And in that pitch-black silence, we all realized, we were the last line between each other and those things. There would be no help.
I gripped the dead radio so hard my knuckles burned.
"Then we make our own way out," I whispered.
No one answered.
But in the quiet, we all knew — there was no other choice.
–———
"How many are they?"
One of the old women asks. Her eyes are red, her voice shredded from too many hours of fear.
"On my way to where we met, I counted four. And that was on the west side of the mall." The younger guy says, shifting uncomfortably. He hasn't put down that bent crowbar since we found them in the storage quarters.
"We fought two," Paul grunts, his voice raspy, refering to our earlier encounter. His hand is still pressed to his ribs like they're the only thing keeping him standing.
"Katie and I met two," I add. My eyes flick to Katie, curled up under Bridget's arm, fighting sleep even as her tiny body shakes with exhaustion.
"That's eight," Bridget sighs. She runs a trembling hand through her hair, smearing grime across her forehead. "And I'm sure there's a leader. Lurking around somewhere."
True, I thought, there's always one. Bigger, stronger, meaner, barking orders the rest can't even dream of disobeying. There's always a top predator.
"So… what do we do?" the kid asks. His knuckles are raw from gripping the crowbar too tight. He looks to me — they all do.
It hits me then, the weight I thought I'd buried back at the precinct. The badge might be gone, but the responsibility never leaves. They need me to be the last wall between them and whatever's out there.
I stand, bones protesting. My limp flares like fire up my leg but I grind it down. "The building plans," I say, steady as I can. "We need the building plans."
Bridget's eyes flick up, sharp. "That's a very great start, but where do we find those?"
I force my mind into order, like it's just another rundown at the academy. Trapped building. Unknown threat. People to protect. First step: know the ground beneath your feet.
"Top floor. Control center," I say. "Management would keep construction layouts in the security hub. Schematics, maintenance tunnels, maybe a route underground. If we're lucky, an emergency exit that's not caved in."
The room shifts. Tension flickers through the huddled survivors. Some glance at the doors, like the monsters might come crashing through right now.
Paul shifts in his sit. "You sure it's safe?"
I snort. It's not funny — but what else can I do? "Nothing's safe. But sitting here waiting to get picked off one by one sure as hell ain't safer."
Bridget nods, shoulders squaring. "He's right. Gather what you can carry. Quietly. We move in ten."
¤¤¤¤¤¤
Getting out of the restaurant is its own nightmare. Every creak of the doors, every metal clang echoes through the mall's cavernous guts. The place smells like blood and burnt plastic, rot clinging to the air vents. We stick to the shadows, weaving through back corridors lined with old staff lockers and overturned carts.
At every turn, I can feel Bridget behind me, too close, too restless. She keeps fiddling with her hoodie zipper, wiping sweat from her brow even when it's freezing cold in here. Her eyes dart to every overhead vent, every shadow that twitches.
Klahan limps beside me, fresh bandages strapped over the claw marks across his back. He doesn't say much, just watches, listens, swings his bat at every rustle. Good man. Tough bastard.
We slip through a broken stairwell door and climb three flights. The steps moan under our weight. Halfway up, a distant scraping freezes us all. I raise my hand — hold — the katie's breath comes out in ragged pants. The scraping grows louder, closer, a soft, wet click dragging across the concrete.
A shadow looms at the landing above. One of them. I catch a glimpse, skin pulled too tight across bone, limbs bending the wrong way as it sniffs the air. It's blocking our path.
Katie muffles a whimper in Bridget's neck. I clamp a hand over Paul's shoulder before he can grunt in pain, any sound, and it'll be on us.
We backstep, pressing into the alcove under the stairs. The thing lumbers down a few steps, its head twitching left to right, tasting the air. I can hear my pulse thundering in my ears, my free hand drifts to my holster before I remember: empty. No more bullets. Not for this.
Klahan raises his bat an inch, but I shake my head. It's too tight. One wrong swing and it'll shred him in half.
Bridget shifts beside me. She catches my stare, her eyes wide, pupils blown, and for a split second, she looks… guilty. Like she knows this thing.
The creature suddenly freezes. Sniffs once. Twice. Then it turns, jerks its head like a dog catching another scent, and skitters away, vanishing into the dark.
