I rummaged through the attic, where costumes and old clothes sat covered in dust. Mom had been a drama teacher before the world went sideways. She never threw anything out.

  After much debating between a nun’s habit and a ridiculous feather boa, I settled on the classic granny disguise. I had the entire ensemble: a floral dress layered with a cardigan, oversized glasses, orthopedic shoes that looked like they’d survived several wars, and a wig that smelled faintly of mothballs and despair. The smell really topped the look off.

  I packed light: knife, flashlight, matches, small first aid kit, and a half-eaten granola bar I’d been saving for emergencies. I also shoved a few things to barter with into my bag, mostly old jewellery and watches from my grandparents, and a coil of copper.

  With the sun threatening to rise, it was finally time to leave. The journey to town was supposed to be simple. Two hours through the woods, according to the old maps and what little my parents had told me before they passed. I just needed to go straight North for about an hour until the creek, and then turn West after the big tree with the large notch on it.

  As I headed out the door, Bagel watched me from the windowsill, tail twitching.

  “What?” I asked her. “You think I should’ve gone with the nun outfit?”

  She blinked slowly, then knocked over the empty beet can.

  Fair.

  The forest was eerily silent. Every sound was amplified, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the distant rustle of branches, Bagel’s occasional meows from the porch as if to say “Good luck, idiot.”

  I didn’t look back.

  The woods were familiar but unforgiving. Like a friend who stopped returning your calls. I stayed off the main path, weaving through the underbrush, keeping low.

  The first steps were easy. The narrow dirt path wound through gnarled oak and pine, the canopy thick enough to blot out the sky in places. The air smelled of damp earth, pine needles, and moss. Birds called out, their songs warbled and uneven, as if the forest itself was out of tune.

  I kept my eyes peeled, listening for more than just birds. As I walked, I pulled out a small vial of bitter-smelling oil, rubbing a drop onto my wrists and the back of my neck. My grandparents had called it “ward oil.” It was supposed to confuse the senses of whatever else was in the woods, trying to track us. It was probably a useless superstition, but whatever. I’m sure the strong floral scent really complimented the mothball smell of the outfit.

  My hands shook as I wrapped my cardigan tighter around me, the old lady disguise was ridiculous, but it was my only shield. I needed to blend in, to be forgotten, invisible.

  Half an hour in, the forest grew thicker, the trees leaning closer together like they were whispering secrets I wasn’t meant to hear. The path narrowed, roots twisting up like grasping fingers. I stepped carefully, boots crunching dry leaves and twigs. Each step took a little longer, my breath shallow and quick.

  I paused near a moss-covered rock, squinting through the trees. The sun was already low, slanting gold through the branches. Shadows stretched long and dark. I was moving against the clock.

  I heard it then, a sound like ragged breathing, uneven and slow, close. My heart slammed in my chest. I froze, gripping my walking stick tighter. The noise faded as quickly as it had come. Whatever it was, it was watching, waiting.

  I picked my way around a thick thicket and stumbled onto a small clearing. The ground was littered with broken branches, footprints pressed deep into the damp earth. Too big for a deer, too light for a bear.

  I swallowed hard, telling myself it was nothing. Just the animals surviving a new world. But I didn’t believe it. The forest had teeth now, and it was hungry.

  After what felt like hours, I came to an old creek bed. The water was a trickle now, half-choked by fallen leaves and silt. I crouched, cupped my hands, and drank slowly. Cold, clean, sharp. The moment of peace was brief, as a sudden rustle made me jump. I spun, stick raised, but it was only a squirrel darting up a tree. I laughed nervously, tension easing just a little.

  The trail climbed steeply, the trees thinning as the land rose. Through the branches, I caught my first glimpse of the town. It lay sprawled below like a scar on the earth, broken roofs, battered streets, a place hollowed out by time and fear.

  The world was full of sounds now that weren’t natural, distant growls, the snap of twigs under heavy feet, low whispers of movement in the underbrush. Sometimes I thought I heard voices carried in the wind, only to catch silence when I turned to look.

  Slowly, the town emerged from the trees. It looked nothing like how my family had described it. The buildings seemed sagged under their own weight, their paint peeled, and windows either boarded or smashed. The pavement was broken in places, weeds clawing through the cracks like they were trying to reclaim what was theirs. A half-collapsed water tower loomed in the distance, its faded logo illegible, rust streaking down like blood.

  I crouched at the edge of the treeline, squinting through binoculars with one cracked lens. I adjusted the makeshift granny wig on my head, its elastic digging into my scalp. No one ever suspects the old lady with a wheeze. Thank god for asthma.

  The first faces I saw belonged to the tired ones - all men, gaunt and hollow-eyed, like the weight of years had pressed the life from them. Their clothes hung loose and grimy, patched in places with whatever scraps they could find. Their skin was pale under the dull sun, and their hands shook as they moved through the streets, casting furtive glances at the shadows.

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  They kept to the edges, avoiding each other and the center like it was a no-go zone. They whispered to themselves, fingers twitching near weapons that were more for show than use. These were the ones who’d lost hope, beaten down by the long grind of survival and fear.

  Walking down the cracked sidewalks, I saw men slumped against walls, shoulders bowed and faces hollow like they’d been drained of life. Their clothes hung loose and stained, some patched hastily. They looked like they’d been fighting a losing battle for years, worn thin by fear and exhaustion.

