The night didn't merely darken—it thickened.
The very air around the grain silo vibrated, carrying the taste of metal and the looming certainty of death. Bright stepped out of the ruined entrance, dust settling across his shoulders like ash. His chest rose and fell, not from fear, but from the weight of the realization settling into him.
The silo was saved, but there would have to be an inventory on what was left.
The outpost on the other hand was still wailing from the cries of its members being slaughtered.
Bright heaved with a thought that if they were to survive this midnight ,as he assumed it was, because every other time was night, he was going see the degeneracy of man come morning when bellies start rumbling for rain and debris in their gut.
Thirty paces away…
Larkin waited.
