Bloodmoon Ambush,
The forest was silent when we plunged into the snow, but only for a moment. The storm's roar faded behind us like a cruel promise. In front, only white and ghostly black shapes of pines. My lungs burned from the cold air, my legs ached, and every step sunk into the drifts. I scanned the trees for movement.
Lena stumbled on a hidden root and crashed face-first into the snow. I skidded to her side. "Are you okay?" I hissed. She spat out a mouthful of ice. Her cheek was cut—fresh crimson seeping through.
"I'm fine," she panted. She wiped blood on her sleeve. "We have to move."
Behind me, a wet, slurping sound. I spun, staple gun raised. Through the swirling flakes I saw it: a teacher's corpse creeping on all fours, its throat a ragged slash. Its head lolled to one side, jaw broken, tongue hanging like a red banner. Its body twitched as if sewn from jerky strips of flesh. Black eyes glinted, unblinking. It hissed—a sound wet and low—and lunged.
I fired my staple gun. A staple pinged off its forehead. It shrieked and torn flesh stretched wider, then it leaped for me. I kicked it in the ribs. The creature flew into a tree and smashed against the trunk with a sick crack. I heard bones break. It slumped to the ground, but its eyes were still on me.
"Run!" I yelled, grabbing Lena's hand. We bolted through the snow, hearts pounding. Behind us, the creature twisted itself upright, oblivious to broken ribs, and chased.
The trail sloped downward toward a frozen creek. I stumbled, almost fell. Lena grabbed my parka. We skidded to the bank and slid on our hands and knees down the icy bank. Snow sprayed us like needles. I landed face-first in the creek's frozen surface. My cheek stung. I pushed myself up and scrambled onto the ice.
The creek was mostly smooth, covered in a thin sheet of snow. The water below gurgled in dark tunnels. The creature reached the bank, claws scraping. I heard its heavy breathing. My teeth chattered.
"Faster," I urged Lena. We ran across the ice, legs stiff. With each step, our boots slid. I braced with my arms as I ran. Twenty feet from the bank, the ice cracked with a loud snap. I heard rushing water under the ice.
"Lena, stop!" I skidded to a halt. She slammed into me.
Behind us, the creature moved onto the ice, its claws cutting lines in the frozen surface. Another snap. I looked down: a wide crack fanning out between us and the bank. The ice groaned. Water bubbled under our boots.
"Jump!" I said.
We sprinted toward a small island of exposed rock halfway across the creek. Our boots slid. I heard the ice beneath give way: a hiss and spray. I leapt, grabbing Lena's hand as she followed. We landed on the rock, breathless.
Behind us, the ice collapsed. The creature plunged into the black water with a roar. Its head bobbed up, mouth open, water streaming from its wounds. It clawed at the edge of the ice, dragging itself onto the rock.
I raised the staple gun. "Lena, kick it!"
She swung her boot into its temple. It snarled, teeth bared, and slapped her back with a wet hand. She fell onto the rock, face down. Blood spattered across the gray surface.
"No!" I leapt forward and jabbed the stapler at its cheek. The staple clinched through flesh. It screamed, a high-pitched squall, and thrashed. I pressed the trigger again and again, shooting staples into its face until the noise stopped. The thing collapsed, twitching.
I dropped the gun and bent over Lena. She was breathing but unconscious. Her cheek was torn in a jagged gash. Panicking, I fumbled for the medical bag. It was back at the station. I had nothing to stop the bleeding.
A new sound: a distant mechanical growl, louder than the storm. It echoed through the pines. I froze. Then a red glow appeared on the horizon between the trees—a beam, moving.
A snowplow. Or something bigger. A school truck? It was almost impossible. But the glow was steady, like taillights, cutting a path toward us.
I pressed my hand to Lena's wound. It soaked through her jacket in seconds. I tore at my own shirt for a strip, tying it tight around her cheek. She whimpered. I held her head up.
The red glow grew. Then I saw it: the maintenance truck from the school, headlights off, engine roaring. At the wheel sat Max, face smeared with soot and frost. Behind him, Coach Roberts in the passenger seat, firing a shotgun into the darkness.
"Get in!" Max shouted through the open door. He revved the engine.
I dashed across the ice, ignoring the splinters of wood and metal from the broken shore. I flung Lena into the back seat. Max killed the engine.
