Rachel - Interactive Story - scene 10 (Patreon)

continued from scene 9

Rachel grips Bailey's shoulder, her gaze intense. "I'll take you with me, but you must move fast, stay directly behind me, and listen to everything I say. If I tell you to run, you run. Understand?"

Bailey's eyes widen, a flicker of fear in them, but she nods. "Okay. I'll do it."

They move quickly, rounding the corner of the small city block. The once-quiet suburban neighborhood now echoes with distant screams, the sporadic pop of gunfire, and the eerie wail of emergency sirens. The occasional roar of jet engines overhead breaks the quiet, Air Force planes streaking across the sky, no doubt mobilizing for this catastrophe. Choppers hover in the distance, their blades thumping rhythmically. Despite the sounds of Nightfall, the street itself is eerily empty, devoid of any other people.

The front of Mrs. Ortega's house comes into view—its brick facade now smeared with grime and blood. The front door hangs ajar, swaying gently in the breeze. A dark trail of blood snakes from the doorway, leading into the house like a gruesome invitation. The windows are dark, some shattered, with curtains flapping in the wind.

"Stay quiet," Rachel whispers, guiding Bailey up the stairs. As they reach the top, Rachel peers inside. The living room is a scene of chaos. Furniture lies upended, drawers yanked out, their contents strewn across the floor. Broken glass glitters in the disarray, catching the dim light filtering through the curtains. The signs of a violent struggle are unmistakable.

In the wreckage, Rachel's eyes catch on a figure sprawled on the ground. One of the robbers, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, a gaping wound in his neck where flesh has been torn away. Blood pools around him.

Rachel signals for Bailey to follow, moving cautiously into the house. Each step is deliberate, her eyes scanning for any signs of movement. As they advance, a noise from deeper within catches Rachel's attention—a low, guttural growl followed by the scrape of something heavy being dragged.

Bailey's whisper is barely audible, her voice trembling. "The kitchen... it's coming from the kitchen."

The kitchen door is closed, obscuring their view, but the sounds are unmistakable. The growls, the occasional thud, and the sickening crunch of bone tell them what they need to know. Rachel tightens her grip on her pistol, ready for whatever might come through that door.

"Stay close," she murmurs, eyes never leaving the closed door as they inch forward. Every muscle in her body is tense, prepared for the worst. The air is thick with the scent of blood and decay.