NOVEL WEB Chapter 20: One Bad Night
The wind shifted at sundown.
Jake felt it as he crouched by the fire, feeding dry twigs to the flames. The air went colder, sharper, carrying a scent like wet earth and rotting leaves. It made the hair on his arms prickle.
He set down the stick in his hands and listened.
The forest, always restless, had gone still.
No owl calls. No wind rattling the branches overhead.
Just a long, heavy silence that pressed against his ears.
Jake grabbed his bow.
Not panic.
Not like before.
Just instinct.
He scanned the tree line. Faint shapes hung between the trunks — shadows stretching long in the last gray light. Nothing moved.
Then, a soft scrape.
The drag of something heavy over dead leaves.
Jake's stomach tightened.
Walkers.
Two… no, three, maybe more.
He couldn't see them, not yet, but he'd heard enough of them in the past three months to know what those sounds meant.
The old version of him would've frozen. Curled under his tarp and prayed for them to pass.
Now, he moved.
He threw dirt onto the fire, choking the flames. The coals hissed. Smoke curled into the air, thin and gray. He grabbed his bag — what little he owned stuffed inside — slung his quiver over his shoulder, and ducked low.
The forest was darker now.
No moon.
No stars.
Cloud cover thick overhead.
He crept away from the dying fire, careful not to snap a twig or brush against a low branch.
Another scrape behind him.
Closer.
A figure lurched into view, half-lit by the last embers. A man once. Now a rotten, gray husk. Its jaw hung slack, teeth clicking softly as it shuffled forward.
Jake didn't run.
He raised his bow. The new arrow felt steady in his grip.
The walker staggered into an open patch.
Jake aimed.
He remembered how the first arrows he'd made splintered. How his hands had bled, his eyes blurred with tears.
Not this time.
The bowstring groaned as he drew.
He let it go.
The arrow flew fast and true.
It struck the walker in the eye socket with a wet, hollow crack. The thing dropped without a sound.
Jake's heart thudded, but not like it used to.
No wild panic.
No gasping.
Just the cold weight of what came next.
Another shuffle.
A second walker.
Too close.
No time to notch another arrow.
Jake turned and bolted.
His boots slid on the loose snow, but he kept his feet under him. Branches whipped against his face, snagged at his coat. The bag bounced against his side.
A soft grunt sounded to his right. Another one.
Too many.
He ducked low, slipping through a gap between two leaning pines. His breathing stayed controlled. Shallow, quiet.
He spotted a narrow hollow between two boulders ahead — a tight, uneven space barely big enough for a person.
Perfect.
Jake slid into it, pressing his back against the cold stone. The earth smelled of damp moss and old leaves. Darkness swallowed him. He held his breath as shapes moved beyond the rocks.
One shuffled past, no more than ten feet away. Another followed.
He counted three… four… maybe five.
More than he'd thought.
The figures moved slow, sniffing the air.
But they didn't find him.
They wandered through what was left of his camp, drawn to the scent of burned meat and old ash.
One let out a low groan, aimless.
Then they drifted off.
The wind picked up again. The sounds faded.
Jake waited.
Long minutes.
Then longer.
Only when the forest settled back into its usual, restless quiet did he move.
He stepped out of the hollow, legs stiff, fingers numb.
The world smelled of cold earth and pine needles.
His fire was gone. Only blackened stones remained. One of his snares was trampled. The rest — scattered or buried.
But Jake wasn't angry.
He wasn't afraid, either.
It was a lesson.
The kind the woods gave whether you wanted it or not.
Never camp too long in one spot.
Never let your fire burn after dark.
Never trust the quiet.
He gathered what he could. His good arrow — the one he'd fired — was ruined. The shaft snapped when he pulled it from the walker's skull.
No loss.
He still had three more.
The water from the clean pool was gone, his can knocked over.
He'd find more tomorrow.
Jake moved south, toward the ridge. He'd scouted it earlier — a narrow rise with old trees and a dry cave mouth half-hidden by hanging branches.
It would do.
He reached it by dawn.
The cold gnawed at his hands, but he'd lived through the night.
A rough one.
A reminder.
He crouched at the cave's mouth, watching the first weak light stretch over the treetops. His stomach gnawed at itself, but he felt steady.
Not invincible.
Not safe.
But sharp.
The dead still ruled these woods.
But he wasn't easy prey anymore.
Jake leaned his head back against the stone and let out a slow breath.
Tomorrow he'd build a new fire.
Reset the traps.
Make more arrows.
He'd keep moving.
And the world would have to try a little harder next time.