Chapter 4: Home

  The world around Raven was a mess of shattered pavement, stalled cars sitting motionless in roadways and overgrown yards surrounding houses that had only yesterday looked modern and new and now felt aged and abandoned.

  Scattered sporadically along the streets were the bodies of people and creatures.

  His stomach twisted at the sight. No one he recognized lay among the dead, but that didn’t make it any easier to look at. The reality of the situation pressed down on him, tightening his chest. This wasn’t just some isolated event. The world was unravelling.

  A new urgency took hold of him. He needed to get home.

  Raven picked up his pace, weaving through the debris-littered streets, his boots crunching against broken bitumen. He didn’t stop to check the bodies. Didn’t look too long at the aging buildings. Every second wasted here was another second Darryl might be in danger.

  The farther he got from the edge of the city, the more the destruction gave way to an unsettling emptiness. Streetlights flickered dimly, failing to turn off even though it was hours after dawn. The occasional distant scream or crash echoed from somewhere beyond sight. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, mixed with the metallic scent of blood.

  Raven’s boots pounded against the pavement, his breath coming fast and hard. His mind raced as fast as his feet, but it wasn’t just the chaos around him that had his chest tightening. It was the thought of Darryl.

  Darryl, who had raised him after his parents had been gone. Darryl, who had taught him how to throw a punch, how to sharpen a blade, how to hold his ground even when everything inside him screamed to run.

  Darryl, who was waiting for him.

  If he was even still alive.

  The thought made his stomach lurch. He forced it down, pushing himself harder, faster. The world had gone to hell in the span of hours, and he hadn’t been there. Hadn’t been there to protect the one person who had always protected him.

  His grip on the wrench tightened as he moved through the broken streets, the weight of it reassuring. He wasn’t some helpless kid anymore. He wasn’t the scared boy Darryl had taken in all those years ago.

  Raven’s pulse thundered in his ears as he neared his house, the sight of the goblins methodically moving through the cul-de-sac sending a fresh wave of dread through him. He swallowed hard, sweat mixing with the grime on his skin.

  He couldn’t afford to doubt himself now.

  Darryl needed him.

  And Raven wasn’t going to fail him.

  His eyes locked onto the slow advance. They were moving toward his house.

  Darryl.

  A lump formed in his throat. If the goblins reached Darryl before he did, there was no telling what would happen. His godfather was resourceful, sure, but he was also sick. Weak. Not ready for something like this.

  Raven exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. He needed a plan. Charging in with nothing but his fists was suicidal. He needed a weapon.

  Keeping low, he ducked into the nearest house. The door had been forced open, the frame splintered where something had pried it apart. The inside was a mess—furniture overturned, cupboards raided, broken glass crunching beneath his boots. No sign of bodies, though. Whoever had lived here had either fled or been taken.

  The kitchen drawers held nothing useful. Just utensils, cans of food. No decent knives, no guns. Damn it.

  Looking around, his eyes landed on a garage door, left slightly ajar. He pushed through, the dim light revealing an assortment of tools lining the walls. His fingers traced over screwdrivers, a rusted hammer—then settled on something solid and reassuring.

  A pipe wrench.

  He lifted it, testing the weight. Heavy, sturdy. Good reach. It wasn’t a gun, but it would do.

  Armed, he stepped back outside, scanning the street. The goblins had split up—two had gone inside a house, while the remaining four waited in the street.

  Perfect.

  He stalked them, sticking to the shadows. The closest goblin trailed a little behind the others, its attention more on the loot it had gathered than its surroundings. A perfect target.

  Raven gripped the wrench tightly, his knuckles white as he crept closer to the goblin trailing behind its pack. The creature was distracted, sifting through stolen trinkets, its sharp teeth bared in a pleased grin. It had no idea it was about to die.

  Raven clenched his jaw, his heart hammered. His palms were sweaty around the wrench’s cold metal. What if he missed? What if they overpowered him?

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  He exhaled, tightening his grip.

  No time for fear.

  He moved fast.

  The wrench came down in a brutal arc, slamming into the goblin’s skull with a sickening crack. The creature jerked violently, its eyes bulging as a wet gurgle escaped its lips. It crumpled, twitching, its fingers spasming against the dirt as its brain tried—and failed—to process the fatal blow.

  For a second, the world held still. Then—screeches.

  The other goblins whirled around, their yellow eyes locking onto him. Their guttural shrieks cut through the air, a mix of alarm and bloodlust. One pointed a jagged blade at him, its face twisting in fury.

  Then they charged.

  Raven barely had time to react before the first goblin lunged, its rusted knife slashing toward his chest. He twisted to the side, but the blade still caught his arm, cutting through fabric and flesh. Pain flared up his side, hot and immediate, but he gritted his teeth and swung.

  The wrench slammed into the goblin’s ribs. A sickening crunch followed, and the creature let out a strangled yelp as it was sent sprawling. But there was no time to breathe—another goblin was already on him.

  The second one was smaller but faster, scrambling onto his back with clawed fingers digging into his shoulders. Raven staggered, feeling the creature’s hot breath against his neck as it hissed and sank its teeth into his shoulder.

  He roared in pain, whipping his head back and smashing his skull against the goblin’s nose. The crunch of cartilage breaking was satisfying, and the creature yelped, loosening its grip. Raven seized the moment, grabbing it by the scruff and hurling it into the pavement.

