Chapter 22 The Girl in the Woods
Sixteen smells the blood before he hears her.
It's faint—so faint he almost misses it beneath the damp earth and decaying leaves—but the hum inside him reacts instantly, tightening like a drawn wire. His steps slow, careful now, every sense sharpening despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs.
He's been moving since dawn.
Not far. Not fast. Just enough to keep from being in the same place twice. The woods on the outskirts of Hawkins blur together after a while—same trees, same low fog clinging to the ground, same sense of being watched without ever seeing eyes.
But this—
This is different.
He stops behind a fallen log, crouching low as he listens.
There's movement ahead. Soft. Uneven. Someone stumbling through underbrush without caring how loud they are.
Someone hurt.
Sixteen's heart stutters.
No, he thinks immediately. Please don't be—
A branch snaps.
A sharp, panicked inhale cuts through the quiet.
Then a voice—small, raw, unmistakably human.
Sixteen closes his eyes.
Eleven.
The hum surges painfully, fragments snapping into brief, jagged alignment that makes his vision blur. He grips the log to steady himself, breath coming shallow and fast.
She's close.
Closer than she's been since the lab.
He can feel her like a gravity well, tugging at him from somewhere just beyond the trees. Fear, hunger, exhaustion—her emotions bleed faintly through the connection, unfocused but intense.
She's hurt.
Bleeding from the nose again.
Weak.
Alive.
Relief crashes into him so hard his knees nearly buckle.
She made it, he thinks. She actually made it.
Footsteps crunch closer.
Sixteen peeks around the log.
He sees her through a gap in the trees.
She's barefoot, her feet caked with mud and blood, hair plastered to her face by sweat and rain. The hospital gown hangs loose on her small frame, torn at the hem and darkened with dirt.
She looks smaller out here.
More fragile.
And somehow stronger than anything he's ever known.
She stumbles, catching herself against a tree trunk with a small gasp. Her hand comes away smeared red.
Sixteen's chest tightens painfully.
I have to help her.
The thought is immediate. Instinctive. Overwhelming.
He takes one step forward—
And stops.
The hum inside him shudders violently.
No.
Not fear.
Warning.
The air around her is wrong.
Not in the obvious way of a breach or a creature's presence—but thin, stretched, like a surface pulled too tight. The Upside Down presses close here, drawn to her like a wound it wants to widen.
And if it can feel her—
It can feel him.
Together, they'd be a flare.
A beacon.
Sixteen swallows hard, forcing himself to stay where he is despite every screaming instinct to move.
If I go to her, he realizes, I bring it with me.
Eleven straightens slowly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She looks around, eyes wide and alert, scanning the trees.
For a terrifying second, her gaze drifts toward him.
Sixteen presses himself flat against the log, heart hammering so hard he's sure she must hear it.
Her eyes pass over his hiding place without stopping.
She shivers.
"I'm cold," she whispers to the empty woods.
The sound of her voice—really hearing it, not through fractured alignment—hits him like a physical blow.
He bites down hard on his lip to keep from answering.
She wraps her arms around herself and starts walking again, limping slightly as she heads deeper into the trees.
Away from town.
Away from people.
Sixteen watches her go, chest aching with every step she takes.
Don't go that way, he thinks desperately. Please—
She disappears behind a cluster of trees.
The woods feel suddenly emptier.
And more dangerous.
The world reacts.
Not instantly.
Not loudly.
But Sixteen feels it all the same—a subtle tightening of pressure, a shift in the hum that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with attention.
Something has noticed her.
Not the Demogorgon—not yet—but the space around her, the way the Upside Down listens for disturbances like hers.
Sixteen exhales shakily.
I can't touch her, he thinks. But I can pull something else away.
The idea forms slowly, carefully.
Not intervention.
Misdirection.
He closes his eyes and focuses inward, ignoring the pain blooming behind his temples as the hum responds sluggishly. He doesn't reach for Eleven.
He reaches for himself.
For the fracture.
For the unstable edge of his own presence—the thing that makes the world tilt slightly when he moves.
He steps sideways.
Just a little.
The forest blurs, outlines smearing as if the world has been dragged out of alignment. Pain lances through his skull, sharp and punishing, but he grits his teeth and holds the shift long enough to move.
Branches snap somewhere to his left.
Not near her.
Near him.
The pressure follows.
Sixteen gasps, dropping back fully into place as dizziness overwhelms him. He stumbles against a tree, vision swimming as the hum fractures further.
The woods go quiet.
Then—
A sound.
Low.
Wet.
Too familiar.
The Demogorgon emerges between the trees where he had been standing moments before.
Sixteen's heart slams against his ribs.
It followed me.
Good.
Terrifying.
But good.
The creature sniffs the air, head tilting as it tastes the disturbance. Its attention is sharp, focused—not scattered between two sources now.
Sixteen doesn't run.
He backs away slowly, carefully, keeping trees between them as he shifts direction, drawing it farther from where Eleven went.
Each step feels like dragging broken glass through his mind.
His vision darkens at the edges.
Just a little farther, he tells himself. Just keep it busy.
The creature roars suddenly, sound ripping through the woods as it lunges forward.
Sixteen turns and runs.
He doesn't remember falling.
Only the impact.
Cold earth slams into him, knocking the air from his lungs in a painful rush. He rolls instinctively, coughing and gasping as he scrambles to his feet.
The Demogorgon crashes through underbrush behind him, fast and relentless now that it's committed.
Sixteen's legs burn, muscles screaming as he pushes himself harder than he has any right to after everything.
He can't outpace it.
He knows that.
So he does the only thing he can.
He vanishes.
Not fully.
Not cleanly.
He lets himself slip again, the world tearing sideways as pain explodes through his skull. The trees double and smear, the ground feeling suddenly unreal beneath his feet.
The Demogorgon's claws swipe through where he was a heartbeat ago.
Sixteen slams back into place behind a thick stand of trees, collapsing to his knees as nausea overwhelms him. He vomits into the dirt, shaking violently.
The creature roars in confusion, thrashing as it searches for him.
Then—
It moves on.
Drawn by another disturbance. Another sound. Another alignment.
Sixteen stays where he is, curled against the base of a tree, body wracked with shudders as delayed pain crashes over him.
Tears spill down his face unchecked.
She's safe, he thinks. For now.
That has to be enough.
When he finally dares to move again, the woods have grown quiet once more. Birds begin to stir, tentative calls echoing through the trees as daylight strengthens.
Sixteen pushes himself upright with shaking arms.
He looks back the way he came.
Eleven is gone.
But the connection—faint and distant—still hums weakly inside him.
Alive.
Moving.
Hiding.
He exhales a shaky laugh that turns into something dangerously close to a sob.
"Don't forgive me," he whispers to the empty woods. "Just… live."
He limps away in the opposite direction, deeper into the forest, knowing the distance between them is the only thing keeping her safe.
For now.