They sat on the kitchen floor, huddled together in the artificial glow, as the thuds became more frequent. The thing outside was circling the house, dragging its hands along the siding, looking for the source of the hum. The world was ending at 11:52 AM on a Tuesday, and the lights were still on.
For a moment, no one moved.
The house felt like it was waiting for permission to breathe again—lights steady, generator humming, everything technically working while something fundamental had gone wrong underneath it all. Justin stood near the kitchen island, his back to the fortified window, staring at the black screen of the television in the adjacent room like it might flicker back on if he willed it hard enough. It didn't. The silence of the house was a heavy, suffocating thing, broken only by the rhythmic thump-scrape of Mr. Henderson's mindless circuit around the perimeter.
Tally was huddled near the breakfast nook, her arms wrapped around herself, shoulders tight. She looked smaller like this, stripped of her usual movement and biting attitude. The fear was creeping in through the cracks she usually kept sealed with social media updates and high-school drama. Justin noticed it and hated that he noticed. He hated that this was the moment her world—the one he had driven fifteen hours to protect—was finally, irrevocably shattering.
"That's not real," she said finally. Her voice wasn't loud or dramatic. It was just stubborn, the sound of a girl trying to negotiate with a nightmare. "It can't be."
Justin didn't answer right away. He was listening—to the generator, to the distant, chaotic noise echoing from the city, to Mari's uneven, shallow breathing behind him. Mari was leaning against the counter, her eyes fixed on the door to the mudroom.
"We should turn it off," Mari spoke, her voice a dry whisper.
Tally snapped her head around, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp panic. "Why? So it disappears? You think if we sit in the dark, the world just goes back to how it was this morning?"
Mari flinched, just a little. She turned away and paced a few steps, her fingers lacing together and unlacing again like she was trying to keep her own skin from coming apart. "The light draws them, Tally. You saw him. He's not looking for a way in; he's looking for the glow."
Justin reached out and clicked the kitchen light switch. The sudden transition to the dim, grey light filtering through the heavy curtains was worse. The shadows stretched out, turning familiar furniture into hulking, unrecognizable shapes.
Sirens screamed outside—closer now, no longer passing through the neighborhood but stacking on top of each other until the sound blurred into something endless and raw. Somewhere nearby—maybe the Millers' house—something heavy gave way. Metal bent with a shriek, and glass shattered, the sound carrying clearly through the stagnant air.
Tally jumped, her breath catching in a sob she refused to let out. "Okay. Okay." She laughed once, a sharp, hollow sound that made Justin's skin crawl. "This is just… information lag. The news always makes it worse than it is. It's like a hurricane. The first few hours are always the scariest because no one knows anything."
Justin nodded, not because he believed her, but because it was easier than arguing. "Yeah," he said. The word felt empty, like a shell without a center.
Tally started pacing—short, aggressive steps that didn't go anywhere. She was vibrating with a frantic energy, her mind spinning through a Rolodex of excuses. "Dad's on base. Fort Stewart is practically a fortress. Mom's at the hospital—they have protocols for this. They know what's happening. They'll call as soon as the towers are back up."
Mari checked her phone again, the screen casting a pale, ghostly blue on her face. "Still nothing. No signal. No SOS."
"Cell towers are overloaded," Tally said quickly, her voice rising in pitch. "Everyone's calling everyone. It's a network jam. It happens every New Year's Eve, right?"
Justin's eyes drifted—not to the window, but to the front hallway. He didn't look at the door directly; he couldn't bring himself to face the heavy oak barrier that was the only thing between them and the thing that used to be their neighbor.
Another scream cut through the air. This one was closer than the last, a jagged, visceral sound of pure agony. It stopped too abruptly, as if a hand had been clamped over a mouth—or as if the throat making the sound had simply ceased to exist.
Tally froze mid-step. Her gaze dropped, tracking away from Justin, away from the kitchen, until it landed on the base of the stairs in the foyer.
A small, pink-and-purple backpack sat there. It was slumped against the bottom step, decorated with glittery unicorns and a keychain of a cartoon cat.
Ella Belle's backpack.
Justin felt the shift in the room before Tally said a word. He felt it in his own chest—a sudden, cold vacuum where his heart should be. The air in the kitchen seemed to thin, making every breath a struggle.
"…What time is it?" Tally asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of the frantic energy from moments before.
Justin checked his phone, his thumb trembling on the glass. "11:58."
Tally's face drained of every drop of color, leaving her looking like a porcelain doll. "The school... the school let out at 11:00 for the early release. Ella's home by 11:30 on short days. Earlier if the buses are fast."
Mari nodded slowly, her expression softening into a deep, tragic empathy. "You said someone brings her? A nanny?"
"Yes," Tally said, the words tumbling out too fast. "Mrs. Gable. She picks her up at the bus stop at the entrance of the subdivision. She brings her here. She stays until Mom gets home."
Justin straightened, his military-brat instincts overriding his fear. "Have you called her? Mrs. Gable?"
