RED

   The cold bit into my skin as I trekked through the snowy mountain. I pulled my coat tighter around me, feeling the weight of silence. I was alone—I am the last known human on Earth. The townspeople had long vanished, their stories buried under layers of snow and ice. I was left to hunt, to survive. My stomach growled, reminding me of the urgency.

As I scanned the landscape for movement, I noticed a shadow darting across the snow. My heart raced. I crouched low, instinct kicking in. I followed the shadow, hoping it was a deer or something I could catch. Instead, I found him—the bean man. His clothes were tattered, and his eyes glinted with madness. He looked at me, and at that moment, I knew I was in danger.

He charged. I barely had time to react. We collided, tumbling in the snow. I fought back, swinging my fists, and clawing at him. My breath came out in puffs of white as we struggled. He was strong, fueled by desperation. I felt the sharp sting of his fist against my cheek. My vision blurred, but I couldn’t give in. Survival was all that mattered.

Then, I heard it—a loud crash that echoed through the mountains. The bean man froze. I seized the moment and pushed him off, scrambling to my feet. He glanced back, fear flashing in his eyes, and then he bolted, disappearing into the snowy woods. I took a breath, my heart racing from the fight. But curiosity pulled me toward the noise.

I trudged through the snow, my legs heavy with exhaustion. The crash had come from a distance, but I could see something rising in the air—a plume of smoke. I followed it, my heart pounding with both fear and hope. What could it be? As I got closer, I spotted a train, twisted metal and steam billowing around it. Soldiers surrounded it, moving with purpose.

I ducked behind a snowbank, watching them. They looked organized, unlike the chaos I had grown used to. My mind raced. What were they doing here? I noticed a small group of soldiers wandering away from the main crowd. They headed toward the forest edge, and I felt a pull to follow them.

I crept behind them, careful not to make a sound. My heart thudded in my chest. What if they saw me? What if they were hostile? But I couldn’t turn back now. I needed answers. My curiosity surged. The soldiers moved deeper into the woods, and I kept my distance, just out of sight.

As I trailed behind, I overheard snippets of their conversation. They spoke of supplies, of searching for survivors. Hope sparked inside me. Maybe I wasn’t the last after all. Maybe there were others like me, waiting to be found. But I needed to be cautious.

Suddenly, a soldier halted. He turned, and I held my breath, pressing myself against a tree. Did he see me? I was ready to run, but then I heard a soft voice.

“Did you hear that?” He whispered and my heart sank.

I was so close to discovering more, yet so close to being discovered. The tension hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.

The world around me was eerily quiet. Trees loomed like silent sentinels, their branches heavy with frost. The Captain and a soldier nearby, move cautiously through the white expanse. I gripped my hatchet tightly, ready for anything.

“Keep moving,” barked the Captain, his voice cutting through the stillness.

I felt a pang of fear. They were heading toward the cave. I knew what lay inside—something evil that had made it home; after the world went silent. I hesitated. Should I warn them? Or was I just putting myself at risk? My instincts screamed at me to turn back, but something deeper compelled me to act. I sprinted toward them, my feet crunching on the snow.

Suddenly, I heard a scream. It sliced through the air like a knife. It was the soldier. My heart raced. I had to reach them. I pushed myself faster, adrenaline surging through me. Just as I reached the cave entrance, I saw him. The bean man. He wasn’t human. His skin glistened like a wet stone, and his eyes were voids, sucking in the light. He lunged at the soldier, slamming him to the ground.

“Stop!” I shouted, my voice cracking.

The soldier struggled against the creature, but it was no use. The bean man’s strength was otherworldly. I felt a fire ignite within me. I couldn’t let this happen, not again. I charged forward, swinging my hatchet with all my might.

The creature turned, its gaze fixed on me. For a moment, I saw confusion in its dark eyes. Maybe it didn’t expect me to fight back. I swung again, aiming for its arm. The hatchet connected, but it felt like a striking stone. The bean man didn’t flinch. Instead, it let out a low growl, the sound reverberating in the cave.

I could see the soldier stirring, but he was still dazed. I had to buy him time. I ducked and weaved, trying to avoid its grasp. Each movement felt like an eternity. The bean man lunged again, and I barely dodged. My heart raced. I was terrified, but I had to stay strong.

Finally, I spotted an opening behind the creature. I could either run or fight. I chose to fight. I dove to the side, grabbing a loose rock from the ground. I hurled it at the bean man, aiming for its head. It staggered back, momentarily distracted. That was my chance. I sprinted toward the soldier, dragging him away from the cave entrance.

As we escaped, I glanced back at the cave. The bean man was still there, its dark form looming against the shadows.