  Its head bounced once before it went still.

  The third goblin didn’t hesitate. It rushed him, tackling him at the waist. Raven hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs. He gasped, struggling as clawed hands pinned him down, a jagged dagger raised high, ready to plunge into his throat.

  Then—twang.

  The goblin jerked violently, a strangled gurgle escaping its throat as an arrow sprouted from its neck. Its eyes went wide with confusion, its mouth working soundlessly before it toppled sideways, limbs twitching.

  Another twang, and the goblin gripping his legs let out a shriek, flailing as an arrow buried itself deep in its chest.

  Raven gasped for breath, shoving the corpse off him. His vision swam as he looked up, heart hammering.

  Darryl stood at the edge of the fight, bow still raised, a grim expression on his face.

  “Jesus, kid,” he muttered, lowering the bow. “You sure know how to find trouble.”

  Raven coughed, pulling himself to his feet. “You took your sweet time.”

  Darryl smirked, though there was exhaustion in his eyes. “You looked like you had it under control.”

  Raven snorted, wincing as he touched his injured arm. “Yeah, sure.”

  They stood there for a moment, the bodies of the goblins at their feet. Then Darryl’s expression hardened. “We’re not done yet.”

  Raven followed his gaze. The two goblins that had entered the house were still unaccounted for.

  Choosing a methodical approach, Raven and Darryl began sweeping through each house in search of stragglers making sure they weren't going to be surprised by any additional little green men. The first few were empty, save for overturned furniture and signs of hasty departures. They found and dispatched a lone goblin in one house, quickly learning to strike fast and strike hard as the little green bastard started screaming incoherently as soon as they stumbled upon it, clearly trying to rouse reinforcements.

  After clearing a few houses, they approached the one where the two missing goblins had disappeared. The door was ajar, but the house was silent, too silent not a sound emanating from within. Raven exchanged a glance with Darryl and nodded.

  Inside the house, the two remaining goblins crouched in the shadows, their sharp ears twitching at the faint sounds of battle outside. One of them, larger than the other, muttered something in their guttural language.

  “They come. They are hunting us.”

  The smaller goblin hissed. “They kill the others. We make them pay.”

  The larger one grinned, revealing rows of jagged teeth. “We set trap. Make them bleed.”

  They positioned themselves near the entrance, weapons ready, waiting for the humans to step inside.

  Raven took the lead, stepping cautiously over the threshold. As they cleared the doorway, they paused to let their vision adapt to the darker house, a blur of movement to his right was the only warning Raven had before a blade sliced into his leg causing him to stagger as he tried to put weight on it "Fuck".

  He stumbled back with a curse, wrenching his weapon up just as the second goblin lunged for Darryl. His godfather moved quickly, but not quickly enough—a jagged knife clearly aimed for his throat, buried itself into his shoulder as he jerked away.

  Darryl grunted in pain but didn’t falter. He drove his elbow into the goblin’s face, sending it reeling. Raven gritted his teeth and swung his wrench at the goblin that had cut him, knocking it backward.

  The fight was fast and fierce. Fueled by adrenaline and sheer stubbornness, Raven swung at the fucker who had stabbed Darryl, hitting it in the head and dropping it to the ground—still. The other goblin struggled to its feet and rushed at Raven, bloodied knife held ready. Darryl stepped in from behind it stabbing an arrow into its neck and slamming it to the floor. As the second goblin lay dying Raven hobbled over to Darryl who was bleeding heavily from his shoulder. Seeing the severity of the injury Raven grabbed a bandage from his first aid pack and wrapped his wound as well as possible, "We need to get you home. Can you move?" Raven asked, concerned.

  "I'll be fine. What about you, hoppy?" Darryl replied sarcastically, drawing Raven's attention to his own leg which was bleeding heavily. Not willing to dignify Darryl’s comment with an answer, Raven bandaged his leg before helping him from where he rested against a wall.

  Raven dragged Darryl toward home, supporting his weight with each strained step. Their ragged breathing and the dull throb of their wounds echoed with each laboured step. The streets were eerily empty now, as if the fight had scared away everything else, but Raven doubted that. Darryl was slumped against Raven’s shoulder, his steps growing heavier.

  By the time they reached the house, Darryl was pale and shivering.

  "Sit," Raven ordered, guiding him onto the couch. "You look like hell."

  Darryl managed a weak grin. "You don’t look so great yourself, kid."

  "Yeah, well, I didn’t almost have my head cut off."

  Raven decided the best way he could help Darryl was with food and water. “I’ll get some food going. You need to eat.”

  By the time he returned with a meal—just bread and some tinned meat—Darryl had broken into a sweat. Raven’s fingers shook as he peeled away the blood-soaked bandage. The wound beneath was deep, angry, and lined with something… wrong. The edges of the gash were darkened, the flesh around it taking on an unnatural hue.

  Darryl exhaled sharply as Raven probed the wound, his skin clammy beneath Raven’s touch.

  "That’s not just blood," Raven muttered, his stomach twisting. The texture was off—thicker, almost like tar, and it clung stubbornly to his fingers.

  Darryl tried to smirk, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Don’t look at me like that, kid. I’ve had worse."

  Raven wasn’t convinced. And the worst part was, neither was Darryl.

  The blackness was creeping outward, tendrils of darkness threading under the skin. It didn’t look like any infection he’d seen before.

  It looked alive.

  And it was spreading.