A glossy black Mustang tore down the highway at ninety miles an hour, eating asphalt like it was starving.
AC/DC's Back in Black blasted through the high-end speakers, the subwoofer thumping with every drum hit, the bass vibrating through the leather seats.
Behind the wheel, Monte looked like he'd been carved out of trouble. Leather jacket, white shirt underneath.
If you looked closely, you'd see the red bloom spreading slow and steady across the cotton. Blood.
His grip tightened on the wheel. His jaw was locked, knuckles pale. Monte's face had gone ghost-white, washing the color out of his sharp features.
The kind of face that belonged on a movie poster. Astrong jawline, green eyes that could cut glass, and tousled black hair now slick with sweat.
He cursed himself under his breath. "Wrong target, you idiot."
But when he looked down at the red leather interior, a crooked smile tugged at his lips. Even injured, he couldn't help but admire the ride.
Monte pressed harder on the gas. The Mustang growling like it wanted blood too.
A blur of flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirror.
A state trooper, sirens screaming. Monte didn't even hesitate. He buried the pedal, the engine roaring as the speedometer climbed. 100… 110… 120… 130… 140.
The cruiser shrank to a distant speck. Monte exhaled, easing off the gas. The rumble faded to a steady hum.
For a moment, he thought maybe he'd gotten away.
Then once more he saw the red and blue lights. The song switching to AC/DC's Highway to Hell.
"Persistent bastard," Monte muttered.
He was about to floor it again when his headlights caught something up ahead. It was a massive fallen tree sprawled across the highway like a corpse.
Monte slammed the brakes. The tires screamed, smoke curling from the asphalt. It wasn't enough.
The Mustang fishtailed, veering sideways. The world tilted...
Crash!
Metal met wood.
His body whipped right, his seatbelt saving his life but wrecking his shoulder. Pain shot through him like a live wire.
Before he could even catch his breath, the patrol car slammed into the Mustang's side at eighty miles per hour of pure force.
The world went white for a second. Monte's head snapped forward, then darkness.
When he came to, his ears were ringing. He blinked, disoriented.
Smoke. Crushed metal. Gasoline.
He groaned, dragging himself into the passenger seat, his right arm useless. With his left, he yanked open the glove box and pulled out a chrome M1911. It was one of the few things that still made sense.
He crawled through the shattered window, landing hard on his back, breath knocked out of him. The broken tree cushioned his fall just enough so that he didn't hit his head.
Monte pushed himself to his feet, one arm hanging dead, the other raising the pistol.
He glanced back at the black Mustang. Totally wrecked, twisted beyond repair, beautiful falling to ruin.
Rage simmered in his chest.
He limped toward the cruiser. The driver was slumped over the wheel, unconscious. His partner… wasn't so lucky. His skull had split against the dash.
"Airbag failure," Monte guessed grimly.
He was about to reach in for the radio when something moved in the treeline.
A woman stepped out of the woods, wearing a nurse's uniform. It was clean, too clean for where they were. Her smile was stretched too wide, her eyes too still.
She tilted her head. "Need some help?" she asked, voice sweet and wrong at the same time.
Monte's instincts screamed. He scanned the dark woods, the shadows shifting, shapes watching.
Every nerve in his body went tight. He reached down, unclipped the cop's badge, and put it in his jacket pocket.
By the time he looked up again, the woman was closer. Too close.
"BACK THE FUCK UP, BITCH!"
She didn't stop. Just kept walking, one step at a time, that smile never fading.
Monte sighed. "I warned you."
Bang!
Bang!
Two perfect headshots. Blood misted the air, but she didn't even blink. Both bullets had slammed into her skull, and she was still smiling.
Monte froze, disbelief locking him in place.
Then she moved faster than she had any right to. A clawed hand swiped across his face.
He stumbled back, a shallow cut slicing his cheek, blood running down his jaw.
Monte fired again. And again. Each shot staggered her a little, enough for him to limp backward. He didn't look away, though... he couldn't.
A low groan came from the cruiser. The surviving cop was stirring. The nurse's head snapped toward the sound.
She turned her back to Monte. "I'll be seeing you soon, pretty boy," she said, voice dripping like honey over glass.
Monte didn't wait. He limped into the dark, heart pounding.
Behind him, he heard the shriek of metal. He glanced back just long enough to see her peel the cruiser's door open like foil.
Her face twisting into something inhuman before she tore the screaming cop out.
Monte looked away and kept moving.
Then he saw them. Multiple figures emerging from the trees. Both men and women. Smiling. Every last one.
"Why the rush?"
"We just wanna play."
"We'll fix you up real nice."
"It's a shame to leave so soon."
Monte's limp turned into a desperate jog. His breath came ragged, his wound burning.
The smiling ones followed... not running, but always close. Their steps were too smooth, too synchronized, like they were gliding.
He pushed harder, pain stabbing with every footfall.
Then he spotted something. A single light up ahead.
Hope flickered in his chest. He clenched his teeth and sprinted, every muscle screaming. He risked one look back and his heart nearly stopped.
