Chapter 25: The Equation of Retreat
The world dissolved into a storm of noise and motion. The two remaining Hounds burst from the garden center aisle, their forms a blur of matted fur and gnashing teeth. Kael didn't hesitate. He met the charge of the lead Hound not with a dodge, but with a brutal, forward thrust of his rebar, aiming for the open mouth. The steel shaft punched deep into the soft tissue of its throat.
It was a desperate, ugly move. The Hound thrashed, its dying convulsions wrenching the rebar from Kael's grip. He let it go, already moving, his mind a cold engine processing data points. One Hound crippled. One Hound dying. One Hound remaining. External threat unknown.
"Rik! The door!" Eli bellowed, his voice a commanding roar that cut through the snarls. He stepped forward, his fire axe held in a two-handed grip, placing his body between the oncoming third Hound and the rest of them. He wasn't a Stalker; he was a wall. The Hound slammed into him, and he grunted, absorbing the impact, his boots skidding on the dusty floor. The axe came down in a short, powerful chop, biting deep into the creature's shoulder.
Anya, recovering from her successful strike, didn't flee. She danced around the flanks of the Hound engaged with Eli, her bat cracking against its ribs, drawing its attention, creating openings. They were working as a team, a brutal, efficient dance.
Kael didn't join them. His weapon was gone. His role had shifted. He grabbed Rik's arm. "The shelving! Now!" He pointed to a tall, heavy unit of metal shelves loaded with boxes of tile grout and sealant.
Understanding dawned on Rik's face. He dropped his crowbar, and together they put their shoulders to the shelving unit. With a groan of protesting metal, they shoved it forward. It teetered for a heart-stopping second, then crashed down directly in the path of the aisle leading deeper into the store, creating a chaotic, noisy barricade. It wouldn't hold for long, but it would funnel any further threats into a predictable choke point.
"Kael! Your back!" Anya shouted.
He spun. The first Hound, the one she had crippled, was dragging itself toward him, its jaw snapping, its eyes burning with mindless hate. It was a slow, pathetic, but still deadly threat.
Kael's eyes scanned the floor. Nothing. Then he saw it. A long, heavy-duty pry bar, fallen from the toppled shelving. He dove for it, rolling as the Hound's jaws snapped shut on the air where his ankle had been. He came up with the pry bar in his hands. It was heavier, more unbalanced than his rebar, but it was solid steel.
He didn't swing. He drove the pointed end down like a stake, pinning the crippled Hound's skull to the concrete floor. It jerked once and was still.
"Eli, disengage!" Kael yelled. "We leave now!"
Eli gave a final, mighty heave with his axe, forcing the third Hound back a step, then turned and ran. Anya was already at the collapsed wall, helping a panicked-looking Rik scramble through.
A new sound joined the cacophony—a high, chittering shriek from outside. Leyton's whistle had not been for more Hounds.
Kael was the last one out. He burst back into the grey daylight, the pry bar slick in his hand. The scene outside was chaos. Leyton was frantically pointing from his rooftop perch toward the east.
And there they were. Three of them. They were the size of large dogs, but built like hairless, muscular apes, their skin a mottled grey. They moved on all fours, their forelimbs ending in long, serrated bone-blades. Slashers.
They weren't heading for the hardware store. They were skittering directly toward their escape route, toward the bakery. They had been drawn by the noise. The external threat Leyton had spotted was a patrol, and they were cutting off their retreat.
"Sanctum!" Anya gasped, her face pale. "This is what she warned us about!"
It was. This was the "death" Lysandra had pointed toward. A roaming Slasher patrol.
The calculus was now brutal. They were exhausted. Eli was bleeding from a gash on his arm. They were low on stamina. Engaging three Level 3 Slashers in the open was a death sentence.
"New plan!" Kael's voice was like cracking ice, demanding immediate obedience. "We do not go back the way we came. We go north. Through the old bank. It's a longer route, but it avoids their patrol zone. Move!"
He didn't wait to see if they followed. He just ran, trusting his map, trusting his logic. For a terrifying second, he was alone, the pry bar feeling useless in his hand. Then he heard the heavy footfalls of Eli, the lighter steps of Anya, the ragged breathing of Rik. They were with him.
A Slasher shrieked behind them, the sound of claws on asphalt closing in. They had been seen.
The raid for tools had failed. Now, they were running for their lives, the price of their ambition measured in blood and the relentless chittering at their backs. The equation of survival had been reduced to its most basic term: run, or die.