Chapter 3: Homeward

  The woman and her daughter were still frozen in place, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. The mother clutched her child tightly, mumbling incoherent words to her, looking like she might either burst into tears or bolt at any second.

  “You okay?” Raven asked, rolling his shoulders. His shirt was torn, and there was a burning pain along his side, but it didn’t seem too bad.

  The woman nodded quickly. “Yes. Thank you—”

  “Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it,” Raven cut her off, waving a hand dismissively. “Look, you should get home. Lock your doors, stay inside, and, uh… try not to get eaten.”

  The woman hesitated, glancing at his injuries. “You’re hurt. We live just a few blocks from here, if you want—”

  “Nope,” Raven said immediately. “I’ll be fine.” He gestured at the remains of the creature. “This guy’s a lot worse off than me.”

  She bit her lip, clearly torn. “At least let me help you with that cut. You saved our lives, I can’t just—”

  “Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Raven interrupted. “I have somewhere to be.”

  She exhaled sharply, then finally nodded in reluctant acceptance. “Alright. But—before you go… do you know what’s happening?”

  Raven sighed. “I was kinda hoping you did.”

  The woman shook her head. “All I know is that I woke up at my sisters at dawn, there were these… explosions of colour in the sky. Huge, like nothing I’ve ever seen. A few minutes later, the creatures started showing up. At first, I thought I was losing my mind, but then people started screaming. I hid until I thought it was safe to move.”

  Raven frowned. “How many of these things have you seen?”

  “Too many,” she admitted, shivering. “And not just the small ones. There were a few bigger ones moving through town, heading toward the hospital, I think.”

  Raven absorbed that information, filing it away. He had no intention of going anywhere near a hospital today, but it was good to know where the worst of these things might be gathering.

  “Right. Well, thanks for the info. Get home safe,” he said, turning to leave.

  “You too,” she called after him, watching him go with a worried expression.

  The weight of her gaze clung to him, heavy and full of things she didn’t say. Desperation. Gratitude. Hope. He kept walking, jaw tight. If he stopped for everyone, he wouldn’t make it home.

  A few blocks down, Raven ducked into a convenience store. The lights flickered, the front door hung open, and no one was behind the register. Not a great sign.

  He found a half-stocked first aid aisle, grabbed a bottle of disinfectant, and poured it over his wound with a hiss. A sharp sting shot through him, forcing his breath to hitch. "That's awful," he muttered, shaking his head as the pain dulled to a slow burn. He dug around for some gauze, only to find the shelves already picked over. Of course. Even in the first hours of the apocalypse, people had already looted the good stuff.

  As he wrapped his side with a makeshift bandage—an old roll of duct tape and a clean-ish rag—he took a moment to peek outside.

  Things were getting worse.

  Smoke curled into the sky from a few streets over. People were running, screaming, fighting. A man sprinted past, arms full of stolen electronics, while a group of teenagers bashed in a car window. Further down, a large, dog-like creature lunged at a guy with a baseball bat, knocking him to the ground only for a woman to jump at the creature, stabbing a kitchen knife into its side.

  Yeah. Definitely worse. Nope. Not dealing with that. He turned on his heel and kept to the quieter streets, heart pounding a little harder now.

  Raven kept moving, keeping to the less crowded streets when he could. But he knew he needed medical supplies. Real supplies. Which meant stopping at a pharmacy.

  He found one that hadn’t been completely ransacked yet. The front window was cracked, but the security gate was still mostly intact. Pushing inside, he found a pharmacy worker—a guy in his early thirties, still in his uniform—standing behind the counter, gripping a metal pipe like his life depended on it.

  “Not taking customers,” the guy said immediately, eyes darting around. “Store’s closed.”

  “Yeah, I gathered,” Raven replied. “Look, I just need some basics—bandages, painkillers, maybe some antibiotics. Oh, and cancer meds if you’ve got ‘em.”

  The worker narrowed his eyes. “You sick?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Not me. My godfather.”

  The guy hesitated. “You got anything to trade?”

  Raven patted his pockets. “Uh… I have ten bucks, half a roll of duct tape, and a sincere appreciation for your generosity?”

  The worker sighed. “Look, people have been trying to break in here all morning. I can’t just give stuff away. You got anything useful?”

  Raven thought for a moment. “I can help you board this place up. Maybe scare off anyone looking to cause trouble.”

  The guy studied him for a moment, Then, through the cracked window, movement flickered—shadows darting across the street, scavengers just as desperate as he was. It wouldn’t be long before they tried their luck here, then nodded. “Deal.”

  As Raven shoved the last shelf into place, he caught sight of the store clerk holding a book—similar to his, but different. Curiosity prickled in his mind. "What are you looking at?" he asked, nodding toward it. "Oh, this was with me when I woke up. I don’t know what it’s for, it’s just got an unfinished picture and a weird message in it—nothing else. Seems a waste of expensive-looking paper, if you ask me."

  Raven’s eyes narrowed slightly. Everyone had one. That wasn’t just strange. It was intentional.

  As if prompted by his conversation Raven felt a pull in his chest—a familiar warmth flared and before he could react, his book was in his hands, as if it had always been there, "Its really cool how it does that ha".

