Episode 17 – "Grim's Whispers"
A ragged campfire burned low in the woods. A handful of scavengers sat in a circle, debating their next move.
"We'll hit the gas station by morning," one muttered. "Split the rations 'til then."
Then—a chuckle.
Low. Mocking. Like it came from everywhere at once.
The men froze. One stammered, "Who's there?"
A figure stepped into the firelight. Tall. Lean. A wicked grin carved across his face. His eyes shimmered with amusement.
"Aw, look at this," he said, voice smooth as poison. "You got Toots, Sexy, and Dumbass all lined up. Real cozy."
The grin slipped, replaced with a shadow colder than the flames."Guess we're skipping introductions."
He raised a massive hatchet—blackened steel, scarred handle, engraved on the blade: DESTROYER.
The massacre was quick. Brutal. Screams filled the trees, blood hissed on the fire, sparks shooting skyward. And over it all, the man's chuckle… dragging on until silence.
Grim stood over the carnage, hatchet dripping, cocky smile crawling back onto his face. He slung Destroyer over his shoulder and vanished into the night, laughter trailing behind like a ghost.
Cut to John's RV.
The wheels hummed on cracked asphalt. But inside, the noise wasn't the engine—it was the group.
"John, this is your fault.""You dragged us into this.""Shawn's dead because of you."
The accusations stacked higher. Louder. John's knuckles whitened on the wheel.
"Shut up," he muttered.
They didn't.
"Devil.""Monster."
The RV swerved violently as John snapped, slamming the brakes, dust clouding the air. Everyone jerked forward in shock.
John stood, chest heaving. His hand drifted to his gun.
Then—an ember glow flickered in his eye. A whistle cut through the tension, shrill and mocking, like it wasn't even his own.
John drew his revolver, pointing it at Bob. Then Kelsey. Then Cainen.
Click.
The barrel leveled at Travis. Then Makota. Bang.Bang.
The echo hung heavy. Blood sprayed across the windows.
And then—John blinked. Snapped awake. No one was dead. No shots fired. Just silence, everyone staring at him like he was already gone.
He dropped into a stool, voice low and broken."Kill yourselves. 'Cause I've just about had enough of your yapping… your nagging… John this, devil that. I thought about killing you. God knows I did. But it's a waste."
He sighed, unholstered his python, tears cutting down his face.
"I can't go back. Not after what I've done." His voice cracked. "I was in the army. Came home one night… my wife was eating my son. I put them both down."
Silence crushed the RV. Even Cainen had no smart remark this time.
John stood, holstered his revolver, and stepped into the night.
Cainen finally muttered, almost relieved:"Yeah. Leave, you prick."
The RV engine rumbled. Wheels turned. The taillights disappeared into the distance.
And John stood alone on the road, watching the only thing he had left drive away.
Alone with his ghosts. Alone with his devil.