A thunderous blast shattered our formation; the impact of an explosion shook the forest, destabilizing us and forcing a frantic retreat toward the cabin. From the shadows, our attackers emerged—their ambush, perfectly synchronized, had been successfully orchestrated. We had no choice but to hide like rats in the burrow they had deliberately left as our only shelter. We had fallen into the trap they had laid, and with no alternatives left, it felt like the end.
"This wasn't supposed to happen, Binet," Duarte accused, his voice restrained but simmering with barely contained fury.
"If you're so infallible, Duarte, maybe you should've taken command yourself," Binet retorted, his tone as sharp as a dagger slicing through the tension in the air.
"Enough!" López interrupted, his voice firm and authoritative. "Thanks to Binet, we're still alive. What matters now is finding a way out of this hell."
A momentary silence was broken by one of the guards, who approached with a mix of caution and urgency.
"They're not moving. They seem to be holding position… in a circle," he reported, his voice barely above a whisper.
"They're just waiting for the right moment to finish us off like caged rats!" Duarte exclaimed, his desperation bursting forth as his eyes darted hopelessly for an escape.
López leaned slightly forward, peering carefully through the shattered window of the cabin. The moonlight barely lit the still figures of the enemy, forming an eerie ring that seemed to tighten with every passing second. His hardened face betrayed the concern he tried to mask.
"They're waiting for something…" López muttered, turning back to the group. "Maybe reinforcements—or maybe they just want us to crack. We can't let that happen."
"And what do you suggest?" Duarte asked, his voice splintering under the weight of tension. **"That we just stay here and wait our turn like lambs at the slaughterhouse?"
Binet adjusted one of the valves on his suit, deliberately ignoring the confrontation. He spoke with the calm of someone analyzing a complex equation.
"We need information before we act. If we rush it, the consequences will be fatal. My suit is equipped with motion and proximity sensors. We can use them to measure the density of their formation and find a weak point. But…"
"But it'll require someone to go out and mark the perimeter," Duarte interrupted, clearly exhausted. "And who's going to volunteer for that suicidal idea?"
"I will," said Vidal, breaking the silence with a voice both grave and resolute. "My suit has better camouflage capabilities. With a small distraction, I can blend into the night and map the perimeter."
"Damn it! If you're going, I'm going with you," Duarte insisted.
"You'll need to handle the telegraph, Regino," Binet ordered. "Leaving it behind would be just as disastrous as dying."
"Got it! So my job is to run as fast as possible and get the telegraph back to headquarters, right?"
"Yes. But I also need you to deliver a message to Torres—warn him of everything that's happening."
"I won't let you down," Regino affirmed.
The group exchanged tense glances, fully aware of what was at stake. López nodded, acknowledging Vidal's bravery.
"Alright, Vidal will scout, but you won't go alone. Taveras goes with you. His knowledge of the fungi could make all the difference. We'll cover you from here if needed… Remember—just ten meters. Then we'll plan an offensive."
"I'll need the strongest distraction at the front while Taveras handles preparations," Vidal added.
He and Taveras exchanged a brief, understanding glance before they began gearing up. As they adjusted their suits' systems, the flurry of preparation inside the cabin was almost unbearable, broken only by fleeting glances between comrades.
"If anything goes wrong, we'll come back for you," López said firmly—though everyone knew it was a promise that might never be kept.
The cabin door creaked open slowly, and the cold night air wrapped around them like a shroud. López, taking on the role of bait to keep them alive, stepped out to distract the enemy. On the left side, Vidal slipped into the darkness, where the shadows were so thick they seemed to breathe. Inside the cabin, the others waited in silence, each battling their own fears and dark thoughts.
Time slowed as they waited for signals from Vidal and Taveras, knowing the fate of the entire group hung on each step they took.
"Don't shoot!" López shouted once he was outside the cabin.
"Identify yourself!" came the demand.
"Vice-Captain of the incursion into the land of Catha, Senior Corporal Robinson López."
"Get on the ground and put your hands on your head. I repeat—get on the ground slowly and put your hands on your head."
"Fine! But first… go to hell!" López shouted, flipping them the middle finger.
That was the signal Taveras had been waiting for. He activated his chemicals and hurled them out of the cabin, triggering a reaction that produced thick, blinding smoke. Binet and I yanked the rope tied to López, dragging him back into the cabin as fast as we could. Meanwhile, the guards opened fire on the enemy, creating a distraction so Vidal could slip out unnoticed. Regino bolted from the cabin with the telegraph hidden under his cloak, racing toward the settlement. Taveras had also slipped out, moving stealthily and lobbing more chemical bombs to blind the enemy.
Chaos consumed the enemy, and for a brief moment, the odds tilted in our favor. Our nearly flawless plan had them where we wanted—while we prepared our offensive…
But something else was there.
The chaos that followed our escape was as confusing as it was terrifying. The shadows of the forest danced in tune with the groaning trees. Every sound was a strangled cry, a snapping branch, the echo of some unknown creature. It deepened the sense that something more was lurking in the darkness—something not even our enemies could control.
Vidal and Taveras, who had taken the lead, soon vanished from sight. Their silhouettes dissolved into the underbrush—and with them, our only hope of navigating a clear route. López, still gasping from the recent maneuver, tried to keep us together, but panic had already begun to flare within the group like wildfire.
"Stay calm!" he shouted, his eyes scanning the terrain for any landmark that could guide us.
"And how the hell do we move forward if we don't know where we're going?" Duarte snapped, his voice as sharp as his ragged breath. "We lost contact with Vidal and Taveras! We're blind in this damned place!"
"And what about that thing?" one of the guards asked, hands trembling on his weapon. "That… whatever it is that's killing them?"
The question hung in the air unanswered. We were all surviving individually—there was no room to wonder what was out there.
"We move in formation, perimeter tight," Binet ordered. "Regino is probably on his way to the settlement with the telegraph. But our only priority now is survival. So we run—together—and don't lose sight of each other!"
The group moved with slow determination, trying to stay calm while every shadow seemed to twitch and stretch. The forest, once suffocating in its silence, now felt like a boundless void filled with invisible predators. We moved forward guided only by the faint hope that Vidal and Taveras were still alive—and that somehow, we'd find a way out of this dark maze.
But as we continued, the sounds of battle began to fade. In their place came a heavy, unnatural silence, as if even the air had stopped moving. It was a silence that announced something… but what, we didn't know. And that made it all the more terrifying.
It was then, as we crossed a small ravine tangled with roots and rotting leaves, that López raised a hand to halt us. Something shimmered in the distance—a faint reddish glow, pulsing like a living heart.
"What is that?" Duarte whispered, barely audible.
"A trap," Binet answered coldly. **"Or a signal."
Before we could get any closer, a deep, guttural sound tore through the silence, making every muscle in my body lock up. We didn't know what it was, but in that moment, we realized something horrifying:
Whatever had been stalking our enemies… had now found us.
Panic began to bubble up inside us, but López raised his voice, anchoring us like a rock in a storm.
"Break formation! Fall back slowly. I'll cover you."
The order came too late.
As if some wicked spell had been cast, the corpses of the fallen began to rise—deformed, rotting, with mutilated, grotesque limbs. Their movements were erratic but relentless, as if refusing to accept the stillness of death. With chilling speed, they lunged at us with inhuman fury, forcing us to scatter in a desperate scramble for survival.