Wren

Hanging low over the trees before us, the sun touched the horizon as the first remains of a house came into view. Thick vines encircled the sagging roof and walls of the home like a snake choking the life from its prey.

All that remained of this town were the fragments of homes and the ghostly memories of those who had resided here. These streets had once been filled with neighbors like mine, who had baked pies, held cookouts, and kissed the skinned knees of their crying children. Now, they held nothing but bones.

There were so many of these abandoned towns in the Wilds that it was impossible to differentiate one from another if they weren’t marked somewhere by those who had already traveled through here.

I hoped someone had come through this town recently and left some indicator that it was a safe place to stay. I knew where we were in relation to where we’d left the others, but they could have moved on already, and even if they remained in the same place, we’d never reach them before nightfall.

We had to be somewhere safe before sunset. Demons didn’t strictly travel and hunt at night, but they moved around more once the sun set. With only the two of us, it wouldn’t be safe to camp out in the open.

The browning grass surrounding the homes brushed my knees as I walked through it. The further out of the forest we walked, the more broken pieces of wood stood up from the crumpled remains of collapsed and burnt-out houses. In between the remains were the few structures that had managed to withstand bombs, fires, fighting, and time.

Sunset streaked the sky with vibrant pinks, yellows, and oranges, but when I glanced back, I spotted black clouds creeping across the sky. A subtle shifting in the air and the growing ozone scent forewarned of a coming storm.

Stepping out of the thick grass and onto the pitted road, Corson strode boldly down the street while my eyes darted around it. The further we traveled the road, the more homes remained standing, though most looked like I could push them over. The gravel crunching beneath our boots was the only sound in the growing twilight.

“We’re going to have to find somewhere to bed down for the night soon,” Corson said.

“We will.”

I halted to examine a stop sign. Signs were a favorite place for fellow Wilders to leave messages as few signs remained, and those that did drew the attention of others. The rusting sign post slanted precariously to the side, and in the center of the O in “stop” were two rectangles. Beneath the word stop and inside one of the rectangles was the number five. Within the other rectangle, someone had written #2-25.

The rectangles specified brick houses, but there were numerous brick homes on this stretch of road. However, when I counted five down from the sign in both directions, there was only one made of bricks while the other was a wooden duplex.

I didn’t look for the second house indicated by the #2; I’d be able to find it if it became necessary for us to retreat there. However, if the first house remained safe, there was no reason for Corson to know there were two safe houses in this town. We were all working together now, but some secrets had to be kept just in case.

“This way,” I said to Corson and walked toward the brick house.

Throughout the Wilds, there were at least fifty different Wilder groups spread across the land. In the beginning, there had been distrust between the groups, raids, and murders. Quickly, many Wilders realized that if they continued to fight each other, they would never survive the demons. Representatives from each of their groups met to write and sign a pact to work with each other. The agreement set down laws and punishments for the way rule breakers would be handled. Since then, the Wilders had become a symbiotic network throughout the Wilds, though a few factions kept mostly to themselves as they preferred to remain as hidden as possible.

After I first approached Kobal, word had been sent out with messengers to let the other groups know I’d agreed to work with the demons and that they would be safe if they also came forward. Most of them decided to work with the demons once they realized they wouldn’t be slaughtered and that they needed help to survive what had escaped Hell this time.

Randy’s group had always been one of the largest and strongest, but Wilders regularly rotated in and out of the various groups to travel to different areas or for other reasons. Over the years, and with all the various movement between groups, the Wilders had adopted a universal marking system no one would notice or understand unless they knew what it meant. The system was kept as simple as possible so people could remember it and so those who couldn’t read would still be able to understand it.

Turning onto the broken walkway leading toward the brick house, I picked my way over the chunks of rubble to avoid twisting an ankle. I clambered up the sagging steps of the porch.

“What are you doing?” Corson inquired from behind me.

“Eventually, I’ll be going inside,” I replied.

“Let me go first.”

I gave him a hard stare. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I never said you did; I know you don’t. But you can count on me to help you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

The certainty with which he’d stated it left me speechless. He turned away before I could respond and stalked over to one of the windows. Cupping his hands against the sides of his face, he bent to peer inside but I knew he wouldn’t be able to see in. I stared at the chipped, white front door before turning to search the porch.

A terracotta plant holder sat beside a broken bench. Walking over, I lifted the pot of dry soil and gazed at the numbers on the wood beneath. Some numbers were carved into the wood; others had been written on it.

The last date, scrawled in black marker, revealed someone had been here three months ago. The earliest date was only five months after the gateway opened. This house had been used as a refuge often by Wilders over the years, but that was before the seals fell. There was no telling if it remained safe now.

I didn’t hear Corson move, but I felt his body against mine as he peered over my shoulder. “So it was safe here in August,” he stated.

Setting the pot down, I covered the numbers. If I wasn’t careful, he’d figure our language out. Unlike the lower-level demons, he was far from stupid, and it wasn’t exactly a complicated way of communicating.

His citrine eyes were a honey brown hue when they met mine. I found myself gazing into them for longer than I should have. Turning my head away, I pushed past him to return to the front door.

I gripped the handle and gave it a small turn, but the wood, sagging on its rusting hinges, groaned and held firm. I leaned my shoulder against it and was about to shove it when something leapt through the shadows next to the house.

Jumping away from the door, I pulled my knife free, but whatever moved there slipped into the dark. Adrenaline pulsed through my system as I prepared to attack.

“That won’t work against them,” Corson said and gestured at my knife.

“What are they?” I whispered.

“Hell shadows. They must have also escaped Hell, and now they’re spreading out. They can’t hurt you, but unlike your shadows on Earth, they can move on their own.”

“Delightful,” I muttered. “Shifting shadows won’t make trying to locate an enemy more difficult for us at all.”

Corson’s mouth quirked at my sarcasm. Walking over to the front door, he grabbed the knob and pushed his shoulder into it. The door groaned as it swung open. He didn’t look back at me when he stepped into the house. A shadow slid forth to dance over the porch banister before retreating again. I returned my knife to its holster, threw the shadows a disgusted look, and entered the house.