  Among them moved others - larger, cleaner, unnervingly composed, and different. Some of them had skin tones I had never seen on a human before, and they were all too large to truly pass for a human. They carried themselves with an effortless authority, eyes sharp and unyielding. No one seemed to approach them, they just had this other-wordly look to them.

  I passed my first building, an old corner store with no signage. Its windows were grime-covered and webbed with cracks. A broken sign swung above the entrance, half of it missing. A hand-painted symbol had been scrawled on the wall next to the door. It looked like a crude eye. Or maybe a claw. I didn’t stop to examine it.

  Further down, a crumbling structure leaned precariously to one side, as if a strong breeze might topple it. A line of clothing hung between two posts, stiff with dust and sun.

  People stared, but no one stopped me.

  I moved deeper into town, drawn by the smell of something cooking. It definitely didn't smell great, but it was food, and I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.

  Eventually, I found what looked like a market if you squinted. A handful of tables were set up under a tarp roof, weighed down with rocks and mismatched rope. People bartered in low voices for whatever they needed, with some trading wire for books, or wire for cans. A man with a patched-up vest was trading bullets for dried meat, and the smell drew me closer.

  "You lost, ma'am?"

  The voice came from a man behind a folding table. He looked wary, but not hostile. Mid-thirties, maybe older. Tired eyes. Her fingers never left the handle of the blade at her waist.

  "Just passing through," I rasped, adding a cough for effect. "Looking for supplies."

  He looked me over. The cardigan. The bent back. The grey curls. My wild, crooked glasses. I could see him trying to do the math.

  “My name is Gertrude” I added, obviously really helping me disguise. “I just turned 87 yesterday.”

  "Well, congrats I guess. You got anything to trade?"

  I reached into my bag and pulled out the last few usable things I’d brought, and the man’s eyes flicked to the copper. That was the prize.

  "Take what you need, but be quick about it. Things change when the sun drops."

  I nodded and moved fast. I found two cans of beans, one box of crackers that might’ve still been edible, a bundle of gauze, and, the miracle of all miracles, a tin of coffee grounds. I grabbed a packet of cat treats on impulse. Bagel would probably hiss at me for leaving her side, but she’d appreciate the gesture.

  Before I could leave, someone tugged my sleeve.

  "You shouldn’t be out here," a man murmured, his breath warm and sour. His eyes were sunken, jittery. "Not like that. Not unmarked."

  I blinked. "Marked?"

  He stepped back, shaking his head. "Forget it. Just grab your damn walker and go. Before someone notices."

  I didn’t need to be told twice.

  By the time I reached the far end of town, the sun had dipped below the trees. The shadows grew longer. Colder. The town seemed to hold its breath.

  And then I heard it.

  A sound from deeper in the street. Not footsteps. Not breathing. A low, vibrating hum. Wrong in every way. Not human.

  I ducked behind a rusted-out vehicle and peered through a shattered window.

  Three figures moved through the road. Slow. Smooth. Inhumanly graceful. Tall, too tall. Clad in dark coats that moved like water. One of them paused. Tilted its head.

  I held my breath.

  He stopped walking, and slowly turned around.

  “What the hell are you stopping for?” One of them asked. His voice was deep and rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

  It felt like years until they continued on their way. Once they were out of sight, I didn't hesitate and started running back towards the outside of the city.

  As I was making the final turn around a building before getting towards the treeline, I got my reality check. I slammed right into a wall. Perhaps a tank in the shape of a man.

  Unfortunately for me, he opened his mouth.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  His dark eyes locked onto me, sharp and suspicious. His breath was heavy, smelling of sweat and something metallic. His skin was tinted slightly green, and he had short yet sharp horns poking out from the top of his head. I wondered what sort of creature he was.

  I swallowed hard, forcing a nervous laugh. “Oh! Sorry young lad, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Clumsy old me.”

  He took a step closer, and I instinctively took a step back. The space between us shrank fast.

  “You don’t have a mark,” he said, his gaze flicking down my chest and hands.

  I shook my head, trying to sound casual. “Oh don’t mind me, I’m just an old lady passing through.”

  His eyes narrowed, suspicion tightening like a noose.

  “I need to log this,” he said, pulling out a small device with a cracked screen.

  My heart pounded. “Log? Oh, please don’t bother. I’m nobody.”

  He stepped forward again, and my breath hitched.

  “Name?”

  Thinking fast, I blurted, “Petunia. Petunia Pumpernickle. Just passing through.”

  He stared for a tense beat, then grunted. “Be careful.”

  Without waiting for more, I turned on my heel and ran. Only when I was a good distance away, heart hammering, did I catch the tickle of something slipping. My hand shot up to my head, my granny wig was half off, slipping crooked over one eye, probably looking ridiculous.

  But there was no time to fix it now. Not until I was safe.

  By the time I hit the treeline, my legs were burning. I didn’t stop. Not until I was well into the woods, beyond the sight of anyone.

  Only then did I collapse onto the ground, breath heaving.

  My hands shook and my bag clanked. The cat treats were crushed, and the coffee tin was dented.

  And still, I had no idea what was really going on in the world outside of my woods.

  But I had gotten a hint.

  Not marked.

  What the hell does that mean?

  Whatever the hell was happening in town, I don’t think I want to know.

  Bagel would never let me live this down.

  I stood slowly, pulled the wig off, and shoved it into my bag. I was never going into town again.

  It was only later that night that I realized that I never saw a woman the entire time I was in town.

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