Tally already had her phone out, her fingers shaking so violently she nearly dropped it. She tapped the screen, her eyes wide and pleading. "No service. Again. Nothing. It's just... it's just the 'Searching' icon."
"It's fine," Tally said immediately, her voice too loud, too desperate. "Aftercare runs late sometimes. Maybe the bus was delayed because of the sirens. Maybe they're just sitting in traffic."
Justin nodded, though his gut was screaming at him. "Especially today. Everything is a mess out there."
"Don't say it like that," Tally snapped, her eyes flashing with a sudden, defensive anger. "Don't say it like she's caught in... in whatever this is."
Mari didn't like the way they were talking. She walked to the edge of the curtain and peeked out carefully, her body tensed to bolt. The cul-de-sac was a graveyard of suburban perfection. No familiar sedan. No Mrs. Gable. No six-year-old in a unicorn shirt.
"She should be here," Tally whispered, her bravado finally collapsing. She looked at the backpack again. "She always drops her bag there. She runs into the kitchen for a juice box. She... she should be here."
Justin stepped beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Tal. Breathe. Just breathe."
"I am breathing!" Tally snapped, shoving his hand away.
"You're spiraling. We need to think clearly."
"She's six, Justin!" Tally screamed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "She's six years old and she's out there with... with Mr. Henderson! She's out there while people are screaming!"
Mari's eyes flicked to the backpack, then back to Justin. She saw the calculation in his eyes, the grim realization that the "safe house" was no longer a sanctuary if part of the family was missing.
"We don't know she's not coming," Justin said carefully, his voice low and grounding. "Traffic is a disaster. The roads are probably blocked by people trying to get out of the city. Mrs. Gable is smart. She's been through hurricanes. She knows how to hunkering down."
"Then why hasn't she called?" Tally demanded, tears finally spilling over her lashes. "She has a cell phone. She would have texted. She would have called the landline."
No one answered. The truth was slipping into the room sideways, a cold draft that no one could ignore. Tally grabbed the cordless landline from the wall unit and punched in the caregiver's number. She held it to her ear, her face contorting.
"Busy signal," she whispered. "A fast busy. The whole network is dead."
"This doesn't make sense," she whispered, leaning her forehead against the cool plastic of the phone. "This is Savannah. This isn't... this isn't a movie."
Justin clenched his jaw so hard it ached. "Tal—"
"No!" she snapped, spinning around to face him. "We are not doing worst-case scenarios. We are not talking about her in the past tense. She is on her way."
Another explosion boomed in the distance—farther away than the first, but deeper. The windows rattled in their frames, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to settle in their bones. Mari gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The generator in the backyard flickered, the lights in the kitchen dimming to a brownish glow before the engine roared and steadied them.
Tally looked around the room like she was seeing it for the first time—the pencil marks on the doorframe measuring Ella Belle's height, the stuffed unicorn left on the sofa, the scuffed spot on the floor where Ella always dropped her shoes before running to the TV.
"She would've run in yelling," Tally said softly, her voice breaking. "She always yells 'Tal-Tal, I'm home!' even if I'm in the shower. She never enters a room quietly."
Justin closed his eyes, the image of his little sister—the one who called him 'Giant Justin'—burning in his mind. He thought about the girl he had seen in the woods at the school. The way she had moved. The way she hadn't made a sound.
Mari stepped closer to Justin, lowering her voice so Tally wouldn't hear. "Justin."
Tally's head snapped up. Even in her grief, her social radar was pitch-perfect. "What? What does that mean? That look?"
Justin didn't answer right away. He looked at Mari, seeing the fear and the secret they shared—the things they had seen on the drive down that they hadn't told Tally yet.
Mari leaned in, her voice a ghost of a sound. "We can't keep pretending," she said under her breath. "Not about the things we saw in South Carolina. Not about the children on the highway."
Justin shook his head slightly, a silent command. "Not now. She can't handle it now."
"You said we would tell her when we got to a safe place," Mari pressed, her fingers trembling. "This isn't safe anymore. We're sitting ducks."
"I said when it was safe!" Justin hissed.
Tally took a step closer, her eyes narrowing through her tears. The fear was being replaced by a sharp, jagged suspicion. "What? Tell me what? I can't do what alone, Mari? What did you see?"
"…I can't do this alone," Mari whispered, ignoring Tally and looking straight at Justin. "Watching you pretend everything is okay while the world is literally rotting outside that door. I can't."
Justin's reply came quieter, a heavy weight of responsibility. "You're not alone. I'm here."
Tally stopped short, her stomach twisting into a cold knot. She didn't hear everything—just enough to know she was being managed. Just enough to know that her "hero" brother and his "TA friend" were keeping her in a bubble of blissful, terrifying ignorance.
She laughed once, a brittle, ugly sound. "Wow. Cool. Love the secret meeting. Love being the 'little sister' who doesn't get to know why the neighbors are eating each other."
