Inside one of the armored vehicles of the evacuee convoy from Fort Blackspear, Sophia and the Walker family slept. Olivia rested against James, while Emma lay beside her, head on her lap.
Olivia's face was tense even in sleep—like she was trapped in a nightmare.
She jolted awake, sitting upright, eyes darting around the dim compartment, breath sharp and uneven.
Angelo?
The thought hit her before she realized she was awake.
Just a dream.
But the relief didn't stop the tears. They slipped down her cheeks as she stared at the scar on her right palm. She tried to cry quietly, but James felt her shift before she pulled away. He blinked himself awake, eyes adjusting to the dim cabin.
Olivia sat with her hands over her face, shoulders trembling.
He reached out, lightly touching her arm.
"Hey… Olivia. What's wrong? Why are you crying?"
She didn't answer at first. She just stared at her palms, at the thin scar on her right hand, trying to steady her breathing.
James softened his voice.
"Was it a nightmare?"
A quiet beat.
"Do you want to tell me what you saw?"
That opened her.
Olivia swallowed hard, wiping at her cheeks even as more tears fell.
"I… I saw Angelo."
Her voice cracked.
"He was a child… standing alone in the dark. Crying."
She paused, breath hitching.
"And then the monsters came. They grabbed him and dragged him away."
James felt his chest tighten, but he stayed quiet, letting her speak.
Olivia hugged her arms close, trembling.
"He called out for us. Over and over. But we… we weren't there."
Another pause.
"They handed him a broken piece of a mirror. And he… he took it."
James's heartbeat thudded in his ears.
"He looked at me," she whispered, voice shaking.
"Like he wanted me to say something. Anything. But… nothing came out."
A breath.
"He whispered, 'I'm sorry.'"
Her hands were shaking now, fingers curled tight.
"I tried to run to him. But I couldn't move. My legs wouldn't listen."
She swallowed, voice shrinking to a fragile whisper.
"He kept staring at me… and then he—"
She broke.
"He shoved the glass into his throat."
James sucked in a breath, horrified, the image burning into his mind.
Olivia's voice thinned to a trembling thread.
"He was bleeding so much. He fell to the floor… choking."
She looked up at James with red, watery eyes.
"And the monsters… they just laughed. Loudly. Until he was gone."
James pulled her into his chest and held her tight as she cried.
A small voice came from beside them.
"Mommy."
Emma was awake, sitting up, rubbing her eyes.
Olivia wiped her face quickly.
"What is it, sweetheart?"
Emma gripped the seat cushions, confused.
"Why are you crying?"
Olivia forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Mommy just had a bad dream."
But before she could say more, Emma whispered,
"I had a dream too… I saw big brother Angelo."
Olivia and James froze.
Emma continued softly,
"He was sitting on the floor, crying."
She looked up at both of them, eyes shining.
"Where is big brother Angelo?"
James felt something in his chest twist hard. He lowered his head, unable to answer.
Olivia held back more tears, pulled Emma into her arms, and said in the gentlest voice she could manage:
"Your brother is fighting the monsters… to keep everyone safe."
Across from them, Alex lay with his eyes shut—awake, listening. Every word crushed him deeper. The weight of what he'd said to Angelo pressed against his ribs like a vice.
Silence settled over the armored vehicle again.
Only the hum of the engine remained.
Back at the iron factory, Private Ryan Maddox lay on the cold ground, battered and broken.
Blood pooled beneath him—warm against the dirt—yet his body felt like ice. His chest rose in shallow, uneven breaths. Each exhale rattled.
His eyes fluttered open.
The world returned in a blur: a spinning sky, the ringing in his ears, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He tried to sit up. Pain answered immediately—sharp, knifing through his ribs.
And then he remembered.
The ambush.
Slowly, he turned his head.
There she was.
Lieutenant Marcelle Hale.
Still.
Unmoving.
A choked sound clawed up his throat—part sob, part scream—but only a thin whisper escaped. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he dragged himself toward Nomad, fingers scraping against dirt and rust, numb from blood loss.
He pulled himself up the side of the vehicle, clinging to bolts and edges, forcing his dying body upright just long enough to reach the radio.
His hand shook violently as he pressed the button.
"General… this is Private Ryan Maddox… reporting."
Static crackled. Then a familiar, steady voice answered.
"This is General Pierce. What's your status, Private?"
Ryan swallowed, voice trembling.
"We… were attacked. Angelo's been captured."
The line went still.
"What?" Pierce's voice sharpened. "What were you and Hale doing out there? Was it the creatures?"
Ryan coughed, nearly collapsing over the console.
"Yes, sir… Took one down, but then… three more came. From the shadows. We were surrounded."
A beat.
"Lieutenant Hale fell during the attack." His voice broke. "I couldn't save her."
Pierce's breath caught. He didn't speak for a moment.
Then quietly:
"Give me your position. I'll send a team."
"No," Ryan rasped. His voice was hoarse, but steady with purpose. "No time. I… slipped the tracker from Nomad into Angelo's back pocket. You can find him."
Pierce leaned back, the weight settling heavily across his shoulders.
"We'll get him back. Just hang in there, Maddox. Help is coming."
A soft, broken laugh left Ryan's blood-coated lips.
"Angelo's got people waiting for him. A family. A future."
A pause.
"He's… a good person. He deserves to be saved."
His next breath shuddered.
"I don't. I lost everything before the army. There's no one left to miss me."
"Don't say that," Pierce muttered. "You mattered, son. You hear me? You mattered."
Silence lingered, thick and hollow.
"I'm scared, General…" Ryan whispered. His voice shrank into a childlike tremor.
"It's cold, and I… I don't want to go like this. Not alone. Not in the dark."
Only quiet answered him.
His breaths grew slower. Shallower.
Fading.
"I don't want to die…"
The words drifted out—small, frightened, dissolving into the cold night.
His hand slipped from the radio. Fingers twitched once… then stilled.
One final breath.
One final exhale.
The line went dead.
"Private Maddox?" Pierce called.
"Private? … Ryan?"
Nothing.
Pierce stared at the radio, unmoving. A long moment passed before he finally whispered:
"You've done well… Private Ryan Maddox. Now rest."
He rose, grief carved hard into his features.
"Form a rescue team. I want the best we've got," he ordered, voice now steel. "And I'm going with them."
Then, softer, as he turned away:
"Send a team to retrieve our fallen. Bring them home."