In the forest, Boyd walked among the tall trees that filtered the sunlight into irregular beams. Frank walked beside him, wearing the vacant look of someone who no longer saw any reason to go on living.
The sheriff was keeping his word. It was an act of mercy amid a barbaric ritual: taking Frank to one last place of his choosing before the sun went down and the Box became his final destination.
They stopped near a colossal tree. A rope was tied to a sturdy branch that extended horizontally, and at its end, a simple wooden plank formed an improvised swing.
Frank stopped in front of it, anguish etched across his face.
"This used to be Meagan's favorite place," he said, his voice trembling. He reached out, his fingers brushing the rough rope with care. "I put this swing up here... she always asked me to push her higher. She'd say, 'Higher, Daddy, I want to see the tops of the trees.' But Lauren..."
He paused, eyes fixed on the wood worn smooth by years of use.
"Lauren was afraid it wasn't safe. She always thought the rope might snap."
Frank slowly turned to Boyd. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, the final plea of a condemned man.
"You'll bury me near them, right?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and final. It wasn't a request for mercy, but for dignity. It struck the sheriff deeper than he expected, piercing the armor of authority he wore.
"Yes..." Boyd answered firmly, his voice carrying a solemn promise. "Of course. You have my word."
Frank let the air leave his lungs, his shoulders sagging in a mix of relief and defeat.
"Thank you, Sheriff. I... could you give me a few minutes? Just a little."
"Take as long as you need."
Boyd turned his back on the swing and the broken man beside it. He walked to a tree a few yards away and leaned against the trunk, closing his eyes for a moment.
A cruel dilemma gnawed at his mind. He didn't want to send Frank to his death. No sane person wanted to lock someone they knew inside a box to be torn apart by monsters.
But he couldn't keep Frank close to the others either. His negligence had cost two lives. And in a place where trust was a resource, losing it was a death sentence.
There were no easy answers. There never were.
---
When they returned, the path felt shorter. Or maybe Boyd was simply anxious not to think too much.
Near the sheriff's station, a small group of people was waiting. Tense looks, hushed conversations. When they saw the sheriff, they approached immediately.
"What happened?" Boyd asked, his voice projecting authority. He was already bracing himself for more bad news.
"We're here about the talismans." A thin, middle-aged man stepped forward. "We want to get ours."
Several others nodded, arms crossing defensively.
Boyd let out an involuntary sigh of relief. For a moment, he'd thought someone was hurt. Or worse.
"Listen, everyone," he raised his hands, asking for calm. "Let's focus on what's most important right now: boarding up the windows. We'll still need to figure out how to distribute the remaining talismans fairly."
"Why not hand them out now?" someone shouted from the middle of the crowd. It was a burly man with a nervous look, the kind that fear turns irrational and aggressive.
A few people glanced at him uneasily, uncomfortable with his tone, but the doubt had already been planted.
Boyd felt his patience, already worn thin by the day's events, begin to evaporate. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. Yelling wouldn't help. It never did.
"We have enough talismans," he explained, meeting each of their eyes, "but not enough to put one in every room of every house. If we do that, we'll run out. We'll distribute them based on how many people live in each home. It's a matter of math and survival. No one will be left unprotected, but we have to be smart."
The rational explanation, coming from the leader who had kept them alive for so long, had an effect. Heads nodded. Shame replaced aggression on a few faces. Slowly, the group dispersed, returning to their urgent tasks.
Boyd watched them go, the weight on his shoulders growing heavier with every step they took.
After putting Frank back in his cell, Boyd headed to the clinic to check on the progress with the windows and on Sara's condition.
The sound of hammering echoed through the empty streets, a frantic rhythm of survival.
When he arrived, the first thing he noticed was the window. The shattered glass from the earlier incident was already covered with boards. But the job was far from finished.
Kenny was alone on one side of the building, balancing a heavy plank with one hand while hammering with the other. Sweat streamed down his face, staining his shirt.
"Kenny," Boyd called, approaching. "Couldn't find any volunteers?"
"Everyone's busy boarding up their own houses," Kenny replied, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "I couldn't find anyone who wasn't tied up."
The sheriff nodded, understanding. Self-preservation always came first.
"There's another problem," Kenny continued, pointing to the dwindling pile of wood on the ground. "We don't have enough boards for the rest of the windows. People grabbed everything they could find. I only managed to save these. We'll have to cut down some trees or dismantle something if we want to cover it all."
"We'll do it in stages," Boyd said, assessing the structure and setting priorities. "We can't finish everything in one day, and we don't have time to cut down trees right now."
They went inside the clinic.
Sara was sitting on one of the beds, her face pale. When Boyd entered, she immediately looked away, like a cornered animal.
Nathan sat beside her on a chair, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. But there was something else there too. Vigilance. As if he were shielding his sister from something.
Boyd nodded to them and called Kristi aside.
"How is she?"
"She's fine, physically," Kristi replied. "Just shaken. But without an MRI or any imaging equipment, there's no way to know what happened neurologically. I'll keep monitoring her through the afternoon. It's the best I can do."
The sheriff nodded and pulled a talisman from his pocket, placing it in her hand. "Until we finish boarding up the windows, the basement is the safest place. I want you to sleep there."
Kristi agreed. "That makes sense."
"Kenny." The sheriff turned to him. "Stop working here. Focus on boarding up the windows at your house. Make sure your mother and father are safe. Once the residents finish, they'll come help at the clinic. I'll make sure of it."
Kenny frowned, concern written all over his face. "And you? Where are you going to sleep? The station has a lot of glass, more than most places in town. It's like an aquarium."
"I'll just board up the windows in my room. That'll do."
"You can sleep here until the station's covered," Kristi said practically. "There's plenty of space in the basement. Kenny, you and your parents could sleep here too if you don't finish boarding up your house by the end of the day."
"That's a good idea," Kenny admitted, relieved not to have to race the clock.
Boyd, who had already been secretly worried about the station's vulnerability, nodded. "Alright. We'll do it that way."
The planning, however, was abruptly interrupted.
"Sheriff! Sheriff!"
Muffled shouts came from outside. They weren't screams of supernatural terror, but of human urgency.
Boyd threw the door open and stepped onto the wooden porch, followed by Kenny and Kristi.
A young woman with tangled blonde hair came into view, running toward the clinic. She was out of breath, her face flushed from exertion and adrenaline.
"What happened?" The sheriff asked, quickly descending the steps.
The girl stopped, bracing her hands on her knees, struggling to pull air into burning lungs.
"There's... a fight," she managed between heavy breaths. "Between some people from town and the Colony House."
Boyd felt his blood boil. Internal conflict was the last thing they needed.
"What's the fight about? Is anyone hurt?" he asked sharply.
"They're fighting over boards... from the old shed near Colony House," she explained, finally catching her breath. "They want the wood. Both sides do."
Resources. Of course. Scarcity turned neighbors into rivals faster than any monster.
Boyd glanced back at the porch, where Kristi was watching.
"Kristi, stay ready," the sheriff ordered, his command voice fully taking over. "If anyone's seriously hurt, I'll send for you. Don't leave here unless it's necessary."
"Understood."
"Let's go, Kenny."
The sheriff was already heading toward Colony House. Kenny quickened his pace to follow.
They had a civil war to stop before the real enemies came out of the shadows.
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