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JENSEN

T he beam of my flashlight cuts through the darkness, illuminating patches of the ancient cave walls in ghostly fragments. Aubrey moves ahead of me, her silhouette occasionally merging with the shadows as she follows what appear to be deliberate marks scratched into the stone—three parallel lines, repeated at intervals, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading us deeper into the mountain’s heart.

“She left these,” Aubrey says, her voice hushed with a mixture of awe and dread as she traces the marks with her fingertips. “Lainey was still lucid enough to leave a path.”

I say nothing, watching her shoulders stiffen with determination even as her voice cracks with grief. The revelation in the journal has shaken her to her core—the confirmation that her sister transformed, that she became one of the hungry ones, that somewhere in these caves, something that was once Lainey still exists. I can only imagine the conflicting emotions warring within her: the horror of the truth battling against the strange comfort of finally knowing and the yearning to be with her loved one.

“These look fresher than the others,” I observe, examining a new set of marks that appear less weathered, the scratches lighter against the dark stone. “She might have made these later, after…”

I trail off, not wanting to say what we’re both thinking: after she changed, after the hunger took hold.

“After she transformed,” Aubrey finishes for me, refusing to shy away from the truth. “The question is why? Why leave a trail at all if she was no longer…herself?”

The marks lead us through a series of narrowing passages. The air grows thicker, heavier with each foot of progress, the weight of the mountain pressing down on us both physically and psychologically.

Then, abruptly, the passage opens into a massive chamber, so vast that our flashlight beams can’t reach the far walls or ceiling. The sudden expanse after the confined tunnel creates a momentary vertigo, a disorienting shift in perspective.

“Holy fuck,” Aubrey breathes, her voice absorbed by the emptiness around us.

As our eyes adjust, the contours of the chamber begin to resolve in the meager light. The floor stretches out in a roughly circular shape, the center dominated by what can only be described as a settlement—crude shelters constructed from salvaged materials, arranged in a vaguely ordered pattern around a central open space. Evidence of long-term habitation surrounds us: discarded clothing, containers repurposed from modern hiking gear, tattered tarps strung up to create private spaces.

“They’ve been living here,” I say, the realization settling cold in my stomach. “Not just existing. But living .”

Aubrey moves toward the nearest shelter, a structure cobbled together from broken tent poles and weather-beaten fabric. She crouches at its entrance, shining her light inside.

“Look at this,” she calls, her voice tight with tension.

I join her, peering into the small space. Inside lies a pallet of filthy blankets and rags, arranged with clear purpose as a bed. Beside it, a small collection of objects are carefully displayed on a flat stone: a tarnished locket, a man’s watch with a cracked face, a child’s plastic toy—a horse, its paint mostly worn away.

Reminds me of Duke.

“Possessions,” Aubrey says softly. “Mementos.”

“Or trophies,” I counter grimly, unable to ignore the implication. “From their victims.”

She straightens, sweeping her light across the settlement. “This suggests a level of intelligence, of organization. Nathaniel or Lainey. They’ve maintained enough of their humanity to create shelter, to collect and arrange objects with meaning.”

“Different stages, maybe,” I suggest, examining a pile of modern hiking equipment—torn backpacks, single boots, broken trekking poles—gathered near one of the larger shelters. “The longer they’ve been transformed, the more they retain or recover. Hank and Red are newly changed. But these others…Nate called them the originals. They’re different.”

Perhaps they can even be reasoned with.

Perhaps that’s our way out of here.

“Some of these items look decades old,” Aubrey notes, carefully lifting a metal canteen of a design I haven’t seen since my grandfather’s day. “And look at this.”

Her light illuminates a far section of the chamber where the evidence of habitation becomes progressively older, more primitive. Structures made from branches and animal hides. Tools fashioned from bone and stone. Artifacts that speak of generations of occupation, stretching back far longer than seems possible.

“This can’t be right,” I mutter, crouching to examine what appears to be a handmade clay pot, its surface decorated with crude symbols that echo the marks Lainey left. “The Donner Party incident was only 175 years ago. These artifacts look fuckin’ prehistoric.”

“Unless the hunger existed before,” Aubrey says, her voice taking on a detached, analytical quality that I recognize as her way of processing horror—distance, analyze, compartmentalize. “What if it wasn’t just the Donner Party survivors? What if the curse, or disease, or whatever it is, was already in these mountains? Something the native peoples knew about, avoided?”

I stand, troubled by the implication and yet not surprised. “The Indigenous warned about this, to the Donner Party themselves. It’s always been taboo to them. They knew what would happen and the settlers didn’t listen. Ain’t that always how it works?”

We continue exploring the settlement, moving deeper into the chamber, each discovery adding to the unsettling picture. The structures become more elaborate toward the center, as if denoting some kind of social hierarchy. Near what appears to be the largest shelter, we find a flat stone table surrounded by smaller stones arranged as seats.

“A meeting place?” Aubrey wonders aloud, running her hand along the worn surface of the table.

“Or a feeding place,” I say, pointing to dark stains that pattern the stone, too regular to be natural, too numerous to be accidental.

Aubrey pulls her hand back as if burned, wiping it instinctively against her jeans. “Christ,” she whispers, the professional detachment slipping momentarily.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not just for pointing out the stains, but for everything—for her sister, for the horrific truth we’re uncovering, for my own role in all of it. “I should have told you about Lainey from the beginning. Maybe then?—”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” she interrupts, her voice firm despite the tremor underneath. “I still would have come looking. I still would have ended up here. The only difference is I might have been alone.”

