Anna prepares her cabin for a siege… and learns someone in Helvetia wants her to fail.
The bell in the Fest hall tower had barely finished ringing when Anna reached her cabin again. She slammed the door, dropped the crossbar, and leaned her forehead against the wood, breathing hard. Her breath plumed in the cold air like smoke from a dying fire.
“Mama?” Lena whispered. “What did they say?”
Anna forced her voice steady. “People are sick. Some are missing. We have to be ready.”
Lukas stood near the table, already holding the small axe Markus had carved for him years ago—not as a weapon, but as a tool. “Ready for what?”
“A long night,” Anna said.
She didn’t tell them the truth: that the Bauer boy’s coughing had sounded like wet earth being stirred. That the tracks in the snow looked like something dragging itself toward warm homes. That the sickness wasn’t slow—wasn’t gentle—wasn’t normal.
And that Dietrich was already losing control of the terrified villagers.
“Both of you help me,” Anna said, voice sharper than she intended. “We don’t have much time before dusk.”
Boarding the Windows
She moved fast.
Shutters closed. Iron hooks latched. Extra blankets nailed over the cracks.
Lukas fetched wooden slats from the shed at her command. Lena carried nails in her small hands, dropping them carefully into the bowl by the stove.
Anna hammered boards over the windows. The sound echoed through the cabin like a warning shot.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Every strike reminded her of Markus hammering planks onto their first cabin wall in Welch. He had been taller, stronger, smiling the way only a man still convinced the world would bend if he pushed hard enough.
She swallowed the memory like a stone.
“Lukas, bring the table,” she said. “We’ll brace the door.”
He dragged it across the room, legs scraping over floorboards.
The cabin was small—every sound too loud, every motion too close—but Anna was grateful for its size now. Less room for mistakes. Less room for shadows.
Preparing the Tools
Anna laid out what they had:
- The axe
- Markus’s old wood saw
- Two carving knives
- A cast-iron poker
- Lantern oil
- A wool blanket to smother flames if needed
Pitiful compared to a creature that did not burn.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
But survival came from preparation, not hope.
Lena’s Warning
“Mama,” Lena said suddenly, standing near the shuttered window. “Someone’s watching.”
Anna froze. “From where?”
Lena pointed to the corner of the square where the pine trees leaned close. “There. But not the bad kind. Not like Hans. This one feels… angry.”
Anna stepped beside her but saw nothing. Only snow, branches, and the gray wash of afternoon light.
“Inside,” Anna murmured. “Stay away from the windows.”
Lena backed up, eyes dark with worry. “I didn’t mean to look. It just… pulled at me.”
The Knock
A hard thump hit the door.
Anna grabbed the axe so quickly her knuckles whitened.
Lukas gasped. Lena hid behind the table.
Anna called through the door, voice tight. “Twice, or I won’t open.”
A pause.
Then— One knock. Silence.
Anna’s stomach dropped. Not Dietrich. Not any friend.
“Go away,” she snapped.
A voice came through the wood—low, bitter, male.
“You think you’re better than us, Anna Keller? Always walking around like the valley owes you something.”
Anna stiffened. “Jonas Neely.”
She had known him since her arrival in Helvetia. A man who hated outsiders. A man who thought a widow should remarry or starve quietly. A man who believed every problem had someone to blame.
“People are saying this happened because of you,” Jonas growled. “Ever since you came… strange things started in the valley.”
Anna clenched her jaw. “I have two children inside. You leave now.”
“You think I care about your brats? Folks are scared. Scared people look for a cause.”
“And they chose me,” Anna said bitterly.
“Maybe they’re right.”
A scraping sound dragged across the doorpost, like a blade or a nail.
“Open this door, Anna,” Jonas hissed. “Let’s talk face to face.”
“No.”
He laughed softly—a spiteful, ragged laugh. “You won’t last the night without help. You and your sick little daughter—”
“Get away from my home.”
Jonas paused. Then, in a quieter, colder voice: “You won’t last. But I will. And when the valley chooses who to blame…” He tapped the door once. “They’ll pick you.”
His footsteps faded into the snow.
Dusk Falls
Anna backed away from the door, shaking.
Lena climbed into her lap, eyes wide with fear. Lukas stood by the axe, trying to be brave.
“Mama,” he whispered, “Jonas is worse than the monsters.”
“No,” Anna said softly, stroking his hair. “They’re just different kinds of monsters.”
Outside, the sky dimmed. The wind rose. The cold deepened.
And somewhere down the slope, a long, low moan drifted across the valley.
Not human. Not anymore.
Anna pulled her children close and stared at the shutters, listening to the sound of the dead moving through the snow toward the warmth of her house.
The cabin was braced. The door was barred. The windows sealed.
But the hatred of the living could be as deadly as the hunger of the dead.
And tonight, both would come knocking.