Terror

Chapter Five

Mark lugged a green bucket of freshly caught fish into the centre of what was left of town, setting it down beside crackling fire that someone had built from broken furniture and scrap wood.

Without hesitation, he grabbed a soot-blackened metal rod, skewered a fish, and held it over the hungry flames, which snapped and hissed.

Over time, Mark had built more than a small routine, but a lifeline. A rotating crew of over ten people took shifts: some fished at the lake, others cooked by the fire, each doing their part to keep everyone alive.

"Do we all have to move to Sunny's now?" Trent asked bitterly, jabbing a half-cooked fish toward the flames. "Because I'm not ending up on Jason's side. I'd rather starve"

"Pretty sure if we stay, we'll be burned alive," Helena said flatly, not looking up from the fire.

Trent and Helena had become two of Mark's most reliable helpers. They'd stepped in when food was scarce and hunger gnawed at the edges of everyone's patience. Back then, frying fish wasn't just a chore, but it was the difference between surviving and slipping into chaos.

Helena leaned in and rotated the fish carefully, trying not to let the tender fish tear.

The skin sizzled and popped as fat dripped into the flames, sending up bursts of smoke and tiny sparks. The smell was mouthwatering—rich, oily, and almost overwhelming after weeks of bland rations and empty bellies.

Mark wiped his greasy hands on his pants, leaving dark streaks across the fabric. He then made his way toward Emma, who paced a narrow stretch of snow-packed ground, arms folded tightly and biting her lip.

"Everything feels wrong," she said without meeting his eyes. "Even with the groups split, there's something else that I can't shake."

"What kind of feeling?" he asked with knitted eyebrows.

Emma exhaled sharply, her breath misting the cold air. "It's strange. These feelings don't come just as emotions, but hit me as physical sensations. Each one is different: fear, danger, or something else... threatening." She groaned. "Cindy went to check on the groups, but it's not like we can intervene. It poses a risk because..."

"Because what?" Mark pressed.

"Something is coming," she said, her voice rising just enough for those nearby to hear it.

Cindy appeared suddenly, breathless and wide-eyed. "Ashley's coming," she warned, voice trembling.

Without warning, Party Culture erupted into a roaring blaze—flames licking hungrily at the walls and scattered debris, turning the once lively place into a fiery death trap.

"Run!" Mark yelled.

The crowd fractured instantly—screams pierced the cold air as people dropped their rods and scattered in every direction.

Mark dove behind a toppled flowerbed, yanking Emma and Cindy down with him. They pressed their bodies low against the icy, slushy ground, his heart hammering like a war drum.

He watched was what was happening, Screams tore through the air. Fire wrapped around people, dragging them to their death. Others were sliced in half, blood splattering across the ground.

"We're officially going to die," Emma whispered, her voice trembling.

Mark reached over and squeezed her hand. His fingers shook, and he realized he couldn't remember the last time he felt this scared.

"We need to find somewhere safe," he whispered.

They crawled on hands and knees. Wet snow soaked through their clothes, chilling them to the bone, but the heat from the roaring flames made their skin sting. Smoke curled around their faces, forcing them to cough with every breath.