They weren't walking. They were keeping pace. However fast he moved, they matched it.
Their steps looked slow, but they never fell behind. Some kind of optical illusion. Or something worse.
Monte stopped looking. He knew if he looked back again, he'd die.
He hit the edge of a small town. Streetlights dead. Windows dark. "Help!" he shouted. "Anyone here! These fucking things...!"
Curtains shifted. Eyes peeked. But no one came out to help.
Then... pain.
A weight slammed into his back. He spun, firing the rest of his mag into the old ladies' face.
She'd dropped from a rooftop like a spider, landing on him hard. A mother and daughter watched through a cracked window, mouths open but silent.
"Over here!" someone shouted.
Monte didn't think. He ran, using the last of his adrenaline. He dove through an open doorway, hitting the floor hard.
The door slammed behind him, blinds dropping. A black man locked it tight.
Through a window, one of the smiling things pressed its face to the glass. "Let us in," it whispered. "We only want to play."
The man ignored it and turned to Monte, kneeling beside him. "Hang in there, kid. I'll get you patched up."
Monte gasped between breaths. "Fuck that… those things..."
"They can't get in," the man interrupted calmly.
Monte blinked. "What do you mean they can't get in? I saw one of them fold a goddamn car door like paper!"
The man sighed, pointing at a carved stone sitting by the doorframe. "Those. Vigils. Don't know how it works, but if you've got one by the entrance, they can't cross."
Monte stared at the rock like it might save him. "Where the hell am I?"
The man looked tired. "Don't know. But you're stuck here."
Monte forced himself upright. "What do you mean stuck?"
"Once you see the tree…" The man trailed off, eyes darkening.
Monte froze. "How do you..."
"Everyone sees the tree their first time," the man said quietly. "Once you see it, you never leave."
Monte frowned. "So cut the thing down."
"Can't," the man said. "Once you reach town, it's gone."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Doesn't have to," the man said. "You're here. That's what matters."
Monte looked down. His shoulder and side were wrapped in fresh bandages. He hadn't even noticed the man working.
"I know it's a lot," the man said. "We'll talk more in the morning. Name's Boyd. I'm the Sheriff."
Monte nodded weakly. "Monte."
Boyd stood, pausing at the stairs. "Don't open the doors. Or the windows. Once there's a breach… they can come right in."
Monte nodded, jaw tight. "Got it."
Boyd held his gaze for a moment before heading upstairs, boots creaking on the old wood.
Monte sat there in the dark, trying to make sense of any of it.
The engine roar, the crash, the nurse, the smiling monsters... his mind couldn't hold it all. Logic didn't live here.
But one thought cut through the noise.
The cruiser.
He needed the guns. Pistols didn't work on them..But maybe the shotgun would slow them down. Maybe enough to matter.
He stayed awake an hour, mind racing, pain clawing at him. Eventually, exhaustion won. Monte leaned back against the sofa, his green eyes heavy.
The last thing he heard before sleep took him was the faint laughter echoing outside. The soft, sing-song voices of the smiling ones.
Waiting for anyone to make a mistake.
...
Monte jolted awake, sweat glistening on his face, his heart hammering in his chest. The nightmare clung to him like smoke.
Thevscreeching of tires, twisted metal, the cop's scream right before he was torn apart.
He sat up too fast, pain lancing through his shoulder. His hand went to his forehead, fingers dragging through his messy black hair as he forced himself to breathe.
"Rough night?"
Monte blinked. Boyd was standing beside the couch, already dressed, eyes steady and alert like he hadn't slept at all.
"Come on," Boyd said, nodding toward the door. "I'll take you to Kristi."
Monte frowned. "Kristi?"
"The town's doctor," Boyd replied, grabbing his jacket off a hook. "I patched you up the best I could, but that shoulder's dislocated. Not much else I can do about that."
Monte groaned, pushing himself up. "Alright, lead the way, Sheriff."
Boyd nodded once and stepped outside. The morning air was thick with mist, the kind that made the world look half-drowned.
Monte followed, limping slightly as he descended the front steps. His boots scuffed against the wood, his every movement a dull ache.
As they walked down the road, Boyd pointed things out like a man giving a tour of purgatory.
"The diner's there. Best coffee in town... though that's not saying much."
He gestured toward a barn in the distance. "Storage. Sometimes we keep supplies there. Sometimes people."
Monte raised an eyebrow. "People?"
Boyd didn't answer.
They kept walking. The town was small and eerily quiet except for the crunch of gravel underfoot.
But eyes were everywhere. Faces peeked from behind windows and doorframes. A crowd had formed up the street, watching as they passed.
Monte scowled. "The fuck you all looking at?"
The whispers came fast, low, nervous. One cut through the rest. "He actually survived."
Monte growled. "No thanks to you assholes."
That shut them up. The crowd fell dead silent. Their guilt was visible in every turned head, every downward glance.
Before Monte could say more, a small voice broke the tension.
"Thank you!"