Justin turned, his face pained. "Tal—"
"No, it's fine!" she snapped, her voice cracking. "Clearly you two have your own thing going on. You've seen the 'systems' fail, right? You've got the data. So tell me—where is my sister?"
Mari straightened, her face tight and pale. "This isn't about you, Tally. It's about survival."
That landed harder than anything else. Tally's eyes flashed with a sudden, primal fire. "Everything is about me right now! That's my sister out there! Not yours! Mine!"
Mari took a breath, her professional veneer finally shattering. "Then we need to act. We can't sit on the floor and wait for a phone call that isn't coming."
Justin nodded, his decision made. He moved to the center of the room, grounding himself, drawing on the years of watching his father command. "We're not waiting anymore. We're not panicking. We're going to get her."
Tally shook her head, her hands flying to her hair. "No. No, the protocol is to stay put. Dad said in an emergency, you stay in the house. You stay in the reinforced room. She's coming here."
"What if she can't?" Mari asked, her voice quiet but devastatingly logical. "What if Mrs. Gable's car is one of those sirens we heard?"
That broke her. Tally sank onto the couch, her strength deserting her all at once. "I was supposed to be there," she whispered into her hands. "The school called. They said pick up your siblings. I was so busy trying to get my car out of the lot, so busy being mad that the internet was down... I didn't even think about her. I thought the 'grown-ups' would handle it."
Justin knelt in front of her, taking her shaking hands in his. "This is not your fault. No one—not the government, not the school, not Mom—knew it would happen this fast."
Tears spilled freely now, dripping onto the unicorn-print cushion. "I didn't even think about her, Justin. I just wanted to get home."
Justin pulled her into a tight hug, holding her while she cried, the sound of her grief the only thing louder than the generator. He looked over her shoulder at Mari. Mari was staring at the pink backpack, her eyes filled with a terrifying sort of foresight.
Outside, something heavy slammed against the side of the house.
It wasn't the front door. It was near the mudroom. A dull, meaty thud, followed by a sound that made Justin's blood turn to ice. It was a scrape—slow, deliberate, and wet. It sounded like someone was dragging a heavy, sodden carpet along the siding.
"That's not her," Tally whispered into Justin's chest, her body going rigid.
Justin stood up, reaching for the heavy Mag-lite flashlight he'd left on the counter. He didn't have a gun, but the four-pound metal cylinder felt like a weapon. "Whatever it is, it's not waiting for us to make a plan."
Mari's eyes went to the backpack one last time. Then to Justin. Then away. She said nothing, but the truth sat between them now—heavy, unfinished, and bloody.
The scrape came again. Closer this time, right outside the kitchen window where they had been sitting moments ago.
Justin swept the flashlight beam toward the sound, the circle of light trembling just enough to betray his nerves. It slid across the stainless steel fridge, the edge of the staircase, the front hallway—empty. The house had taken on that 'wrong' feeling, the kind where every shadow felt intentional, every creak of the floorboards a warning.
Mari backed up slowly, her shoulder brushing the kitchen counter. She didn't say anything, but her hand found the drawer where the knives were kept. She didn't open it yet, but her fingers rested on the handle like a promise she wasn't ready to make.
Tally wiped her face with the heel of her palm and stood up. Her legs were shaking so hard she had to lean against the sofa, but she stood anyway. The "mean" girl was gone, replaced by something jagged and desperate.
"If she walks through that door," Tally said, her voice breaking and hard at the same time, "I am never letting her out of my sight again. I don't care if the world stays like this forever."
Justin didn't respond. He was listening—counting the seconds between the scrapes, trying to decide if the thing outside moved like a person in distress... or something that had forgotten how to be a person.
A thud echoed from farther down the street. Then another. They weren't random. They were rhythmic, a staccato of impacts that suggested more than one thing was moving in the cul-de-sac.
"Justin," Mari swallowed hard, her voice barely a breath.
"I hear it," he said.
The house creaked, the old wood settling—or perhaps reacting to the weight of the things pressing against it. Justin tightened his grip on the flashlight. "Stay behind me. Both of you. We're going to the mudroom. We're getting in the Suburban."
Tally stepped closer without thinking, her hand clutching the back of Justin's pilled hoodie like an anchor. She wasn't the popular girl anymore; she was a terrified sister looking for a protector.
The front door didn't move. The deadbolt stayed thrown, the oak held firm.
But then, something passed in front of the porch light—the one the generator was still keeping alive. It blotted out the glow for half a second, a dark silhouette against the frosted glass of the sidelight.
All three of them held their breath. The generator hummed, a mechanical heart beating in the dark.
In the silence that followed, the absence of a small, high-pitched voice calling out "I'm home!" felt louder than any explosion. It was the sound of a hole in the world, and Justin knew, looking at the pink backpack, that they were about to step out into the mouth of the thing that had made it.
"Ready?" Justin whispered.
Tally didn't answer. She just gripped his shirt tighter.
The scrape came again, this time on the glass of the kitchen window. Screeeeee. A long, slow drag of a fingernail—or a claw—against the pane.
"We go now," Justin said.