Logan followed the footprints like a man tracking his execution.
Each step was sunken deep into scorched earth, three-pronged claw shapes fused into the soil like the heat of the thing had branded the planet itself. The trail ran right through the space where his neighbor's wooden fence used to be. Ash and splinters clung to the ground like a fine layer of gunpowder.
He crouched beside one of the prints, brushing away soot with gloved fingers.
The soil was still warm.
Whatever made this come through during the quake? He hadn't heard it and hadn't seen it.
And yet... it had walked just yards from his hidden bunker.
Too close.
He stood, eyes sweeping the yards beyond. The suburb stretched for several blocks in all directions—manicured lawns turned graveyards, SUVs still idling with open doors, and homes with windows broken out like they'd screamed themselves hoarse before dying.
He spotted movement near the corner of the next street. Something hunched and quadrupedal, loping slowly through the open space between houses. It moved like a dog. But its spine was too high, its arms too long. The flesh on its back looked scaly, and something was growing. Bone spurs? Feathers?
It sniffed the air. Its head cocked to the side like a cat listening for a mouse.
Logan froze behind a bush, holding his breath.
Then it hissed and bolted, sprinting at an impossible speed down the road and out of view.
That wasn't a zombie.
He'd seen enough. The apocalypse wasn't just human anymore. The world was warping, mutating, expanding in real-time. The animals were changing, too. And not in a slow, Darwinian way. This was something else. Something worse.
He turned back toward the house, pulse climbing with each step.
The Return to Base
Logan's back door had been blown open by the quake. The frame was cracked. One hinge snapped clean off. He slid inside carefully, shotgun raised, muzzle sweeping every kitchen corner.
No movement.
He passed the fridge, which was dead and leaking. A row of mason jars lined the top shelf. One had fallen and shattered on the tile floor, spilling brine and pale cucumbers.
The entire house felt off. Like someone had moved all the air out and replaced it with something heavier.
He stepped over the broken glass and made his way to the hallway. The pictures on the walls had fallen. His old college degree lay face down, cracked frame split like a broken promise.
He went from room to room, clearing them. Nothing. There was no movement. I don't see any signs of entry.
Until he reached the living room.
The front window had shattered inward. Shards of glass fanned across the carpet like a trap.
He dropped low and approached, checking the edges.
A smear of black blood streaked across the sill.
And more tracks—smaller ones—leading out. Something had been here, but it wasn't nesting and just passing through.
He glanced at the street again. Empty.
Then he bolted upstairs.
Upstairs Storage Cache
The second floor had fared better.
He made a beeline for the main bedroom and reached under the bed, pulling out a locked footlocker. He opened it with a key taped inside the headboard and quickly inventoried the contents:
1 lightweight compound bow
12 carbon fiber arrows
2 bags of mixed dehydrated fruit
Extra flashlight batteries
Signal mirror
Spare ballistic knife handle
Emergency shortwave beacon
Waterproof matches
1 gas mask
He slung the bow over his shoulder, stuffed the food and tools into his pack, and grabbed the arrows last. His eyes landed on the beacon.
It was unpowered. Still clean. Still waiting.
He considered it, then shook his head. Too soon to call anyone. If anyone's still listening.
He stood up—
—and the house groaned.
Deep. From the foundation.
He froze.
This wasn't another quake. This was different.
The floor under his boots bent—shifted.
Not cracked. Not tilted.
Bent.
He dropped to a knee, pressed his ear to the hardwood, and listened.
There was movement underneath the house.
Rhythmic.
Throbbing.
Like breathing.
Logan stood fast, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife. But nothing came through. Not yet.
He ran up the stairs.
Reinforcement Phase
Within minutes, he was back in the bunker, sealing the hatch behind him and activating the pressure locks. The hiss of the vacuum seals clamping down gave him just enough comfort to exhale.
He dumped the pack onto the central table, unloaded his gear, and immediately powered up the engineering console. A grid layout of his property blinked to life.
[Emergency Mode Engaged]Power Source: Solar (45% Capacity)System Integrity: 89%Defense Perimeter: 0%Base Management Skill: Locked
"Not for long," he muttered.
He flicked open the old schematic for his fence line—each corner marked with an "X" for planned trap nodes he'd never finished.
Time to get them working.
He pulled out his old crafting interface from the wall. It was just a salvaged tablet rigged with a microcontroller, but thanks to the system integration, it was hardwired to the grid now.
The screen changed.
[Crafting Menu – Engineering Lv.1 Detected]• Tripwire Spike Trap – Requires: Steel Spikes (2), Wire (10m), Anchor Base (2)• Noise Lure Mine – Requires: Scrap Electronics, Battery, Shell Casing• EMP Snare – Requires: Capacitor, Wire Coil, Metal Conduit• Auto-Turret – Locked (Engineering Lv.4 Required)
Logan selected the Tripwire Spike Trap.
"Let's keep it simple."
He gathered the necessary components from storage—stripped copper wiring, two base plates, and the hand-forged steel spikes he made last winter after getting a forge kit off Craigslist.
The System hummed softly.
[Crafting Initiated...]Success Chance: 94%Estimated Time: 00:02:13Result: Tier-1 Perimeter Trap (Crude)
He worked quickly, hands moving on instinct.
And that's when he heard it.
Distortion
A low tone filled the air.
Not from the console. Not from the walls.
From outside. Like whale song buried under static. It shook the walls in subtle pulses—like the frequency was trying to slip inside his head and whisper secrets he wasn't ready to hear.
He winced, clutching his temple.
Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
Gone.
Logan staggered back, eyes wide, heart pounding. His skin was cold.
He'd heard stories. On the old boards. Back when conspiracy nuts talked about "sonic terraforming" and planetary resonance anomalies.
Was this what they meant?
Or was the world itself changing? Like the planet was flexing its new muscles, preparing for something bigger.
[Crafting Complete.]
The panel blinked.
He snapped out of it, grabbed the completed trap, and moved to the loading chamber. A small chute led up to the surface, ending just beside the old garden. He lifted the trap in and launched the pulley system.
The trap would deploy in less than a minute. One down. Dozens to go.
But this was just the beginning.