A little girl rushed out and hugged his leg. Monte froze, startled, unsure what to do. Her tiny arms clung to him like he was a hero instead of a half-dead stranger.
A blonde woman hurried over, prying the girl off gently. "Sorry about that," she said breathlessly. "She's just grateful for what you did last night."
Monte blinked. "Last night?"
The woman nodded. "She opened the window. The monster almost got her, us... but you drew its attention long enough for me to close the window."
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him before he could react. "Thank you," she whispered.
Monte hesitated, then awkwardly patted her back. "You're welcome."
She smiled and led her daughter away. Boyd watched quietly, arms crossed. He'd pegged Monte as the typical tough guy... angry, reckless, all edge and no heart.
Maybe he'd been wrong.
They reached the infirmary, a squat building that smelled faintly of antiseptic and wood smoke. Boyd opened the door, and Monte followed.
Inside, the light was soft and warm, dust motes floating through sunbeams. An old man sat at a table in the corner, hunched over a chessboard. His hands were thin and steady. He looked up and smiled.
He said something in Chinese. Monte had no clue what it was but walked over anyway, sitting across from him. The old man pointed to the board, and Monte moved a knight.
The man... Bing Qian, as Boyd later mentioned, nodded approvingly and advanced a pawn.
Boyd raised an eyebrow at the sight but left them to it, disappearing into the back to find Kristi.
Monte lost piece after piece, barely understanding what was happening, but something about the game felt grounding.
It was silent. Simple. A moment that didn't demand survival.
When it ended, Bing Qian smiled warmly and said in a heavy accent, "You good."
Monte smirked. "Thanks, grandpa."
"Again?" the old man asked hopefully.
Monte was about to agree when Boyd's cough echoed from the doorway.
"Gotta go," Monte said, standing. Bing Qian nodded, smiling faintly as Monte walked away.
A brunette woman leaned in the doorway. She had bright eyes, a sharp jaw, and a tired sort of beauty. "That's the calmest I've ever seen him with someone other than Kenny," she said to Boyd.
"Yeah, it's weird," Boyd replied.
Monte walked past them, stepping into the small examination room. Kristi followed, her tone brisk but kind. "Hi, I'm Kristi."
Monte raised his left hand in greeting. "Monte."
"Can you take your shirt off?" she asked.
Monte smirked. "You don't waste time."
Kristi shot him a half-grin. "I'm a doctor. Not here for the show."
Monte chuckled and slowly peeled off his shirt. Kristi tried to keep her expression neutral but failed for a moment when she saw his chest. It was lean, scarred, each muscle defined like someone used to getting hurt and healing fast.
She cleared her throat, circling to his right side. Her fingers pressed gently into his shoulder. Monte groaned low, jaw clenching.
Kristi nodded toward Boyd. "Good thing you brought him. Shoulder's definitely dislocated. Bruised ribs too. What the hell happened?"
Boyd shrugged. "He showed up last night sprinting into town."
Kristi raised a brow. "He sprinted? With these injuries? He's lucky to be standing."
Monte grinned faintly. "I'm built different."
Kristi rolled her eyes. "Not that different. Lay back. I need to pop that shoulder back in before you do permanent damage."
Monte laid down on the cot, smirking. "Anything you need, Doc."
"Can you not flirt with my medic?" Boyd muttered.
Monte grinned wider. "It distracts me from the pain."
Kristi laughed softly and lifted his arm. Monte's jaw tightened as she rotated the joint.
Pop!
A wave of relief washed through him so strong he almost sighed. The pain vanished like it had been nothing but a bad dream.
Monte flexed his arm experimentally, smirking. "I could kiss you."
Kristi chuckled.
Boyd groaned. "Please don't. My deputy might shoot you."
Monte's brow quirked. "A taken woman. Figures."
Kristi smiled faintly and checked his other wounds. The worst was a jagged set of claw marks across his back. Five deep slashes trailing from his shoulder blade to his lower spine.
"You're lucky," she said, cleaning them carefully. "Didn't hit anything vital. Just keep it clean."
Monte nodded and eased his shirt back on, grimacing. "Thanks, beautiful."
Boyd sighed, already walking toward the door. "Come on. Time to meet Donna."
Monte raised a brow. "Why?"
"She's the leader of Colony House," Boyd said. "You'll need to decide where you're staying."
Monte frowned. "Colony House?"
Kristi explained, "There are two main groups—Town, where most of us live, and Colony House, up the hill. Every new arrival chooses."
Monte smirked. "If Colony House is what it sounds like, I think I'll stay here. Not looking to bunk with a bunch of dudes."
Kristi grinned. "It's mostly women."
Monte whistled low. "Sign me up."
Boyd shot her a look. "Don't encourage him."
Monte chuckled, following Boyd out the door, his limp still there but lighter now.
The morning sun had burned through some of the mist, though it didn't make the place feel any less strange.
Kristi watched them go, a small smile tugging at her lips. Monte was trouble, no doubt about that, but he was interesting trouble.
And around here, that counted for a lot.