Date: 2:30 AM, April 1, 2025

  Location: Wilderness, Western Washington

  The forest swallowed sound, muting Sarah’s ragged breaths as she stumbled over roots and mud. Rodriguez limped ahead, his silhouette barely visible in the pre-dawn gloom, the crash’s distant fire a fading ember behind them. The Hive Tyrant’s roar still echoed in her bones, a primal call that promised death—close, too close. The air buzzed with that psychic hum, thicker now, pressing on her skull like a vice.

  “Slow down,” she hissed, grabbing his arm. “You’re bleeding out.”

  He shook her off, teeth gritted. “Stop, and we’re dead. It’s tracking us—smell, sound, whatever the hell it uses.” He clutched his shoulder, blood slicking his hand, but kept moving, north by instinct. “Road’s gotta be near—highway noise, something.”

  Sarah strained to hear—nothing but rustling leaves and her own pulse. The rain had stopped, leaving the forest dripping, every snap of a twig a gunshot in the silence. She gripped the flare gun, one flare left, its weight a frail comfort. “What if it’s waiting?”

  “Then we’re screwed either way.” He glanced back, eyes hard. “Keep up.”

  They pushed on, the terrain rising into a slope littered with pine needles and fallen branches. Her legs burned, boots sinking in muck, but fear drove her—fear and Jake’s face, haunting her with those four glowing eyes. Was he out there, part of this? The thought twisted her gut.

  A crack split the air—wood snapping, heavy, deliberate. Sarah froze, Rodriguez too, both turning. The forest loomed still, shadows pooling under the trees. Then it came again—closer, a rhythmic thud, like a giant’s tread. The psychic hum spiked, a needle in her brain, and she saw it—Jake, kneeling, a robed figure looming, chanting. Her knees buckled.

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  “Thompson!” Rodriguez’s shout snapped her back. He grabbed her, pulling her behind a fallen log. “Hide—now.”

  They crouched, breath held, as the thudding neared. The Hive Tyrant emerged—a titan of chitin and muscle, wings folded, its blade-arms glinting in faint moonlight. Its head swiveled, eyeless yet seeing, a psychic pulse washing over them. Sarah bit her lip, tasting blood, fighting the urge to scream. Rodriguez tensed, hand on his rifle—five rounds left, maybe.

  It stopped, twenty yards away, sniffing the air with a gurgling hiss. Smaller shapes—gaunts—flanked it, scuttling through the underbrush, their claws clicking. Sarah’s mind raced—run, and it’d hear; stay, and it’d find them. The flare gun trembled in her grip.

  Rodriguez whispered, “When I move, you run. North. Don’t look back.”

  “No—”

  “No time.” He shifted, readying the rifle. “One of us makes it, that’s the win.”

  Before she could argue, a new sound cut through—a low rumble, mechanical, distant but growing. Headlights flickered through the trees, a vehicle—big, loud—crashing along a hidden road. The Tyrant’s head snapped toward it, roaring, and the gaunts surged that way, a wave of hunger.

  “Now!” Rodriguez shoved her. She bolted, legs pumping, flare gun clutched tight. He fired—crack-crack-crack—drawing the Tyrant’s wrath, its bellow shaking the ground. Sarah didn’t look, couldn’t, tears blurring her vision as she ran toward the lights.

  The rumble became a roar—an armored truck, National Guard markings, barreling through the forest. Soldiers leaned from windows, rifles blazing at the gaunts. Sarah waved the flare gun, shouting hoarsely, “Here! Help!”

  The truck slowed, a soldier—helmeted, young—spotting her. “Get in!” he yelled, door swinging open. She leapt, scrambling aboard as gunfire lit the night. The Tyrant’s roar faded, drawn to Rodriguez’s shots, and her heart sank—he’d bought her this.

  “Where’s your friend?” the soldier asked, slamming the door.

  “Back there—fighting that thing,” she panted, pointing. “We have to—”

  “No chance,” the driver cut in, a grizzled woman with a scar across her cheek. “That’s a Hive Tyrant—seen ‘em shred tanks. We’re rolling to Fairchild, orders. Strap in.”

  Sarah buckled in, numb, staring out the cracked window. The truck lurched north, gaunts falling under its wheels, but the Tyrant’s shadow lingered in her mind—Rodriguez’s too. She’d lost Jake, now him. The psychic hum pulsed, a cruel reminder: it wasn’t over.