  Raven stared at his hands. “Yeah, kind of weird though.” He hadn’t even thought about summoning the book—it had just appeared, like it had been waiting for him to notice it.

  "What did you mean by an unfinished picture?" Raven asked, glancing at the man's grimoire.

  The clerk frowned, flipping it open. "There's this shield, split into four parts, but they're all blank. And, well…" he hesitated, running a finger over the page.

  "Well, what?"

  "I don’t know," the man admitted. "It just… feels incomplete, like something's missing.

  **Not knowing what to say, Raven returned to stacking shelves against windows and doors, with no inclination to mention his Grimoire wasn't blank to a stranger, he rushed to finish up. **

  A short time later Raven thanked the store clerk and left, walking out with a pilfered tactical first aid kit and a handful of general medications including Darryls cancer meds. Not much, but enough to get by for now.

  Time to get home.

  Which he somehow knew would be easier said than done.

  As Raven turned the corner of a quiet street, he spotted a group of people moving with deliberate coordination—not looters, not panicked survivors, but something else entirely. About half a dozen men and women, armed with whatever they could find, were moving door to door, knocking and calling out to the occupants.

  One of them, a man in his late forties with a weathered face and a high-vis vest, spotted Raven and waved him down. "Hey, you there!" he called out, his tone authoritative but not unkind.

  Raven considered ignoring them, but something about the group made him pause. As they approached, he noticed they weren’t just checking houses—they were guiding people toward a common direction.

  "You heading anywhere?" the man asked.

  "Home," Raven replied. "Got someone waiting on me."

  "You should come with us," the man said. "The police have set up a barricade at the hospital. They're gathering supplies, organizing rations, keeping people safe. You don’t want to be caught out here alone."

  Raven folded his arms. "Yeah, no thanks. Not really a fan of barricades."

  A woman beside the man, probably in her thirties, frowned in concern. "You don’t understand. Things are getting worse. We’ve already seen bodies, monsters, people getting torn apart—"

  "Yeah, I’ve seen it," Raven interrupted. "Doesn’t change my answer."

  The man sighed. "Listen, kid. It’s dangerous out here. I get it, you think you’ll be fine on your own, but trust me, you're better off with a group."

  Raven didn’t like the way the guy was talking. The tone was friendly, but underneath it was something else—expectation, pressure, like a decision had already been made for him.

  "I appreciate the concern, but I’ll take my chances," Raven said, stepping back.

  One of the others moved to block his path. "It’s not just about you, mate," he said. "You could lead something nasty back to other survivors. We should all stick together."

  Raven’s stomach tightened. The air shifted, the tension coiling like a wire about to snap. The so-called 'helpful' group didn’t seem quite as friendly anymore.

  "Yeah, I don’t do well with being told what to do," Raven said.

  "Look, we’re just trying to help," the leader said, but Raven could hear the frustration creeping into his voice. "People like you make things harder for everyone. We aren't coming back this way again and we need to get everyone to safety."

  Part of the group had moved around to Raven’s side, and one of them stepped forward, reaching for Raven’s arm.

  Instinct took over. Before the guy could grab him, Raven’s fist shot out, catching him square in the jaw. The man stumbled back with a grunt, clutching his face.

  For a brief second, there was dead silence.

  "Son of a bitch", the man groaned—

  Raven didn’t wait for them to recover. He turned and bolted down the street, hearing shouts and hurried footsteps behind him. They didn’t appear to have firearms—but looks could be deceiving. He was just glad there were no shots behind him, the group gave up chasing him, but they didn't seem happy.

  Ducking into an alley, he vaulted over a fence, rough wood scraping his palms. He hit the ground hard, breath ragged, but didn’t stop. The streets blurred as he pushed forward, weaving through side streets, taking the long way home with only instinct guiding him.

  "Figures," he muttered under his breath. "Even in the apocalypse, people still try to tell you what to do."

  Raven fled through the streets, leaving the self-appointed guardians behind. The noise faded as he moved further from the commercial district. Multi storied apartments and office buildings gave way to smaller businesses, corner shops, and local eateries. The pavement beneath his boots felt cracked and uneven in some places, as though nature itself was reclaiming what had been stolen. Fences of rusted chain-link and battered timber lined the streets, separating the world of concrete from the suburban sprawl beyond.

  As he neared his neighbourhood, the change pressed in around him. Houses stood silent and dark, their yards overtaken by weeds that hadn’t been there yesterday. Trees stood taller, their roots breaking through sidewalks, their branches stretching toward the sky as if awakening from a long slumber. The wind carried the scent of fresh earth, crisp and clean—utterly alien in a town that had always smelled of gasoline and asphalt.

  The houses stood unchanged, yet everything about them felt... off. The air was still—too still. No distant traffic. No hum of electricity. Even the wind seemed hesitant, whispering through the grass like it was afraid to be heard.

  The cul-de-sac stretched ahead. His house stood at the end like a silent observer—unchanged in shape, but saturated with unease. The air felt heavy, charged with something unseen.

  He needed to move carefully, He didn’t want to disturb the silence.