Archibald was excited when the world ended. Of course, he was saddened by all of the death, terrified of the monsters that were popping up out of nowhere, and worried for his few friends and family he was still on speaking terms with. But some part of Archibald couldn’t help but relish the knowledge that the world was ending around him, and that he was prepared.

He knew he was the kooky uncle to his nieces and nephews, the weird one who wasted his fortune on unnecessary and paranoid expenses. But as he sat comfortably in his secure bomb shelter, heating an MRE that wouldn’t expire for another decade and watching an online news report from his solar-powered television with a satellite internet hookup, he smiled in satisfaction.

He’d admit, at first he was worried when the Numbers disappeared. But when he found out it was worldwide and about all the other stuff that started happening at the same time, he knew it was what he was preparing for. He wasn’t worried two days later when his power went out, his solar panels easily able to take over and provide all he needed. He wasn’t worried when an evacuation of major urbanized areas was ordered on the remaining news outlets, his survival shelter already more rural than most city slickers had ever been. And he wasn’t even worried when the websites he visited for entertainment started to go offline, more and more servers not responding with each passing day. After all, he had more than enough movies and books saved up to last him a lifetime.

But as the days of Archibald hiding in his survival shelter without contact turned to weeks, Archibald’s pride in being prepared began to fade. He knew it was irrational, but he kept waiting for a beautiful woman, maybe with a young kid, to come knocking on his door begging for his help.

And when finally, after almost a month of silence from the outside world, a faint scratching noise started up outside of his secured entryway, completely different from the noise any human would ever make...Archibald began to worry.

- Archibald, Inclusion +29 days 11:04 hours

I hold a dry leaf over the flame from the lighter while spirits swirl above us. Styx stands next to me, her eyes closed in concentration, while Pallas and Melete guard either side. Melete has dug her still wet clothes out of Styx’s backpack and is swinging them at the spirits.

I’m not sure how effective it is, focused as I am on the leaf in my hand, but it does seem like less spirits are attempting to pass through us than had been before we retreated into the water. But still, I wince as a spirit ignores her flailing and my own sopping clothes to fly through my chest.

Finally, the leaf in my hand catches, and I hurry to grab more leaves to throw on top. But the first leaf burns for only a second before smoldering, the edges of the leaf shrinking in a glowing line without any actual flames. The leaves I throw on top stay unlit.

My hands shake as I flick the lighter again, creating another flame, and repeat the process. Pallas bends low next to me, holding leaves steady vertically rather than horizontally, the tips of the leaves waiting in the flame.

In a few seconds his leaves catch. Rather than fizzling like mine did, the flames crawl up the leaf and nip at his fingers. He ignores it and holds even more leaves above the first with his other hand.

As the flames rise he eventually sets the leaves on the ground and gradually adds more and more to the growing pile. I slide the lighter back into my jacket pocket and look around for a stick we can use, something more substantial to burn and potentially ward off our attackers.

But I quickly give up on my frantic search. Pallas’ burn-pile of leaves is growing, and the spirits overhead shriek, whether in anger or pain I don’t know. We gather close together around the fire, Styx still with her eyes closed, the spirits once again keeping their distance from the flames. My numb hands and feet tingle painfully in the new warmth, but I stay close, willing to endure the pain if it means keeping the Mind Spirits away.

But after just a few more seconds, we’re forced to step back, coughing, from the clouds of smoke billowing from the burning leaves. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like the spirits are negatively affected by the smoke, and I feel pain and disorientation as one braves the nearby flames to pass through me.

The next few minutes are spent in careful balance -- we stay close enough to the fire to deter the attacking monsters but far enough away to still breathe and stay cool in the growing heat. We’re only marginally successful in both areas: three more spirits pass through my body while I gasp air around heavy coughs. Sam, at least, is unaffected by the smoke, although it seems even more susceptible to the heat than we are.

The original pile of leaves is nothing more than smoldering ash, but Pallas is constantly shoveling on more and more. Everything in the forest is dead and catches easily, but just as quickly the leaves burn up, the ash smothering the spreading flames. But that only holds true until Pallas guides the growing fire to the base of the nearest tree.

Once the first tree catches, there is no stopping the fire. The bare, dead-looking limbs burn much hotter and longer than the piles of leaves, spreading through the boughs above our heads to nearby trees. The wailing of the spirits grows distant as they flee to less dangerous parts of their forest, and we tentatively walk away from the flames, savoring the cooler and clearer air a dozen yards away. But we don’t wander far, afraid of the return of the spirits.

Thirty minutes later, I can honestly say the spirits are among the least of my worries, as the fire spreads almost faster than we can move.

We jog southwest, deeper into the forest, careful to keep the river within sight to our right. Each of my breaths is jagged and scratchy, the air thick with the smoke of the raging flames chasing us. The shadows of the trees we pass extend long ahead of us, painted lines of black surrounded by shades of orange and red. The fog is burned away by the heat but replaced with dark smoke, the visibility just as bad.

