The chilling shrieks of the Runner pack, though momentarily diverted by Ethan's desperate ploy with the sonic pebble, still echoed faintly in the distance, a constant, terrifying reminder that their fragile sanctuary was anything but. Inside the cramped, root-bound den, the air was thick with fear and exhaustion. Rick, his face a grim silhouette in the dying light filtering through the gaps in the fallen trees, quickly organized a silent watch rotation. Ethan, claiming he was too wired to sleep, volunteered for one of the early shifts with Glenn.
It was a lie, of course. Sleep was an impossible luxury. His mind was consumed by one thought: the Scent-Masking Field Emitter. Charcoal, nitrates, sulfur. And 50 SP. He had the SP. The components were the challenge.
[SYSTEM REMINDER: CHARCOAL TRACES (ANCIENT BURN SITE) DETECTED UNDERNEATH SOUTHERN ROOT BALL. NITRATE TRACES (DECAYING LEAF LITTER) NEAR WESTERN DEN OPENING. SULFUR SOURCE: UNKNOWN IN IMMEDIATE VICINITY. ALL SCAVENGING ATTEMPTS MUST BE PERFORMED WITH EXTREME STEALTH.]
Under the guise of checking their perimeter from his watch post near the western opening, Ethan began his desperate, almost silent, search. The System subtly highlighted the exact patch of damp, decaying leaves where nitrate traces were highest. With painstaking care, using his fingers, he scraped a small handful of the richest, darkest material into an empty ration wrapper he'd saved, every rustle of a leaf sounding like a thunderclap in his own ears. Glenn, posted at the opposite opening, was a tense statue, his attention focused outwards.
Next, the charcoal. This was riskier. The root ball the System indicated was deeper within their den, near where Lori was trying to get Carl and Sophia to rest fitfully beside a sleeping Lily, whom Ethan had reluctantly left in Carol's care. Waiting for a moment when all eyes seemed to be either closed or looking outwards, Ethan moved like a ghost. He reached under the massive, ancient root, his fingers brushing against cool, dry, powdery residue. Charcoal. He gathered what he could, another small, precious amount. So far, so good, but the silence was his only ally, and it felt paper-thin.
The sulfur remained the critical missing piece.
He scanned the dimly lit den with his eyes, his System simultaneously doing a more focused sweep of their meager belongings.
[FOCUSED COMPONENT SCAN: SULFUR-BEARING COMPOUNDS. ANALYSIS OF VISIBLE GROUP EQUIPMENT...]
A long pause. Ethan's hope dwindled.
[...POTENTIAL TRACE SULFUR DETECTED. SOURCE: RED TIP COMPOSITION OF 'STRIKE-ANYWHERE' MATCHES. LOCATION: DALE HORVATH'S RUSTPROOF TOBACCO TIN (CURRENTLY IN HIS VEST POCKET). ESTIMATED YIELD: VERY LOW PER MATCH HEAD. ACQUISITION RISK: HIGH DUE TO PROXIMITY TO AWAKE INDIVIDUAL AND NEED FOR DISCREET EXTRACTION.]
Dale. He was on watch now with Shane, both men near the main northern gap, their conversation a low, indecipherable murmur. Dale's tobacco tin; Ethan had seen him use it to light their now-scattered campfire with old-fashioned, strike-anywhere matches. Getting to it without alerting Dale, or worse, Shane, seemed impossible.
Hours crawled by. The distant shrieks of the runners sometimes faded, sometimes seemed to draw closer, keeping everyone on a razor's edge. Ethan, his watch rotation over, feigned fitful sleep, his mind racing. He had to get those match heads.
His opportunity, if it could be called that, came in the deepest hours of the pre-dawn. Dale, exhausted, had finally dozed off against a tree root, his breathing heavy. Shane was a brooding shadow at the far entrance, occasionally pacing. The children were asleep. Lori and Carol too. Glenn and T-Dog were on a hushed watch.
Ethan's System highlighted Dale's vest, draped over a nearby pack. The tobacco tin was a faint lump. This was it. His heart hammered. Every instinct screamed against the risk, but the thought of facing those intelligent runners at dawn without the scent masker was even more terrifying.
Moving with a stealth honed by desperation and guided by the System's minute trajectory adjustments, he slid from his position. Each movement was agonizingly slow. He reached Dale's vest. His fingers, trembling slightly, found the cool metal of the tin. He slipped it open. Inside, perhaps a dozen strike-anywhere matches. He needed the red tips. Carefully, using his thumbnail, he scraped the sulfurous compound from three of them, letting the tiny red flakes fall into another ration wrapper. He then replaced the now-headless matches, hoping Dale wouldn't notice the subtle difference in the dim light, and slid the tin back into the pocket.
[SULFUR COMPONENT (TRACE AMOUNT) ACQUIRED. ALL THREE CORE REAGENTS FOR 'SCENT-MASKING FIELD EMITTER (CRUDE)' NOW AVAILABLE.]
Relief, so potent it almost made him gasp, washed over him. He retreated to his spot, the tiny packets of components clutched in his hand.
Now for the fabrication. He shielded his hands with his body, Lily a warm, sleeping weight beside him.
[FABRICATE 'SCENT-MASKING FIELD EMITTER (CRUDE)'? COMPONENTS: CHARCOAL (TRACE), NITRATES (TRACE), SULFUR (TRACE). COST: 50 SP. ESTIMATED FABRICATION TIME: 60 SECONDS. WARNING: COMPONENT QUALITY LOW, EMITTER EFFECTIVENESS MAY BE REDUCED OR DURATION SHORTENED.]
Reduced effectiveness. It didn't matter. Anything was better than nothing. "Confirm," he thought.
The System acknowledged. The components in the ration wrappers in his hand seemed to simply... dissolve. There was no heat, no light, just a faint, almost imperceptible vibration against his palms. Then, it was done. A small, dull, metallic disc, rough to the touch and no bigger than a coin, lay in his hand. He quickly slipped it into his pocket.
[SCENT-MASKING FIELD EMITTER (CRUDE) FABRICATED. SINGLE USE. ACTIVATION: MANUAL PRESSURE SWITCH (SIDE). ESTIMATED DURATION DUE TO LOW-GRADE COMPONENTS: 40-45 MINUTES.]
Forty minutes. Not an hour, but it might be enough.
As the first, faint hints of grey began to dilute the oppressive darkness outside their den, a chillingly familiar shriek echoed through the woods. Closer this time. Much closer.
Rick, who had been on watch with Glenn, instantly tensed. "They're still out there. And they're stirring with the light." He looked around at the exhausted, fearful faces. "Alright. It's time. We move now. Quietly. Towards the state park, if we can make it. Stick together. Protect the children."
The group began to gather their meager belongings, the fear a palpable entity in their cramped shelter. Ethan checked the small, rough disc in his pocket. As Rick gave the silent signal to begin moving out from the relative darkness of the root den into the perilous, grey light of dawn, Ethan's thumb hovered over the emitter's unseen switch. This was their only edge against the hunters in the shadows. He could only pray it would be enough.