"We followed your tracks," he panted. "Thought we lost you."
I shook my head. "We barely made it." I helped him tie Lena's jacket tighter. "We need to keep going."
The truck's heater kicked on, warm air punching at my frozen face. Max gunned the engine and we lurched back onto the snow trail. The red glow of the sky made the storm look like fire.
Coach Roberts leaned out the window, shotgun ready. "More of them in the trees."
I peered into the swirling white. Shapes darted between trunks—lean bodies, broken limbs, hollow faces. They moved with unnatural speed.
Coach pulled the trigger. The blast echoed like thunder. A head exploded in a spray of blood and snow. A body pitched forward, arms flailing as it fell halfway down the bank.
"Hold on!" Max swore. He stomped the pedal, tires spinning. The truck fishtailed, then shot forward. We crashed through the broken fence at the edge of the clearing and into the forest.
Branches whipped the windshield. My heart pounded so hard I thought I'd pass out. Lena moaned in the back.
We barreled through the trees until the plow's beams hit open ground—a frozen meadow sloping upward. At the top stood a small cabin: the ranger station's annex. Roof weighed down by snow, windows dark.
Max braked hard. The truck slid to a stop at the cabin's door. He cut the engine. We tumbled out into knee-deep snow.
Coach Roberts fired once more into the trees, keeping the horde back.
"We barricade inside," he shouted. "Move!"
We shoved the door open and tumbled into the dim foyer. A single emergency lantern glowed on a hook. The floor was littered with broken crates. We slammed the door shut and pushed a wooden bench against it.
Lena lay on her side, clutching her cheek. Nurse Clarke (who must have found us at the station's rear vent) knelt beside her. "You did good," she said, pressing gauze to the cut. "Hold still."
I slumped against the wall, panting. My hands shook so hard I dropped my staple gun. The floor was slick with blood and snow.
Coach Roberts checked his watch. "Five minutes before they break through."
I stared at the broken window above the door. Wind rattled it like fingers tapping.
"Keep the fire going," Max said, lighting a propane heater we'd brought. Flames hissed. Warmth drifted across the room.
Through the frosted window, I saw shapes gather: bodies pressed against the glass. They stared at us. Their faces were dripping, mouths split open in grins. They tapped on the glass, a steady drum of nails.
One pressed its face to the pane. Black eyes locked on mine. I turned away, stomach in my throat.
"Get ready," Roberts said, cocking his pistol.
Nurse Clarke loaded a syringe from her kit and jabbed Lena's arm. "You'll live," she said. "Just hold on."
Lena's eyes fluttered open. She blacked out again.
"Here they come!" Max yelled.
The glass shattered. Bright shards flew into the room. A corpse body fell through, crashing to the floor. It lay twitching, arms opening like a grotesque hug.
Coach fired point-blank, ripping its head apart. The body convulsed, spraying rotten entrails. The warm smell hit me—like rotten meat and gasoline. I gagged.
Branches snapped outside as more bodies broke in. We fired. Nails and teeth splattered on walls. Each blast shook the cabin.
I found my staple gun and jumped into the fray, firing at any torso that lunged past me. My hands were slick with blood.
Nurse Clarke grabbed a broken chair leg and swung at a crawling body. She smashed its skull with a sickening crack.
Max kicked bodies away from the door while Coach covered his back.
Then everything went quiet—but hot steel pressed against my temple. I froze.
I turned slowly. A figure loomed behind me—tall, gaunt, dripping snow and blood. Its mouth split into a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Above its brow was the spiral brand, seared into flesh.
Ulzakar. The demon's chosen vessel. It whispered, deep and hollow: "You cannot stop me."
My vision blurred. I closed my eyes and blinked. The figure vanished.
I let out a shuddering breath. When I opened my eyes, I was alone in the cabin. The heater hissed, the bodies lay broken on the floor, and the storm raged outside.
Lena stirred in the corner. Max and Coach checked the ammo. Nurse Clarke knelt beside Lena, humming a quiet song.
I sank to the floor, hands pressed to my ears. I tasted copper on my tongue.
Outside, through the fractured window, the blood-red sky glowed. The bodies at the edge of the clearing lay motionless now, waiting.
We had survived the ambush—but the demon's hunger was only growing stronger. And if we didn't find its heart soon, none of us would live to see the dawn.