Chapter 64: Chapter 64 - Something’s Watching
Malcolm’s POV
The woods swallowed sound the deeper they went.
The line they followed wasn’t near any road or clearing. According to the men with him, the government had set it up a year ago, hidden deep between the trees to keep scavengers from finding it. Wooden poles cut through the dense forest like a spine, their cables heavy with ice, drooping under winter’s weight.
Malcolm’s breath came out slow and white in the cold.
He scanned the formation. Andrei led from the center with the map, Kyle in front with his rifle, Hector and Ruben between. Malcolm kept the rear, eyes moving, hands loose on his weapon.
The ground was uneven, covered in a crust of snow that crunched under each step. Above them, the power line hummed faintly in the wind, a soft, strained sound that barely carried.
They were miles from the settlement now. No roads. No signs of human life. And only trees with black trunks and frozen branches tangled together like ribs.
Malcolm’s training worked on instinct now. He scanned the tree line, noting the details automatically — visibility low, wind light from the west, temperature falling fast. The snow was still firm enough to hold shape, the kind that left clean tracks. If something moved out here, he’d see it long before he heard it.
At least that was the hope.
They’d just cleared the last pole when Kyle, walking point, suddenly raised a clenched fist.
Malcolm stopped instantly. The others did too.
Kyle gestured ahead, his breath fogging the air.
Malcolm followed his gaze.
The line sagged low between two trees, weighted down by something caught halfway. At first it looked like snow, a heavy lump pressed against the cable. Then the wind brushed the frost aside, and the shape underneath took form.
A corpse — frozen solid, tangled in the wire.
It dangled from the line, half suspended, its body twisted at an odd angle. The skin was gray and cracked, the jaw locked open, the hands curled tight around the wire as if it had died mid-climb.
Andrei moved forward cautiously, boots crunching softly. "It’s caught on him. The wire’s straining."
Malcolm crouched, eyes tracing the angle of the pole. "Line’s under pressure. Don’t touch the base until we relieve the tension. It could snap."
Ruben muttered something under his breath. "We shouldn’t even be this far. Let’s fix it and get back."
Andrei shook his head. "No. We need to make sure the line’s clear all the way to the turbines. If another snag pulls the power down, the greenhouse dies."
Malcolm’s eyes swept the treeline. The woods pressed close here, branches thick with frost, visibility cut down to maybe fifty meters. The silence felt wrong.
He adjusted his grip on his rifle, the unease crawling higher in his gut. "Make it quick."
They worked in silence, careful and deliberate. The body was frozen stiff, its joints locked. Malcolm swung his hatchet cleanly once, then again, cutting through the arm that pinned the wire. The crack echoed like a gunshot in the cold air.
Too loud.
He froze, scanning the trees. His pulse slowed, steady but alert. Something about the sound didn’t fade the way it should. It lingered and bounced back .
Then came the first crack.
A twig breaking. Somewhere off to the right.
The group stopped. No one spoke.
Another sound, this time ahead.
Malcolm raised his hand — signal to hold position. Five men crouched low in the snow, weapons ready.
The forest went still again. For a moment, it could have been nothing. A branch settling. Ice falling.
Then it came — faint, almost swallowed by the cold.
Click... click... click.
Slow. Steady. Almost deliberate.
Hector’s face went pale. "Shit," he whispered. "Stay low."
Malcolm’s eyes swept the trees, the old instincts kicking in. The sound wasn’t wandering like the moans of the undead. It was circling. Testing.
He exhaled through his nose, his breath ghosting in front of him. The others waited, tense and motionless.
The clicking came again — softer this time, as if whatever made it had learned they were listening.
Malcolm’s fingers tightened around his rifle. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. He just watched.
But there was nothing to see. Just the pale wall of trees, the sagging wire, and the vast, white quiet of a forest that had learned to hide what hunted inside it.
They waited a while longer, but nothing moved. No more clicks. No sound except the wind brushing through the trees.
Andrei gave a short nod, and they started walking again, boots crunching softly on the frozen ground. The power line stretched deeper into the forest, poles leaning like crooked spines under the weight of ice.
Malcolm kept scanning the tree line. Every few steps, he checked their spacing and pace, his rifle low but ready. The silence pressed in again — too complete, the kind that made you listen harder than you should.
Ahead of him, Hector’s breathing grew uneven. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his shoulders stiff beneath his coat.
Malcolm noticed the signs immediately. "What’s wrong?" he asked quietly, stepping up beside him.
Hector hesitated, like he didn’t want to say it. "For a second back there," he murmured, "I thought it was... one of them."
Malcolm’s gaze stayed on the trees. "One of what?"
Hector’s voice dropped lower. "A mutant."
The word made the others glance over. Ruben’s hand shifted to his weapon. Kyle slowed, scanning the dark between the trunks.
Malcolm looked at Hector evenly. "Mutant?" he asked, his tone calm. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
Hector swallowed, his breath misting in the cold. "I haven’t seen one myself. But last year, a crew from the ridge went missing. When scouts found them, their bodies were torn apart — not eaten, not bitten. Just ripped open like something wanted to make sure they stayed dead."
No one spoke. The forest swallowed every word.
"And you think that’s what we heard," Malcolm said. It wasn’t a question.
"That’s what people say," Hector whispered. "They call it a hunter. It makes a clicking sound when it moves. You hear that, you don’t wait to look."
Malcolm gave a slow nod, his face unreadable. Inside, his mind worked through the details.
Never heard of anything like that before. If it existed, it wasn’t something his unit had ever encountered or reported during the early years.
"It doesn’t hunt to eat," Hector continued, almost to himself. "It hunts to kill. The bodies they found weren’t touched afterward."
Ruben muttered a curse. Kyle shifted uneasily.
Malcolm’s voice stayed steady. "Where was this?"
"Clinton," Hector said. "South side. They say that’s its hunting ground. We’re still a few miles off."
Malcolm’s eyes drifted toward the south, where the forest thickened in uneven ridges. Few miles, he thought. Not far enough for comfort.
The weather could change behavior, even for things that weren’t supposed to think. Food would be scarce now. If the cold had pushed it out of Clinton, then it was hunting farther from its ground then... maybe it’s already circling where they stood.
He checked their formation again and said quietly, "Keep moving. Stay sharp."
The others nodded, unease thick in the air.
The clicking didn’t come again. But the silence that followed felt like something holding its breath.
