Chapter 1
Ivy
Voices cut through my sleep like a knife, pulling me from a heavy haze.
Adrenaline surges through me before my eyes even open. But I stay perfectly still. A skill I picked up at the farmhouse.
They’re close. Taunting. Laughing. And someone’s crying. Begging. I strain to listen but their voices tumble over each other, overlapping threats and jeers.
A warm light is coming through the dirty windows of this abandoned car, but it’s not daylight… it flickers.
It must be halfway through the night. I know I collapsed from exhaustion around midday and dragged myself in this heap of scrap before passing out.
Slowly, I roll onto my stomach, peer through the grimy window and gasp.
A flaming torch on the ground—the source of the flickering light—dimly illuminates the scene.
Just ten feet away, three hooded men loom over a man sprawled on the dirt. His ankle is twisted at a grotesque angle. He’s the one sobbing and pleading with them.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat.
Stupid of me to assume a town would be abandoned. Most people fled all populated areas six years ago when the world went to shit.
But I suppose I was na?ve to assume that people didn’t still frequent them.
It’s human nature to be drawn to these places. The remnants of the world we took for granted provides comfort in the chaos we face now.
In my desperation, I knew I could find something of use here. A rusty knife and the shelter of an abandoned car renewed my hope to a degree I can’t describe.
But these days, humans are the last thing you want to come across and the scene unfolding in front of me is a harsh reminder.
One of the hooded men bends down and grabs the man’s hair, yanking his head back. Blood slicks his face—or maybe it’s the dirt on the window distorting details.
Thankfully the hooded men have their backs to me, but I clutch my knife tighter anyway.
The flicker of firelight reflects off something else in the dirt.
A petrol can.
One of the men kicks the can toward him and the bleeding man struggles to nod in the others grip.
My stomach turns as I watch the sobbing man grab the petrol can and undo the cap. His hands shake as he lifts it to his mouth and drinks the contents.
He coughs and splutters, spilling some of the liquid as he desperately drinks.
Maybe it’s water. Maybe they’re just cruel in how they deliver it.
My hope crumbles as one of the men picks up the flaming stick and tosses it at the man.
He ignites immediately, his pain-filled howls erupting like a flare into the quiet night.
Trees shudder around us as startled birds flee the branches, adding to the horror of what I just witnessed.
I have to run.
Now!
Adjusting myself on the backseat, I reach for the door handle. Even as my heart pounds, I’m grateful that the car is at an angle where I can exit without drawing attention.
Every noise I make sounds thunderous in my heightened state, but I pray that the screams continue long enough to cover any sound.
Pulling the handle gently, the door unlatches with a click. Pausing, I take a deep breath, hoping to stop my trembling. Then I push the door a little more.
The creak of the rusty door sparks my adrenaline higher.
I freeze, holding my breath.
It’s fine. It’ll be fine.
The gargled screams of the burning man continue, and the sick symphony of laughter hasn’t stopped. I push the door a little more, just enough so I can slip out of the car.
The cold air steals my breath immediately and I regret my decision to search for shelter instead of more clothes.
While my scrappy shorts and singlet top are fine during the heat of the day, a jacket and pants would go a long way at night.
Crouching beside the car, I grip my knife and wait for a moment, holding my breath.
When I don’t hear footfall, I try to calm my breathing again and slow my racing heart.
I need to get out of here now!
Undetected.
Lucky for me, this car crashed into a streetlamp long ago, right where a small fence begins. It’s short in height and length, but enough to give me some cover while I put some distance between me and them.
That will be my direction.
I take a tentative step, staying low as I creep along the side of the car.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” an amused voice rumbles from behind me.
Gasping, I whip around, falling backward onto my ass as I find myself face-to-face with one of the hooded men.
He leans down from his imposing height to see me better through his scowling skull mask.
My body seizes for a fraction of a second as I look death in the face.
Instinctually, I slash at him with my knife. Steel whistles through empty air as he dodges effortlessly. But I use my chance to scramble to my feet and bolt, skidding in the dirt.
His wicked laughter reverberates in my ear as an arm slams around my waist like a steel trap and yanks me backward. I kick my legs, a scream tearing through my throat as I’m smashed into his hard chest.
