Chapter 2

Caleb Vance's eyelids felt like they were glued shut with grit and dried sweat. When he finally forced them open, the world didn't make sense. He was lying on his back in the same glade where he had faced the Shadow-Hound, surrounded by the same scattering of rocks and resilient mountain flowers, but the light was wrong. It wasn't the soft, filtered gold of a mountain afternoon. It was a harsh, multi-tonal glare that made his head throb. He sat up, groaning as his muscles protested. The movement sent a spike of white-hot pain through his side, a reminder of the frantic struggle in the dark. He squinted at the sky and froze. High above, the familiar yellow sun hung in its usual place, but to its left sat a second, smaller orb. It was a piercing aquamarine, shimmering with a cold, unnatural brilliance that didn't belong in any sky Caleb had ever seen. Beyond the glade, past the dense shrubbery and the stout, leafy trees that hemmed him in, a massive red pillar pierced the horizon. It looked like a solid beam of light or a jagged spear of ruby, bleeding into the atmosphere. "What the hell?" Caleb croaked. His voice was a dry rasp. He climbed to his feet, swaying as his equilibrium fought to adjust. The topography looked different—sharper, more jagged—as if the world had been broken and glued back together by a clumsy giant. He checked his hands; they were his own, but the skin felt tighter, humming with a low-level vibration he couldn't explain. A sound shattered the silence. It was a roar, deep and guttural, vibrating through the soles of his boots. It wasn't a bear or a mountain lion; it was a sound of pure, unadulterated hunger that echoed off the new peaks. "Chloe," he muttered. The name acted like a spark in a dry forest. His friends—Chloe Sterling and the others—had been back at the camp when everything went dark. If the wildlife had been "upgraded," as that detached voice in the dark had claimed, they were in no position to handle whatever was making that noise. Caleb turned toward the direction of the camp and ran. He expected to struggle. He expected the usual burn in his lungs and the heavy slap of his boots on the uneven ground. Instead, his first stride propelled him nearly twice as far as it should have. He surged forward, his legs churning with a power that felt mechanical. He dodged a thicket of thorns with a twitch of his hips, his reflexes snapping into place before he could even consciously register the obstacle. *Am I upgraded too?* he wondered, the thought flashing through his mind as he cleared a fallen log in a single, effortless leap. He felt lighter, his heart drumming a steady, powerful rhythm that refused to falter even as he pushed his speed to a limit he had never reached on a track or a trail. The trees thinned, and the familiar sight of the camp came into view. The gray Range Rover was parked exactly where they'd left it, though its windshield was spiderwebbed with cracks. The camper sat nearby, its metal siding dented in several places as if something heavy had been slammed against it. Camping chairs were strewn across the dirt, one of them snapped in half. Then he saw the source of the noise. It was hunched over a tipped-over cooler, its back turned to him. The creature was a nightmare of biology—a hairless, skinned beast with a deep crimson hue. It stood on six stubbly legs, each ending in thick, hooked claws. As it tore into a package of frozen steaks, it turned its head, revealing three rows of jagged, needle-like teeth set in a snout that dripped with gray ichor. Caleb's hand went to his belt. His fingers closed around the handle of his hatchet. The weapon felt strangely balanced, almost weightless, as he drew it. The beast's head snapped up. It didn't have visible eyes, just pits of dark membrane that seemed to track Caleb's heat. It let out a wet, clicking hiss and pivoted its six-legged body with terrifying speed. "Hey! Over here, you ugly bastard!" Caleb shouted, hoping to draw it away from the camper. The beast didn't hesitate. It lunged, its six legs working in a blur of motion that covered the distance between them in seconds. Caleb braced himself, his enhanced senses slowing the world down just enough for him to see the creature's maw opening. He swung the hatchet in a desperate arc. The blade tore through the air with a whistle, biting deep into the side of the beast's neck. A spray of thick, foul-smelling fluid erupted from the wound, drenching Caleb's arm. But the creature's momentum was too great. As it collided with him, one of its hooked claws raked across his midriff, while another caught his left leg. Caleb was thrown backward, hitting the hard-packed earth with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He scrambled to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked down and felt a cold wave of shock. A deep gash split his shirt, the skin beneath it torn open in a jagged line across his stomach. His left leg was worse; the claw had dug deep into the thigh, and blood was already soaking through his denim jeans, turning the fabric a dark, heavy purple. The pain hit him a second later—a searing, white-hot agony that made his vision swim. "Guys!" he screamed, his voice cracking with desperation as he looked toward the camper. "Are you here? Chloe! Help!" There was no answer. The camper remained silent, its door hanging slightly ajar, swaying on its hinges with a rhythmic, metallic creak. The beast was already recovering. It shook its head, spraying more of its gray blood onto the grass, and let out another hiss. The gash Caleb had delivered to its neck was deep, but it didn't seem to be slowing the monster down. It lowered its center of gravity, its six legs tensing against the dirt. It charged again. Caleb tried to plant his left leg to meet the attack, but the limb buckled. He gritted his teeth and threw himself to the right, rolling across the uneven ground. The beast thundered past him, its claws tearing up chunks of sod where he had been standing a fraction of a second before. As he scrambled back to his feet, leaning heavily on his good leg, Caleb noticed something. The creature was fast—faster than anything he'd ever seen—but it couldn't turn for shit. When it missed, it had to skitter for several yards, its six legs struggling to find purchase as it fought its own forward momentum to come about for another pass. It was a living battering ram. It had the speed of a predator but the maneuverability of a freight train. Caleb gripped the hatchet tighter, his knuckles white. His side was burning, and he could feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his leg and into his boot. He wouldn't last long in a war of attrition. He needed to use that lack of mobility against it. The beast turned, its three rows of teeth gnashing together with a sound like breaking glass. It prepared to launch itself once more, its stubbly legs digging into the mountain soil. Caleb watched it, his heart hammering against his ribs, waiting for the precise moment to move. ════════════════════════════════════════