Chapter 24
The cold hit him as soon as he stepped out.
The air was sharper now — thin, metallic. It tasted like iron. Like blood. The camp was mostly asleep; only a few soldiers moved along the outer fence, their flashlights cutting slow arcs through the dark.
Carter hesitated by the tent flap. He could still see his mother's silhouette inside, her head tilted slightly as if listening even in her sleep. She always did that now. Like her body had forgotten how to rest.
He almost went back. He should go back. He knew he should.
But something in him — maybe the same gnawing, restless feeling that had haunted his dreams — kept pushing him forward. It sat in his chest like a buzzing wire, too loud to ignore. Staying inside felt like suffocating.
He walked past the rows of tents, keeping low, careful not to step on the loose gravel. Each crunch sounded like a gunshot in the quiet. His heartbeat seemed too loud, like the whole camp would hear it.
The generator near the checkpoint hummed like a heartbeat. The floodlights beyond it washed the compound in pale orange, making the shadows even darker in between. The lights made everything feel fake — a set, not a place people actually lived.
When he reached the last line of tents, he crouched behind a stack of empty crates. The wood pressed cold against his palms. From here, he could see the checkpoint more clearly — the barricades, the tall fence topped with coiled wire, and the gate where they'd been waiting all day.
A soldier's voice drifted faintly through the still air. Another answered, tired but alert. Even the soldiers sounded worn down, stretched thin.
Carter's breath fogged in front of him. He wiped his palms on his jeans.
What the hell am I doing?
He wasn't even sure. Part of him thought maybe he'd see his father — maybe they were still holding the "screened" people somewhere inside the compound. He clung to that word maybe like it meant something. But another part of him knew… it didn't.
The thought of Adam and Chris flickered through his head. He hadn't even seen them being taken away — just Emma's face afterward, red and streaked with tears. Her voice cracking when she said, "They pulled them aside. They didn't even tell us why."
He could still hear her sobbing. The helpless kind. The kind that stuck to your ribs.
He took a slow breath, scanning for a gap in the fence. The silence pressed against his skull.
Dad's not coming back. The thought cut through him like a blade. He didn't want to think it, but it was there — cold, quiet, waiting.
He crouched lower, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.
A figure emerged from one of the prefab buildings near the back of the compound — not a soldier. The pale glow from the floodlights caught the edge of his coat — white, stained near the sleeves.
Carter's breath caught.
The man was holding something. At first, it looked like a bundle of cloth. Then the light shifted, and he saw the dark stains spreading across the fabric — deep red, almost black. The man adjusted his grip and the shape inside sagged, heavy, limp.
Carter's stomach twisted. A sour taste filled his mouth.
No.No,no,no,no.
The man in the white coat — a doctor, maybe — walked up to a soldier waiting beside a transport truck. They didn't exchange words. The soldier nodded once and took the bag from him, setting it in a crate already half full of similar bundles. He shut the lid and latched it without looking inside.
Like this was normal. Routine. Like they were packing groceries, not… people.
The man exhaled, rubbed a hand over his face, and looked down at his gloves — red to the wrist. He peeled them off slowly, like the act itself weighed on him, then tossed them into a bin.
For a second, Carter thought he saw hesitation — guilt, maybe — flicker across the man's face. Then it was gone. He turned, and for a moment his gaze swept across the fence line.
Carter froze. His heart jerked in his chest like a trapped bird.
The man didn't call out or move closer. He just stood there, his expression unreadable under the floodlights, before finally turning away and heading back into the building.
Carter didn't move until the soldier walked off too, leaving the crates stacked in the dark. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. His stomach churned, sour and hollow.
Whatever "screening" meant… it wasn't what they'd been told. They'd lied. Of course they'd lied.
Carter froze again.
The sound came soft at first — not a barked command like the soldiers, but a low string of words spoken in a language he didn't recognize. It was smooth and clipped at the same time, each syllable sharp enough to cut the air.
His breath hitched. Every instinct in him screamed run.
He turned slowly, muscles tight.
Someone stood a few steps behind the crates. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. The floodlights from the fence caught the edge of the man's leather armor — dark and worn, patched in places. A short sword hung sheathed at his hip, and a metal gauntlet glinted on his right hand.
Carter's breath hitched. It's him.
Recognition came like a blade sliding into place. The same stranger from the morning — the one who'd cut down that two-legged, wolf-like thing that had lunged at him in the street. Carter hadn't even seen him approach back then. Just a blur of steel, a wet crunch, and the creature collapsing at his feet.
Now the man's gaze was locked on him. Calm. Cold.
What the hell is he doing here? Carter's chest tightened. Why is someone like him walking around the camp like it's nothing?
The man said something else in that strange, fluid language. No translation. No hint of kindness in his tone.
Carter shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how exposed he was. If he's here, does that mean they've been inside the whole time? Working with the soldiers?
His stomach knotted tighter. Or maybe this is a warning.
The man took a single step forward, and the faint clink of the sword hilt against his belt echoed like a threat.
This time, Carter saw him clearly. Leather armor hugged his frame — not the kind any soldier here wore, not modern. A short sword hung sheathed at his side, and a dark gauntlet wrapped his right hand, etched with faint lines that caught the orange light like embers.
The man said something again, a single word this time. Carter didn't understand it, but the tone wasn't a question. More like an order.
Carter's fingers curled into fists before he could stop himself. His palms were damp. He could feel the cold digging under his nails.
Of course. Of all the people to find me sneaking around, it had to be one of them. The ones everyone whispered about but no one explained. The "allies." The otherworlders.
He hated even thinking the word. "Ally" was something they'd been told. Something he'd heard in the whispers of soldiers and civilians alike who looked like they didn't believe it themselves.
The man tilted his head slightly, like studying a strange animal. No expression. No warmth. Just those blue eyes cutting through the dark like glass.
Carter's mind spun. What if he calls the guards? What if they shoot me? What if he does something worse?
He could feel the fence at his back, the wire biting into the night like teeth. No way out. He wasn't strong. He wasn't trained. He was just a kid standing in the dark.
I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have come out here.
His heart felt too big for his chest. He hated himself for being scared. He hated him for making him feel it.
You're the reason we're here. Bitterness crawled up his throat. All of this started because of you.
The man took a single step closer. Leather creaked softly.
Carter didn't move. Neither did the stranger.
The wind hissed between the fence and the tents, carrying that foreign voice with it — soft, alien, like the night itself had started to speak.
Carter clenched his jaw until it ached. His lungs burned. If this man decided to kill him right now, he doubted anyone would even notice until morning.
And worst of all — part of him believed no one would care.
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