Red Smoke in the Woods

Red Smoke in the Woods

The world had ended two weeks ago, but inside the walls of the abandoned weight loss clinic, it felt like the end had begun a moment ago. The air reeked of stale protein shakes and disinfectant. Five survivors huddled in the mess hall, staring at the dwindling rations. Empty wrappers crumpled at their feet.

“Two days,” Marcus muttered, breaking the heavy silence. His eyes darted toward the peeling ceiling. “We’ve got two days of food left, maybe less if we’re lucky.”

The others—four women, all puffed and round from years of battling weight, now weighed down by fear and exhaustion—shook their heads.

“We wait,” said Tasha, the oldest. “Government will come. They said survivors are being rescued. We wait here.”

“No,” Marcus said, voice firm. “I saw a jeep in the garage. Half a tank of gas. If we move now, we can make it to the red smoke signal. That’s the safe zone.”

Lydia shook her head. “And if it’s a trap? What if it’s worse than here?”

Marcus held up a hand. “We die here if we don’t go. The infected aren’t patient. Sound, movement—they’ll come for us. Out there, we have a chance.”

Arguments ricocheted off the walls until finally, necessity won over fear. Plans were made. The jeep had four seats; Marcus would drive. Tempers flared when no one wanted to sit outside. Finally, with a mixture of reluctance and resignation, Kim, the youngest, clambered onto the truck bed.

The shutters of the garage groaned as they lifted, echoing like a death knell. The infected outside froze for a moment, then their moans turned into shrieks of hunger. Marcus floored the accelerator. Tires screeched over cracked concrete.

The street was a graveyard. Abandoned cars, scattered corpses, overturned trash bins. Marcus weaved between obstacles, narrowly avoiding a horde sprinting toward them. One misstep—a jolt—and Kim’s hands slipped. She tumbled out of the jeep, landing in a heap.

“Kim!” Lydia screamed, but Marcus didn’t look back.

Through the rearview mirror, they saw the infected swarm her, tearing and gnawing. Then, impossibly, Kim got to her feet and ran after them.

One of the women whispered, “Maybe she’s still in there somewhere…”

Marcus gritted his teeth. “Uh… no. She couldn’t move like that when she was alive.”

Anger flared, resentment thickening the air. But the jeep surged forward, gaining distance. Eventually, the infected fell back, disappearing into the ruins of the city.

The road ahead was worse. A jam of burnt-out cars, twisted metal, and debris forced them to abandon the jeep. They plunged into the woods, the dense trees swallowing them in shadow.

The embankment was steep, slick with mud. Sarah tripped, twisting her ankle badly. Her scream shattered the forest’s brief quiet. Growls answered her cries, low and hungry. Marcus and the others tried to help, but the infected were closing in.

“We have to go,” he said, voice tight with guilt. “We can’t stop.”

Tears streaked down Sarah’s face as she clawed at the underbrush. “Don’t leave me!”

But they did. The infected descended. The sounds of flesh tearing, of gurgled growls, faded as the rest of the group pressed deeper into the woods.

The forest seemed alive. Branches snagged at their clothing, thorns ripped through skin, and every rustle made hearts leap. Shadows between the trees twisted into the shapes of the infected before they were really there.

After a short rest, they pressed on, hunger gnawing at them. Marcus led, machete in hand, cutting through underbrush. Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the air—Lydia had stumbled into a hidden pit, a shallow grave of sorts, trapped in fallen branches. Infected moans drew closer. Marcus dropped to help her up, but they could feel their pursuers getting nearer.

“We can’t stay,” he hissed, dragging her toward firmer ground.

Branches snapped behind them. Twigs cracked under weight. The infected were everywhere, drawn to the sound of breathing, of struggle.

Hours passed in a tense blur. Every shadow, every gust of wind made them jump. Then, from deeper in the woods, they heard something worse—a chorus of guttural growls, multiple infected converging from all sides. Marcus motioned for silence. They pressed against a tree line, holding their breath.

One of the infected—slightly larger than the others—stepped into the clearing, sniffing the air, jerking its head side to side. Another lurched from behind a fallen log. Marcus whispered, “Stay quiet. Don’t move.”

Kim—somehow still alive, running erratically—appeared from behind a tree. She clawed at the branches and growled inhumanly. Marcus’s stomach dropped. The others shrank back. “She’s… infected,” Lydia whispered.

Marcus didn’t answer. He only gestured for them to move. Slowly, carefully, they navigated past the clearing, every step measured, every snap of a twig making them flinch.

Night fell. Cold crept in. They huddled for warmth, rationing their meager food. The red smoke signal still beckoned, faint but steady.

The next morning, they moved again. The weight of their bodies slowed them, muscles screaming as they pushed through dense underbrush. Occasionally, they would hear a rustle, a low moan, and whip around—only to find a tree branch or a rabbit. But the fear never left.

Finally, about four hundred yards from the smoke, the trees thinned. A fortified area emerged, walls lined with masked guards armed with rifles. Relief flooded them—until movement behind them froze them in place.

Four men stepped from the woods. Silent, masked, rifles leveled.

“Quiet,” one hissed. The forest swallowed their whispered pleas.

“We… we just want in,” Marcus began.

The men exchanged glances, tension taut as a wire. “It’s a trap,” one said. “Do you see that?”

Before Marcus could ask, a man in shredded clothing stumbled toward the fort, begging. Pleading. Suppressing cries of desperation. A single suppressed rifle shot ended his hope. Guards stripped the corpse of anything useful, tossing the remains into the trees.

Marcus swallowed hard, nodding at the women. They had no choice. Step by step, they followed the masked men back to their fortified camp. The red smoke curling above promised safety, but the growls of the infected in the forest lingered in their minds.

Even as they entered the camp, still panting and trembling, one truth was undeniable: in this new world, the woods didn’t just take the living—they tested them, twisted them, and forced the survivors to make impossible choices. And the red smoke? It was the first, faint sign that maybe, just maybe, survival was still possible.