“Gotcha,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over my ear.
I twist my arm up, trying to stab at him again. But he catches my wrist and twists until pain explodes through my arm. I cry out, and the knife clatters to the ground.
He carries me like I weigh nothing, despite my kicking and flailing.
Adjusting his grip, he pins my arms to my sides as he carries me back to the other two, his free hand covering my mouth, muffling my screams.
“Look what I found, boys,” his deep voice draws the attention of the others away from the burning husk that used to be a man. That voice perfectly matches his skull mask. It drips with the threat of death.
As they turn to face us, my breath catches.
The tallest one is shirtless, a wall of brutal muscle with scars slashed all over, warning of the lethality of the men I’m faced with.
What I thought was a hood on his head, is actually a stitched burlap sack like something out of a nightmare. His head tilts at the sight of me like a predator assessing prey.
The other stands stoically, watching me through a red Oni mask, lips pulled back in a sharp-toothed snarl. His black shirt strains across his huge chest, tattooed arms folded and muscles twitching.
I kick out at the nightmare with the sack mask as he steps closer, panic rising in my throat like bile. He steps back and laughs like my struggle is amusing.
I cannot go down like this!
“Seems we had a little audience,” the Oni Devil chuckles.
“She looks so fragile,” the Nightmare murmurs, voice soft and chilling.
I shoot a scathing look his way.
Fragile? Fragile?!
I’m literally kicking and screaming, fighting for my life. And he sees fragility?
“When was the last time you saw a woman, boys?” I can hear the grin in the voice of the guy holding me.
Death. I’m literally in the clutches of death, aren’t I?
Screaming into his hand again, I shake my head, trying to loosen his grip. But his fingers tighten over my face and his low laughter vibrates through me.
“Let’s keep her for a bit. Imagine all the games we could play…” Death’s voice wraps around my spine like a noose.
My pulse quickens at his suggestion, and I go still. Not calm—paralysed. My mind fractures between memory and the situation I’m currently faced with. I’d rather they kill me now then be a prisoner again.
“Fuck no! That’s another mouth to feed!” the Devil growls.
“Doesn’t look like she’d eat much,” Death shrugs, still holding me like a ragdoll. I flail again but it’s useless. His grip doesn’t even loosen.
“She’s tiny,” the Nightmare says, examining me as if his eyes can taste me.
“She’s trouble,” the Devil snaps.
“Come on. Let me keep her,” the skull-masked creep persists, dipping his face into the crook of my neck and breathing in deeply. “Her fear smells delicious.”
Something heavy drops in my stomach.
I stopped believing there were cannibals out here. But maybe I shouldn’t have been so sceptical of the stories that floated around the farmhouse.
“Fine,” the Devil snarls. “But she’s your pet. Your responsibility.” With that he turns and stalks off into the night.
A shudder rolls over my body as I’m placed back on my feet again. Fear paralyses me but Death still holds me tightly enough that I couldn’t run if I wanted to. With his body plastered against me, I can feel his bulge pressing into my lower back.
“I can help,” the Nightmare steps in again, crowding close, stealing space around me.
They tower over my petite frame so much that my capture finally starts sinking in. There’s no way I could outrun them, let alone fight them off. Their sheer size makes escape feel like a fantasy.
Death yanks me away possessively, like a child protecting their toy. “I don't need your help,” he grinds out.
My fight or flight instinct gives way to fawning as I stand there unable to move. Scared to breathe too loud. Looking up at the terrifying masked man in front of me, tears well up in my eyes.
I’m going to die. That much is certain. But what torture will I have to live through first?
“Look at those pretty eyes,” the Nightmare muses.
The skull-masked guy cranes his neck to look down at me like the ghost of Death himself.
“Goddamn,” Death groans. “She looks like a deer caught in headlights.”
He moves his hand from my face, only to take a fistful of my hair, holding me tight by it as he steps in front of me.
The pinpricks on my scalp and the fear wracking my body are plenty to hold me still. I’m too scared to even scream.
He yanks on my hair, pulling my head back, and a yelp squeaks from my mouth as a single tear slips over my eyelashes.
“Fuck yeah. I’m keeping her, I don’t care what Phoenix says. Let’s take her back now,” Death says enthusiastically.