My right foot is bare, my left covered only by my wet sock. My legs also are bare, only my boxer briefs maintaining my dignity, but I can’t find it in myself to care. The back of my legs and my neck ache as if I’ve been laying for hours in the sun without sunscreen, and my lips are dry and cracked. With each step, lances of pain shoot up my legs from my bare soles. Upon looking behind us I see a sheen of red among the leaves of my footprints, but there’s no time to stop or check. With split focus I activate my skill to harden the soles of my feet. I don’t know if it works. The pain persists.

At first, it was easy to stay ahead of the flames, but as the fire got bigger, the rate it grew increased as well. Soon we were forced into a quicker walk, and then into a jog. And when a gust of wind rose up behind us, we sprinted as fast as we could to barely stay ahead of the blaze.

Luckily, the wind calmed after less than a minute and we were able to slow back into a jog, but I can still feel the edges of the panic from that terrifying moment: the ache in my legs and feet, the smoke in my lungs burning with each breath, Styx looking back in fear from where she ran ahead with Pallas carrying Sam while Melete and I struggled to keep up.

An hour passes.

My pace is barely more than a brisk walk now, but it’s as fast as I am able to push myself. Every few seconds my body shakes with racking coughs as I struggle to get enough air into my lungs. I hold a strip of my previously soaked shirt over my mouth, but I’m unsure if it’s helping. Next to me, Melete battles even harder to keep moving, her small frame and low dexterity and strength Numbers unable to cope with the environment. Now at a slower pace, Sam scuttles next to us, and Pallas eyes Melete as if deciding whether carrying her would make us slower or faster.

I look back at the fire. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to run. I consider the possibility of trying to swim the river and wince. Drowning in the grasp of a tentacled monster seems a better death to me than burning alive, but only marginally.

The wails of the spirits echo around us. They are distant, but so numerous that they add together to create such a cacophony that competes even with the roar of the inferno. It’s loud enough that I barely hear Styx when she calls my name.

“Atlas!” she yells from just a few feet away, jogging on my right. She has long since deactivated her skill, and although the irrational terror increased when she did, it is much weaker than it had been while the Mind Spirits surrounded us.

I glance to Styx, who raises her hand and points to our right. Following her finger, I look out over the river, and breathe a sigh of relief, only to have that sigh interrupted by a gasping cough.

The bridge! Finally, less than a hundred yards away, illuminated orange in the light of the fire and barely visible through the haze of smoke, the bridge marked on the map crosses the river.

It’s a smaller bridge than the one we used on our original bus ride to the cabin, what feels like years ago. It only has two lanes, one in each direction, and looks much older and worn than the bridge along the highway.

But it’s still standing, which is enough.

With renewed energy, we increase our pace, and in less than a minute we step onto the edge of the bridge.

I hold my breath in anticipation, waiting for another monster, most likely a new type of troll monster, to block our passage. But mercifully, nothing jumps out at us and we cross the bridge unimpeded.

On the other side of the bridge we step onto a road surrounded by a normal-looking forest. I’m surprised to see the edge of the sun still peeking over the horizon. The permanent gloom of the haunted forest had me thinking it was the middle of the night, but based on the sun it’s only been three to four hours since we first entered the woods this afternoon.

I limp across the road and collapse into the grass, breathing deeply the slightly cleaner air on this side of the river. After a few minutes of laying with my eyes closed, I force myself to sit up.

“How is everyone?” I rasp with a hoarse voice.

Pallas is sitting up and keeping watch, while Melete and Styx have followed my lead in laying out on the ground. At my words, Melete turns her head against the ground to look at me and raises a single thumb.

Styx sits up. “Alive,” she responds, her voice also raspy, followed by thick coughing. I reach into my backpack and pull out a bottle of water, taking a quick sip before passing it to her.

While she soothes her parched throat, passing it to Melete and then Pallas after she’s finished, I look behind us. The forest fire has passed the opposite end of the bridge, fully enveloping as far as I can see in either direction on the other side of the river. A towering pillar of smoke rises from the flames, blotting out the horizon in that direction. Even with the forty yards of the river separating us, I can feel the heat of the inferno against my cheeks. The metal of the bridge groans ominously.

I examine my companions. Pallas, Melete, and Styx’s faces are black with soot, their exhaustion tangible. Styx’s arm oozes red from where the tentacled monster grabbed her, and Melete practically disappears in Pallas’ oversized jacket. Pallas carries our only remaining weapon aside from our skills, the large axe. Sam, for the first time I have ever seen, is splayed out on the ground rather than upright. Our only other pack, aside from my own, is zipped up next to Styx.

And then I examine myself. No shoes, no pants, one sock. For the first time since the inclusion, no wheelbarrow of supplies. We must have passed within just a few yards of the wheelbarrow and other weapons and packs sometime in our mad dash ahead of the flames, but if my friends saw it they never mentioned it. My entire body aches. I hesitate to examine the soles of my feet, scared of what I’ll find.

But Styx is right.

We are alive.

S: ?

D: ?

W: ?

I: ?

C: ?

?

Skills: Adjust:Self, Bond:Mental