Page 28 of Beast in the Badlands
“Move!” I shout, my voice rising above the din. People scramble for cover, fear sparking panic as they dash for the safety of the tent.
I rush into the hospital tent, heart racing. My hands fumble as I grab my kit, shoving supplies into my pack with practiced speed. Kira stands frozen near the entrance, her eyes wide.
“What’s going on?” she demands.
“Fall back! Stay with the wounded!” I don’t pause to explain; there’s no time. Every second counts now.
Outside, gunfire erupts—a rapid staccato that sends a chill down my spine. The sharp cracks pierce through the camp like a knife through flesh. My stomach knots as I sprint toward the makeshift triage area.
I shift gears immediately—field mode activated. The med zone transforms in my mind from a place of healing to a battlefield. I scan for patients behind overturned tables and broken supply crates, ready to stabilize whoever needs me.
Shouts echo around me—some calling for help, others simply crying out in terror. The scent of smoke mixes with sweat and fear as chaos reigns.
“Stay down!” I shout to a soldier crouched behind a crate, clutching his arm where blood seeps through his fingers.
He looks up at me, desperation etched across his face. “I can’t?—”
“Just breathe!” I snap back, tearing open my med kit and reaching for gauze and sealant.
My hands shake despite my resolve; exhaustion clings to me like a weight around my ankles. Each movement feels heavy and labored as adrenaline fights against fatigue.
The building across the camp collapses suddenly—wood splinters flying like shrapnel into the air as it crashes down with a deafening roar. Dust billows around us, choking cries muffled beneath the sound of destruction.
I grit my teeth against despair but keep moving, pushing through layers of fear and fatigue that threaten to drag me under. A small group huddles near an old supply crate; one man groans softly as he clutches his side.
“Help him!” another voice yells over gunfire.
I rush over, dropping to my knees beside him while another soldier holds pressure on his wound. “What happened?”
“Shrapnel,” he gasps between clenched teeth.
Fingers flying over fabric and blood-stained skin, I tear away layers to assess damage beneath; metal glints menacingly against flesh—jagged pieces embedded deep into muscle.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn him before applying pressure on either side of the shard with trembling hands while using forceps to extract it quickly—blood oozes out in thick rivulets once it frees itself from tissue.
He cries out; I bite back a wince of sympathy and keep working despite it all—the screams outside escalating along with chaos; footsteps pound heavily overhead from above—our defenders scrambling to hold their ground against relentless waves of attackers descending upon us like vultures swooping in for carrion meat.
“You’re doing great,” I say firmly even though I feel anything but confident myself—each heartbeat loud against my eardrums while sweat trickles down my neck into dirt-streaked skin reminding me just how real this moment is—a desperate fight for survival amidst shadows creeping ever closer into our space…
A flicker catches my eye—a figure emerges from dust clouds nearby; an enemy soldier charges forward with wild abandon through shattered remnants littering our camp.
Gunfire explodes again—a cacophony that threatens to drown out everything else—but it’s too late now… we’re being overrun.
CHAPTER 22
RENN
Isit on a crate, fingers moving over the transmitter for what feels like the hundredth time, swearing under my breath. The damned thing is supposed to work—it's got power, it just won’t catch a signal. Frustration bubbles inside me, tight and angry, like a beast trapped in a cage.
Emry left this morning without a word. I wake up, disoriented and still half-dreaming, and she’s just… gone. I didn’t even hear her leave. I grind my teeth at the thought. She knows better than to wander off alone, especially in this hellhole.
Why the hell would she do that? Doesn’t she understand how vulnerable she is? My blood boils at the memory of her leaving while I lay there, incapacitated. Each second drags out like hours as I replay every moment leading up to her departure in my mind. She can’t just run off into danger when I’m stuck here.
The way she spoke to me yesterday lingers in my thoughts. “This isn’t just temporary anymore, is it?” Her defiance ignites something inside me—an urge to protect her from everything, including herself. Yet here I am, powerless and furious, tethered by my own limitations while she runs off.
I pound my fist against the crate’s edge, feeling it rattle under the impact. The ache in my legs flares up, but that barely registers against the anger swelling within me.
The transmitter crackles—a brief burst of static followed by an open frequency ringing out faintly but unmistakably clear through the silence.