The snow crunched beneath my boots as I dragged the unconscious soldier across the frozen ground. The bean man had slammed him to the ground hard, I couldn’t just leave him there. Even though he looked human, there was something about him that felt off. His pointed ears and sharp teeth reminded me of the stories my grandma used to tell about the beings that roamed the mountains, but he wasn’t like the bean man. I stopped for a moment, breathing heavily. The chill in the air nipped at my cheeks. Just as I was about to pull him again, I heard a twig snap. My heart raced. I turned, ready for anything. What I saw made me pause. A figure peeked out from behind a tree. It was a little girl, just like me. She looked fragile, her wide eyes filled with fear.

“Hey!” I called out, kneeling.

“It’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you.” She didn’t move, she just stared at me. I could see she shared the same features as the soldier—pointy ears, and sharp teeth. But I felt drawn to her.

“What are you doing here?” I asked softly.

“I’m looking for my brother,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“He’s lost.”My heart sank.

I could see the tears pooling in her eyes. I felt a connection to her, a shared loneliness that made me want to help.

“Is this him?” I asked, hoping to give her some comfort. She nodded, but I could tell she was scared.

“Is he okay,” she said, glancing at the soldier I was dragging.

“He’s okay, he’s just sleeping. My name is Rue, what is yours?” I said, wanting the little girl to feel safe.

“I’m Lyra,” she said, wiping her tears.

The wind howled like a wild beast outside, whipping snowflakes into a frenzy. I glanced at Lyra, her pale skin glowing against the cold backdrop. The ruby red of her eyes caught the little light that filtered through the storm. She was small, maybe eight or nine, with shiny black hair that fell in waves around her face. Her clothes looked like they were pulled from a storybook, Victorian in style but with a modern twist. I shook my head, trying to push aside thoughts of how strange she appeared.

“Lyra,” I said, urgency creeping into my voice.

“A snowstorm is coming. We need to get inside, now.”

She nodded, determination on her face as if she understood the danger. Together, we trudged through the snow, the biting cold nipping at our cheeks. Each step felt heavier, the wind pushing against us. I could feel my heart pounding, not just from the cold but from the memories that flooded my mind. This reservation town used to be alive, bustling with people. Now, it was just me and this strange girl.

Finally, we reached the old house. It loomed before us, its wooden exterior weathered but still standing strong. I felt a strange pull toward it as if it were calling me home. It looked familiar, like a faded memory from my childhood. I pushed the door open, creaking against the weight of the snow, and stepped inside. The warmth wrapped around us like a blanket, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

Lyra lingered by the door, her eyes wide as she took in the photos lining the walls. I noticed her gaze linger on one in particular—a picture of a family that looked strikingly like me. The resemblance was uncanny. I shook off the chill that crept down my spine. I had more pressing matters.

“Come on, Lyra,” I urged, pulling her into the living room. A soldier lay slumped on the couch, his face pale and drawn.

“We need to help him first.”

I dragged the soldier into the bedroom, my muscles straining against his weight. Lyra stood in the doorway, watching silently. I tucked him into bed, adjusting the blanket around him. His breathing was shallow, and every second felt like an eternity. I turned back to Lyra, and my heart sank. Tiny scraps marred her little feet, the blood seeping through her worn shoes.

“Lyra, what happened?” I asked, kneeling beside her.

She looked down, her expression unreadable. I retrieved the first aid kit from under the bed, my mind racing.

“You shouldn’t be outside without proper shoes. It’s freezing!”

As I cleaned her wounds, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was doing something utterly insane. Here I was, tending to a girl who seemed as lost in this world as I was.

What am I doing right now? I thought. The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across the rough walls of the house, amplifying the silence that usually enveloped me. Usually, silence was a comfort, a familiar blanket woven from solitude. Now, it felt thick and heavy, punctuated only by the shallow, rasping breaths coming from the bed in the other room.

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I watched Lyra, her small frame dwarfed by an oversized stool, trying to hold the soldier’s hand. The soldier; I didn’t know his name, only that he was injured, unconscious, and… different. His skin held a faint silvery sheen, his ears were pointed, and a delicate tracery of blue veins pulsed just beneath the surface of his skin.

Like Lyra, they weren’t human.

I heard a sniffle, a small, choked sob that cut through the silence like a shard of glass. Rue turned to see Lyra huddled on the stool, her pale face flushed with the pink of fresh tears. Her large, luminous eyes, so similar to the soldier’s, were brimming.

“Is he going to die like… like daddy did?” she sobbed out, the words thick with grief and fear.

My heart clenched. I didn’t think, didn’t analyze, didn’t consider the potential danger or the strangeness of the situation. I just reacted. I rose, crossed the small room, and knelt beside Lyra. Wrapping my arms around the trembling child, I pulled her close.

