The glass shifted.
Not enough.
Just enough to make her believe it would.
Tally leaned harder into the window, fingers digging into the edge until her knuckles ached, breath coming fast and sharp as adrenaline burned through her veins. The metal creaked softly—too softly, too thin a sound for how loud it felt inside her skull.
"Come on," she whispered. "Just—just go."
She didn't hear anything behind her.
No footsteps. No warning. No growl or scream.
The first thing she felt was the hit.
Something slammed into the back of her leg with sudden, brutal force—not a grab, not teeth, just a full-bodied collision that knocked her balance sideways. Her sneaker slid on concrete slick with something she hadn't noticed before, and her knee buckled.
She went down hard.
The air blasted out of her lungs in a sharp, panicked sound as her shoulder struck asphalt. Pain detonated across her hip and ribs. Her palms scraped raw against the ground as she tried to catch herself, skin burning.
She screamed before she even knew why.
"What the—"
The thing hit her again.
Small hands clawed at her, fingers digging into her hoodie, her chest, her neck. Nails scraped down her collarbone, tearing skin, leaving stinging lines of fire. The grip was frantic, jerky, impossibly strong for something that small.
Tally screamed again, higher this time, pure terror ripping through her throat.
"Get off me!" she sobbed. "Get off—!"
Her hands flailed wildly, shoving at the weight on her, fingers sliding through something warm and slick. Blood smeared across her palms. Not hers—she knew that instantly, even through the panic.
The smell hit next.
Copper. Rot. Something sweet underneath that made bile surge up her throat.
She twisted her head to the side.
And saw it.
The child was small. Horribly small. No older than the one they'd seen earlier—the limp little body clutched in the man's arms as he ran across the road before everything went wrong. The memory slammed into her all at once.
Its hair was matted into stiff, dark clumps, glued to its scalp with dried blood. One eye was swollen shut, the lid split and purple, the other staring straight through her. Not scared. Not confused.
Empty.
Its mouth hung open, jaw trembling, teeth smeared red and wet. Fresh.
The child shrieked—not like a cry, not like pain—but something high and broken, feral. It lunged again, mouth snapping inches from Tally's face.
She screamed and threw her arm up instinctively.
Teeth clacked shut in the air.
So close she felt the rush of it against her skin.
She kicked hard, heel slamming into the child's side. Something cracked—bone or cartilage—and the thing screeched as it tumbled sideways.
Tally scrambled backward on her elbows, sobbing, palms slipping in blood that streaked the concrete beneath her.
"I'm sorry," she cried hysterically. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry—"
The child didn't hesitate.
It surged back toward her, faster now, drawn by the sound, by her movement, by her breath tearing out of her in ragged sobs.
She screamed again.
And then—
"TALLY!"
Justin's voice cut through the night like a blade.
He came out of nowhere, a blur of motion and sound. He slammed into the child with everything he had, knocking it off course and sending it skidding across the pavement. It rolled, shrieked, and tried to scramble back to its feet.
Justin didn't stop.
He was already on it.
The screwdriver was in his hand before he fully registered grabbing it. The child lunged toward him, mouth snapping, hands clawing at the air.
Justin drove the screwdriver down.
Straight into its skull.
The impact made a sound that would never leave him—wet, dull, final.
The body convulsed violently, limbs jerking in sharp, uncontrolled spasms. Blood sprayed, hot and dark, spattering Justin's hands, his arms, his face.
He stabbed again.
Once more.
The body collapsed, finally still.
Justin staggered back, chest heaving, hands shaking so hard he nearly dropped the screwdriver. His breath came out in broken gasps, a sound halfway between a sob and a growl.
Behind him, Mari screamed Tally's name.
Kenzie was crying, Barbie barking weakly from the car.
Tally lay curled on the pavement, shaking uncontrollably.
Her hoodie was torn open. Her skin was scraped and bleeding. Blood—someone else's—smeared her arms, her neck, her hands. Her leg throbbed where the child had slammed into her, deep bruising already blooming beneath the skin.
She stared at the body.
The child.
Small. Broken. Still.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice barely there. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Justin dropped to his knees beside her, fear finally breaking through the shock. His hands hovered over her, terrified to touch her, terrified not to.
"Tal," he said hoarsely. "Tal, look at me."
She didn't at first.
Her eyes stayed locked on the ground, on the blood soaking into cracks in the concrete.
"I didn't see it," she whispered. "I didn't see anything. I didn't look."
Her body curled inward, arms wrapping around herself as sobs tore out of her, raw and uncontrolled.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
Justin pulled her into his arms despite the blood, holding her tight as she shook. Her tears soaked into his shirt. Her hands clenched in the fabric like she might fall apart completely if she let go.
Mari knelt nearby, hands over her mouth, eyes wide and wet. Kenzie hovered just behind her, clutching Barbie to her chest, trembling.
The store loomed dark and silent behind them.
The parking lot stank of smoke and blood.
Justin held his sister and stared past her shoulder at the small body on the ground—the child they'd seen earlier, the one that should have been carried somewhere safe, not left to rot in the middle of the world ending.
His chest tightened with a heavy, crushing guilt.
Tally didn't stop shaking.
She didn't stop apologizing.
And something inside her—something loud, careless, and certain—had finally shattered.
Not into understanding.
Not into wisdom.
Just into fear.
And fear, once it takes hold, never lets go quietly.