We don't move until the echoes fade. Then I exhale, legs trembling. I catch Bridget's eye again, but she's already turned, face blank, pretending to check on Katie.
Suspicious as hell, I think. But not now.
¤¤¤¤¤
The control center still seems cleans and the air smells like those creatures haven't gotten in here yet.
But where's everyone? If the creatures didnt get up here why is it so deserted? I turn around frantically but quietly looking for the plans. Then i sight on the back wall: a metal cabinet, the word PLANS stenciled across it.
Klahan and I force it open. Rolled-up blueprints spill out. I unroll the biggest one across a table. The map of the Miami Bayside Mall stares back at us, every maintenance hallway, emergency stairwell, loading dock.
Paul whistles low."Tell me you see a way out."
I grab a pen from the table and I trace the lines on the blueprint with a trembling finger. The west side is a wasteland now and with the amount of damages done to it by these creatures it's structurally unsound. No way out there. I strike it out completely.
But the east side, the opposite side, still has intact access to the underground loading bays. I find the corridor marked Level B — Freight Delivery / Cold Storage.
"This," I say, tapping it. "This cold storage corridor here. It connects to the sub-basement garage. If we can get through, we can hit the delivery ramps. Get outside, away from the main entrances."
Bridget leans in, frowning. "How do we know the underground isn't flooded with those things?"
I shrug. "We don't. But it's a hell of a lot better than waiting up here to get eaten."
Bridget pulls her hair back, tying it up with a trembling hand. I watch her, the way she avoids my eyes, the way her breath catches. Bridget Carter, I think. What the hell did you do here?
But before I can press her, Paul coughs — a wet, hacking sound that rattles through the room.
"If theres nothing else to delibrate on lets get going, i have to plans dying here tonight," he rasps. "And no waiting."
He looks over at klahan, signaling him to get moving.
¤¤¤¤¤
We step back into the hallway, a line of broken survivors, each one dragging fear behind them like an iron chain.
It doesn't take long for the nightmare to find us again.
Halfway down the main corridor, the screech hits us, echoing off tile and steel. One of the creatures. Maybe more.
We scatter. I push Katie into Bridget's arms, she's already lifting her, quiet as she can, eyes darting for an exit. Klahan signals to a side door, Staff Only. I shove it open, waving everyone through.
Inside, a break room, also neat and smells creature free. It's even better than the control room.
Except it's not empty.
A figure sits hunched in the corner, legs pulled to his chest. For a heartbeat, I think he's dead. Then he lifts his head, and the moment stretches, taut as wire.
Bridget freezes. Her grip on Katie loosens so fast I almost didn't catch the girl before she hits the floor.
"Bridget?" I start. But she doesn't hear me.
The boy, no, not a boy. Early twenties, cheeks sunken, hair matted with dust and blood, looks right at her. His eyes widen, recognition flaring through the fear.
"Dr. Bridget Carter," he whispers. The name lands in the dark like a dropped bomb.
Bridget's face drains of color. Her lips part — trembling. "Antonio Vaiez," she breathes. Her voice breaks on his name. "You're alive?"
"Whats going on here?" Klahan questions.
But Bridget didnt respond, instead she walked up to where this Antonio was standing and slapped him hard across his face.
He didn't fight back, he didnt curse, neither did he question why, he just slumped back down and started whimpering
"I didnt know this was going to happen, you warned us but we didnt listen. Something went wrong during the process and everything backfired.–"
"What is he talking about ms. Carter?" Paul questions, speaking for everyone.
I just stand there confused but piecing two and two together.
"This wasn't my fault, I had absolutely nothing to do with this, I left the moment I discovered what was going on. This isn't my doing." She seethes, looking down, still avoiding everyone's eyes.
"WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT!" paul finally snaps, his hand leaving his side for the first time this night.
"The chimeras" he answers and everyone turns to him "they were made" he sniffles "by Nova Genesis Institute, using Dr. Carter's findings."
Outside, something growls. The walls rattle.
And in that fragile second, all the time Bridget was avoiding everyone's eyes or fiddling with an object she was hiding something. And then it hit me, we may not just be fighting the monsters out there.
We're fighting something else in here, too.