifle, scanning the shadowy maze of pipes. "Or something," she whispered.
They moved deeper. The fog thickened, swallowing shapes whole. Their flashlights cut narrow tunnels through it, beams flickering against rust and concrete. Somewhere in the distance, a faint sound began — a scraping, dragging noise. Then silence.
Juliane's breath came out shaky. "It's… it's echoing. I can't tell where it's coming from."
Cynthia pressed a finger to her lips. "Don't speak. Just listen."
A few seconds passed. Then they heard it again — closer this time. A dragging step, followed by another. Something wet.
Soufiane motioned for the group to take cover behind an overturned container. They crouched low, breaths held. Through the narrow space beneath the metal, they saw it: a figure staggering across the open yard.
At first, it looked human — a man in a torn mechanic's jumpsuit. But as the fog parted, they saw his face. The skin was gray and blistered, his mouth torn wide open as if burned from the inside. He dragged one leg behind him, metal chains wrapped around his arms, jingling with every movement.
Cynthia swallowed hard. "What the hell happened to him?"
"Chemical burns," Juliane murmured, eyes wide. "From the refinery leaks maybe… or worse."
The creature stopped suddenly, head twitching toward their hiding spot. The group froze. For a long moment, there was only the sound of dripping oil. Then — another sound.
A second shape moved in the fog. Then a third.
Soon there were more — silhouettes swaying, twitching, whispering in guttural tones. Dozens of them, their movements jerky and uneven. They gathered near the refinery's main tank, drawn to something.
Soufiane peeked carefully over the container edge. There, in the center of the swarm, stood a makeshift shrine — an oil drum surrounded by candles and bones. The flickering light cast shadows across the creatures' faces.
"They're not just wandering," Amal whispered. "They're… worshipping."
Cynthia's eyes darted to Soufiane. "Worshipping what?"
Before he could answer, one of the creatures screamed — a sharp, metallic shriek that pierced the fog. The others turned in unison, heads snapping toward the noise. Soufiane realized too late that one of them had caught their scent.
"Run," he hissed.
They bolted. The refinery erupted with chaos — shrieks, clanging metal, footsteps pounding behind them. Amal fired a short burst, hitting one in the chest, but it barely slowed. The bullets tore through flesh that no longer cared about pain.
Soufiane led them toward a maintenance tunnel. "Inside! Go!"
They slid through the narrow passage, slamming the steel door behind them. The echoes of the infected hammered against the other side. The tunnel smelled of mold and diesel.
Juliane collapsed against the wall, panting. "What… what were they doing out there?"
Soufiane stared into the dark corridor ahead. His voice was low. "They weren't feeding. They were waiting."
"For what?" Cynthia asked.
He looked back at the trembling steel door. The banging had stopped. Silence fell again, deeper than before.
"For someone to come back," Soufiane whispered.