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JENSEN

N ight shadows cloak us as I carry Lainey’s body through the snow, her weight a grim burden between us. Aubrey walks beside me, holding the axe and her gun. Neither of us speaks; there’s nothing left to say. The shot that ended Lainey’s suffering still echoes in my mind, her blood a dark stain on the pristine white, steam rising from it like her departing soul.

She is gone, for now, but her peace will be short-lived.

And so will ours.

Aubrey’s face is a mask of composed grief, tears frozen on her cheeks glinting in the moonlight. The transformation from FBI agent to grieving sister and back again happened in moments after the initial shock passed. Now she moves with the mechanical precision of someone who’s compartmentalized their emotions to deal with the task at hand. I recognize the technique—I’ve used it myself more times than I care to remember.

Now I’m realizing it’s no way to get through life.

The cabin appears through the trees, a dark silhouette against the moonlit landscape. No lights burn in the windows, no smoke rises from the chimney.

We approach the cabin cautiously, weapons drawn. The door stands partially open, swinging slightly in the mountain breeze, the windows all broken from the horde as they moved in. I motion for Aubrey to cover me, then move forward to push the door fully open, rifle at the ready.

The interior is dark and empty, the fire long dead, leaving only cold ash in the hearth. More concerning are the ropes that lie discarded on the floor beside the cot where we’d secured Eli before our escape through the loft window. He’s gone, like I knew he would be.

I set Lainey down on the cot, then move around the cabin, taking inventory of what remains. The kerosene lantern still sits on the shelf, nearly full, with a bottle of fuel beside it. Our remaining supplies are untouched—a few protein bars, flashlights, basic first aid items that we had to leave behind when we fled.

Aubrey sits beside her sister’s body, hand resting lightly on Lainey’s cold arm. Her expression is distant, thoughtful rather than grief-stricken now. When she finally speaks, her voice carries a determination that surprises me, though it chatters from the cold.

“She said only fire will destroy them completely.”

“As long as there is a way,” I say, stoking the hearth back to life with what remains of our firewood. We need fire for ourselves, to fight hyperthermia yet again, and for them. The small flames cast dancing shadows across the cabin’s interior, highlighting the exhaustion etched on

“There are dozens of them at least, possibly more,” I point out. “They’re faster than us, stronger, know these mountains better than anyone. How do you propose we burn them all?”

A calculating look crosses Aubrey’s face as she surveys the cabin. “We don’t have to chase them through the mountains,” she says slowly. “We bring them to us. To the fire.”

Understanding dawns as I follow her gaze around the small structure. The cabin itself could become a pyre—a trap to lure in and destroy the hungry ones. “We use the cabin as bait. Draw them in somehow, then trap them…”

“Burn it down around them,” she finishes, a cold fire in her eyes. “With Lainey inside, like she wanted. Give her the peace she asked for while taking out as many of them as we can.”

The plan forms quickly between us. The kerosene lantern provides enough accelerant to ensure the wood cabin will catch properly. We locate other flammable materials—the remaining furniture, paper, cloth—and arrange them strategically around the cabin’s interior. The chimney flue is closed to prevent the fire from merely escaping upward. The door is propped slightly open, an invitation, while a bookshelf, axed into the right planks, will prevent them from leaving.

“So, how do we lure them in?” I ask, considering the problem from all angles.

She meets my eyes steadily. “Blood. My blood.”

“Oh, hell no.”

After brief argument, we settle on a compromise—both our blood, mixed together, creating a scent trail that will draw the hungry ones toward the cabin while neither of us has to sacrifice too much in our already weakened states. That, combined with some shouting and screaming, and they’re bound to come running.

Working together, we prepare the cabin, transforming it from shelter to funeral pyre. The remaining kerosene is spread strategically across the wooden floor and walls, every section made as flammable as possible. The fire will be lit when I run up to the door and anchor it shut from the outside with the bookshelves, lighting the kerosene-soaked cloths as I do so. From the open window we broke out of the loft, Aubrey will stand below and throw a homemade firebomb inside. Apparently her aim is better than mine, and I’m inclined to agree.

As final preparations are made, I find myself standing beside Lainey’s body, studying the face of the woman who endured three years of living hell, fighting the hunger that ultimately claimed everyone else it touched. The woman whose sister traveled into these mountains searching for answers, for closure, only to find horror beyond imagining.

History doesn’t die. It just finds new ways to haunt you.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, though I know she can’t hear me. “For leaving you with him. For not finding you sooner. For how it ended.” I pause, throat tight with emotions I can’t fully express. “But I promise you this: I’ll protect your sister. I’ll end this nightmare, one way or another.”

A hand touches my shoulder gently—Aubrey, having approached silently while I was lost in my one-sided conversation with her sister’s corpse. Her eyes reflect the firelight, determination burning hotter than grief now.

“It’s time,” she says simply.

With a final glance at Lainey, I nod. We make our final preparations, using a knife to draw small amounts of blood from our palms, mixing it together in one of the empty water bottles. The scent will be irresistible to the hungry ones, drawing them inexorably toward our trap.

