4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

+ 0 0 : 0 4

+ 0 0 : 0 4

HE GASPS AWAKE.

Trembling, he seizes the blanket and yanks his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. Just a dream. It's just a dream. It's just a— He glances around at the sheaves of notes on the bed as a cold dread prickles down his spine. It's not a dream.

It's very, very real.

Whoever left him here has placed him in the middle of a nightmare. He's in hell, quite literally, in a place filled with monsters and no other humans. He'd killed one at the store yesterday, and on his way back, he'd caught a glimpse of several across the road. He'd sprinted back, feeling like his lungs would burst, but not stopping until he'd made it through the front yard. Then he'd huddled up facing the door with the gun on his lap.

Nothing showed up.

Whatever that was out there didn't seem inclined to come in here. Relieved, he'd rummaged through the bag for all the notes and poured over them until the break of dawn, whereupon he'd finally given in to fatigue and fallen asleep.

And dreamt.

In his dreams, he'd clung to the image of her like she was his lifeline. Her words had seemed clearer this time. Exactly what it was, he didn't know. But he'd made out, vaguely, a disyllabic word with soft consonants, save for one hard one at the beginning. A gerund at the end, perhaps? He didn't know and he'd stepped closer to her, only to twist around and find that damned creature from the store staring him in the face.

He'd killed it, even in his dream, and woken up terrified.

Still shivering, he gathers the notes and shoves them into the file. They've been no help at all. He's no scientist, he doesn't think he even remembers anything about his school days. But if he's not the one who can solve this puzzle, then who? Who else should he—

Perhaps, she's the one.

Suddenly determined, he stuffs the file into his bag and climbs out of bed. He'll have a shower, a meal and then find her, in that order. Stripping off his clothes and tossing them aside en route to the bathroom, he stands under the shower and turns the faucet on.

The water is ice-cold.

He jumps, hitting his head against the shower-head, and wrenches away from the water. "What the hell?" he mutters, peering up at the heater. It's turned up at maximum, as it's always been, so why should the water suddenly be—

No, wait.

He'd bathed in lukewarm water these past few days. Lukewarm. By all logic, it should've been scorching, but it was tepid at best. And had he been shivering continuously since last night? A newfound wave of fear grips his heart. Grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist, he wanders out of the bathroom, fighting the cold air that clings to his body.

Think.

Okay, fact—There are monsters outside, but I am safe in here.

Fact—The temperature in this house is stabilized by something else, but I don't know what it is.

"What else?" he wonders aloud, his eyes drifting from object to object in the room. His gaze lands on the window, dark because of the drizzle outside, and he stills. The rain. His heart pounds in his chest; his eyes widen. "I can hear the rain."

He'd thought it odd before—how quiet everything was, how he could even hear himself breathe. He hadn't been able to hear the wind before, or the rustle of leaves. But now, the pitter-patter of rain outside fills the air with a low hum, a pleasing contrast to the stilted unnaturalness of silence before. But on the heels of that revelation comes another.

Fact—if I can now hear what is outside, what is outside can also hear what is in here. If that is so, then...

His breathing becomes shallow and his fingers tighten around his towel. He has a new conjecture and, this time, he knows that he must be right.

"Conclusion," he whispers to the empty room, "whatever is protecting me from what is outside will no longer protect me anymore."