I didn’t know if he would wake up. The thought made my stomach twist.

“No, no, he’s not going to die,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I tightened my hug, feeling the small, fragile bones beneath Lyra’s thin clothes.

“He’s just… he’s just very tired. He needs to rest for a little bit. He’ll be okay.”

I repeated the words, a comforting mantra designed to soothe Lyra’s fear, even though I couldn’t be sure they were true. I didn’t know anything about their kind, their physiology. But Lyra seemed to cling to the reassurance, her sobs gradually subsiding into quiet hiccups.

I had seen too much death. I had lost too many. Still, there was something about Lyra that pulled me in. Maybe it was her innocence, or maybe it was the way her small body trembled against mine. I wondered why I was even helping them. I hadn’t cared for anyone in years. The weight of loneliness had hardened me. But I felt a strange warmth spread through me. It wasn’t just the physical warmth of holding another being; it was something deeper, a connection. A shared moment of humanity… or perhaps, something more than humanity.

I slowly pulled back, wiping a stray tear from Lyra’s cheek.

“He’s strong,” I said, forcing a smile.

“He’ll wake up soon.” Lyra sniffed again, then reached out and took the soldier’s hand again, her small fingers interlacing with his. I watched them for a moment, a strange unfamiliar feeling fluttering in her chest.

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Lyra pulled away, her big eyes searching mine.

“You promise?” she asked. I nodded, forcing a smile.

“I promise.” The soldier stirred slightly, and my heart raced. I wanted him to wake up, for Lyra’s sake. But I had no idea how to help him. I had only seen people in pain before. I had never been trained to save anyone.

The minutes dragged on. I found myself staring at the soldier, wondering who he was. What had he been through? I didn’t know how to communicate with him, but I wanted to believe he would pull through. I wanted to believe that Lyra would not be left alone, just like I had been.

As the sun set, the room grew dim. Lyra’s tears had dried, but her sadness lingered in the air. I grabbed an old blanket from the armchair and draped it over her shoulders. It was a small comfort, but it felt right. I started to pull out the memories of my childhood; the laughter, the warmth, and the safety of family. I realized then that I missed those moments. I missed being close to someone.

“Hey, Lyra,” I said softly, trying to change the mood.

“Do you have a favorite game?” She looked up at me, surprised.

“I like hide and seek,” she replied, a hint of a smile breaking through.

“Can we play?”

“Sure,” I said, my heart lifting.

I closed my eyes, counting slowly.

“One… two… three…” The familiar rhythm of my voice soothed my racing heart. It felt strange, almost foreign, to be playing a game. Outside, the world remained a shadow of its former self, filled with whispers of danger and uncertainty. But here, in this old house, I had a moment of peace with Lyra. Her giggles echoed through the empty halls, a sweet sound that reminded me of a time when laughter filled the air. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I felt this way, since I let myself breathe.

“Four… five… six…” I pushed aside thoughts of the bean man, the looming threat outside.

I had spent years worrying about him and the world beyond these walls. But today was different. Today was about Lyra and the joy she brought. The way she darted around, searching for a hiding spot, made my heart swell with happiness. I could almost forget that I was the last known human on earth. Almost.

“Seven… eight…” I could hear her little feet scurrying, searching for the perfect place to hide.

I smiled, feeling the warmth spread through me. It felt good to play. It felt good to be happy.

“Ready or not, here I come!” I called out, my voice a little rusty, like an unused hinge. It felt strange, almost foreign, using it for something other than warnings or hushed anxieties.

Lyra’s giggling intensified, muffled now, suggesting she’d found a particularly good hiding spot. I hadn’t remembered the last time I truly smiled.

“Lyra, where are you?” I called out, feigning seriousness.

Her giggle burst forth, and I grinned. I could almost see her hiding, probably in the closet or behind the curtains. The thought of her little face lighting up with laughter made me search more passionately. This was more than just a game; it was a moment of freedom. Finally, I found her, curled up in a ball behind the couch, her bright eyes sparkling with delight.

“You found me!” Lyra squealed, burying her face in Rue’s shoulder.

“Of course, I found you!” Rue said, her voice thick with emotion. I knelt, and she burst out laughing, her joy contagious. In that moment, the worries of the outside world faded away. I realized that it was okay to smile, to let go of my fears for just a little while.

For so long, I had been alone. Worrying about the bean man, when my time will come. But in this moment in that dusty, forgotten house; I knew that even if my last day did come. Maybe having them around, even if they weren’t human, wasn’t so bad. Maybe, just maybe, it was something I needed too. A crack in the wall of solitude I had so carefully built around myself. Maybe love, laughter, and a good game of hide-and-seek could conquer even the darkest fears. I still didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of…hope.