At least we hope.

Outside, the night has deepened, clouds starting to obscure the moon and stars, leaving only our flashlights to illuminate the darkness. The temperature continues to drop, our breath forming clouds that hang in the still air. Perfect conditions for fire to spread quickly through the dry timber of the cabin.

“Remember the plan,” I say as we prepare to split up. “Leave the blood trail in a wide arc leading to the cabin. Once inside, they’ll probably be drawn to Lainey. That gives us time to circle back and light the fuse, barricade them in, and then you throw the bomb into the loft. Then we head downslope, put as much distance between us and this place as possible.”

Aubrey nods, checking her gun one final time. “If anything goes wrong?—”

“Nothing will go wrong,” I insist, though we both know it’s a lie. Everything about this plan could go wrong in a dozen different ways. But it’s the only chance we have to end this, to destroy as many of the hungry ones as possible before they can spread their curse further.

Still, I grab her and pull her toward me, kissing her deeply.

“Don’t die, city girl,” I whisper against her lips.

“Same goes for you, cowboy.”

We part ways, Aubrey moving in a wide arc to the west while I take the eastern approach. The blood mixture is spread sparingly—droplets flicked from our fingers onto the snow, creating a scent trail that will be impossible to resist.

Once the trails are laid, we station ourselves on opposite sides of the cabin, waiting in the darkness for our prey to arrive. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, the cold seeping through my wet clothes despite the exertion of our preparations. Just as I begin to wonder if our plan has failed, a sound reaches me through the still night air—the snap of a branch, deliberate rather than accidental.

They’ve found the trail.

From my position behind a massive pine, I can see movement in the forest—pale figures moving with that unnatural grace that distinguishes the hungry ones from humans. They follow the blood scent, heads low, nostrils flaring as they track the invisible path we’ve laid for them.

The first of them emerges into the small clearing around the cabin—a figure I recognize with a jolt of grief and horror. Eli, his transformation nearly complete now, only the barest trace of humanity remaining in his movements. Behind him come others—Hank, Red, faces I don’t recognize but bearing the same hallmarks of transformation: the waxy pallor, the too-fluid movement, the hungry intensity of their posture.

Those fucking eyes.

They hesitate at the edge of the clearing, as if sensing a trap. Then a figure I recognize immediately steps forward from their midst—Adam, now fully transformed and clearly in command. He gestures toward the cabin, a deliberate, eerily human movement, and the others respond immediately, moving toward the structure with single-minded purpose.

I hold my breath as they file inside, one after another. Ten, fifteen—more than I expected, their pale forms disappearing into the cabin’s dark interior. Adam stands apart at first, watching as his pack enters, a calculating intelligence evident in his posture that separates him from the others. He’s waiting, observing, sending his subordinates in first before he follows.

A smart leader. A dangerous one.

Movement at the edge of my vision—Aubrey, circling around, keeping to the shadows behind the cabin and moving with impressive stealth despite her exhaustion. She crouches there, watching me.

We wait until it seems like the last of the visible hungry ones has entered the cabin. This is our moment—the best chance we’ll have to ignite the trap with maximum impact.

Now , I think and wave at Aubrey. I run for the door, pulling the planks over it and securing them into place. The sound attracts snarls and footsteps from inside and I have just enough time light the fuel-soaked cloth, a bright flare that momentarily illuminates the porch before I duck back into the darkness.

The fire races along the fuse, a bright serpent crawling toward the cabin with hungry intent. The explosion is more violent than I anticipated—a whoosh of igniting fuel that nearly blows the door off its hinges. Flames engulf the entrance in seconds, spreading rapidly across the kerosene-soaked wood, hungry tongues of fire climbing the walls and reaching for the roof.

Meanwhile I hear glass breaking and another whoosh from the other side of the cabin, Aubrey tossing her firebomb inside the loft.

The hungry ones react with immediate panic—inhuman screeches filling the night as they find themselves trapped in the inferno. Some try to escape through the burning door, only to be driven back by the intensity of the flames. Others scramble toward the windows, clawing at the boards we’d secured hours earlier to keep out the cold. A few try to go through the ones they’d already broken through in their attempt to get us, but there are so many of them that they bottleneck, writhing, stuck, as the flames engulf them from behind.

“It’s working,” Aubrey breathes beside me, her face illuminated by the growing blaze, eyes reflecting the dancing flames. There’s no triumph in her expression, only grim satisfaction as the fire consumes the cabin—and her sister’s body along with the creatures that caused her transformation. Eli, Red, Hank, maybe Cole too.

The roof catches now, the entire structure becoming a beacon in the night, casting wild shadows across the snow-covered clearing. The screeches from inside grow more frantic, then begin to fade as the hungry ones succumb to the one thing that can truly destroy them.

As we watch, the burning roof collapses completely, sending a fountain of sparks and embers into the night sky. The main structure follows, walls falling inward, the entire cabin reduced to a burning pile of timber.

“We should go,” I say. “Get down to lower elevation before sunrise. Find help, and fast.”

She nods and is about to say something when a snarling noise cuts above the roar of the flames.