Our eyes meet in the dim light, understanding passing between us. Whatever lies between us—the attraction, the connection, the complications of our respective deceptions—at least we’re facing this horror together. Neither of us has to carry this burden alone.

Neither of us have to die alone.

A loud crack suddenly splits the silence, followed by a low rumble that seems to come from all around us. The ground beneath our feet trembles, a fine shower of dust and small rocks raining down from the unseen ceiling.

“What’s happening?” Aubrey asks, instinctively moving closer to me.

“Cave-in,” I reply, grabbing her arm and sheltering her. “We need to move. Now!”

We run toward the passage we entered through, but the rumbling intensifies, the ground shaking violently enough to make staying upright a challenge. A deafening crash erupts behind us, the sound of tons of rock giving way, falling.

I push Aubrey ahead of me, toward the relative safety of the narrower passage. “Go!” I shout over the cacophony of collapsing stone. “I’m right behind you!”

She darts forward, nimble despite the unsteady ground. I follow, barely a step behind, when the world seems to explode around me. A massive slab of ceiling crashes down directly in my path, missing me by inches but completely blocking the passage. The impact throws me backwards, dust and debris enveloping me in a choking cloud.

For a moment, I can’t see, can’t hear anything beyond the ringing in my ears and my own desperate coughing. Then Aubrey’s voice cuts through, muffled by the rockfall between us.

“Jensen! Jensen, are you alright?”

I struggle to my feet, moving toward the wall of fallen rock that now separates us. “I’m okay,” I call back, pressing my hand against the cool stone barrier. “Just got the wind knocked out of me. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replies, her voice strained with worry. “But the passage is completely blocked. I can’t see any way through.”

I shine my flashlight around, assessing the damage. The collapse is comprehensive—tons of rock filling the passage from floor to ceiling, impossible to shift without equipment we don’t have.

“I’ll have to find another way around,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice level despite the panic bubbling in my chest. The thought of Aubrey alone on the other side, vulnerable to whatever might be prowling these caves, sends a cold spike of fear through me. “Stay put. I’ll circle back to you.”

“No,” she responds immediately, her tone brooking no argument. “That’s a waste of time. We need to keep moving forward. There has to be another way through on your side.”

“Aubrey, I’m not leaving you?—”

“You’re not leaving me,” she cuts in. “We’re both heading toward the same place. We’ll find each other. I have my gun, the journal, and a flashlight. I’ll be okay.”

I press my forehead against the cool stone, frustration warring with the knowledge that she’s right. Backtracking to find her could take hours we don’t have, especially with the hungry ones potentially closing in.

“Alright,” I concede reluctantly. “But anything goes wrong and you holler.”

And I’ll move heaven and hell to find you.

Her footsteps fade, leaving me alone in the settling dust of the cave-in. I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the surge of emotions—fear for her safety, frustration at our separation, determination to find her again. None of these feelings will serve me now. I need to focus, to find another route through these labyrinthine caves.

I turn back toward the main chamber, scanning for any other passages or openings that might lead in the same general direction as the one now blocked. The settlement area offers no obvious exits, but as I circle the perimeter, my flashlight catches on a narrow fissure in the far wall—barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through, but definitely a potential path.

With no better options, I approach the opening, testing it with my shoulder. It’s tight but passable. I turn sideways, sucking in my stomach, and edge into the crack, the rough stone scraping against my back and chest as I shuffle forward. The passage angles downward, the floor slippery with moisture, making each step treacherous.

The fissure continues for what feels like an eternity, occasionally widening enough to allow more comfortable movement before narrowing again to a claustrophobic squeeze. My breathing grows labored in the confined space, each inhalation carrying that same strangely metallic scent I noticed earlier, but stronger now. More pungent.

Finally, the passage opens abruptly into another chamber, smaller than the settlement area but still large enough that my light doesn’t reach all corners. The air here is different—heavy with a sickly-sweet odor that makes my stomach clench in instinctive revulsion.

As I sweep my flashlight across the chamber, its beam catches on something pale and reflective near the far wall. Moving closer, the shapeless mass resolves into a horrifying sight: bones. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of bones, piled in a massive heap against the chamber wall. Human bones, the skulls unmistakable among femurs, ribs, vertebrae, all jumbled together in a grotesque monument to death.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, the words escaping involuntarily as I take an instinctive step backward.

Scattered among the bones are personal effects—clothing from various eras, some rotted to near-dust, others more recent and recognizable. A woman’s high-heeled shoe from perhaps the 1950s. A man’s leather wallet, the material cracked with age. A child’s backpack, the fabric faded but still bearing a recognizable cartoon character. All testimony to lives ended in these caves, consumed by the hungry ones across decades—perhaps centuries.

This is a feeding ground.

A dumping ground for what remains after the hunger is sated.

I force myself to look more closely, dreading what I might find yet knowing I must. Evidence of Lainey among the bones. Proof that she died here rather than transformed. Part of me hopes to find it—death would be a kinder fate than becoming one of the hungry ones.

But my grim search reveals nothing conclusive. No clothing I recognize, no definitive evidence either way.

I back away from the bone pile, eager to be away from this chamber of death. Three other passages lead from this room, dark mouths gaping in the stone. Which one might lead me back to Aubrey? Which might lead deeper, toward whatever heart this cave system possesses?

As I stand paralyzed by indecision, a sound echoes from the leftmost passage—so faint I might have imagined it. I hold my breath, straining to hear.

There it comes again.

A voice.

A woman’s voice, soft and melodic, singing what sounds like a lullaby.

The words are indistinct, lost in the cave’s natural distortion, but the tune is hauntingly familiar.

I’ve heard it before.