heavenward | n.scatorccio

The sun in the sky was disappearing, drowsy and sluggish, behind the trees as the group trudged through the woods, their steps dragging in the softening dirt of Frankfort's outskirts. The air had a brusque to it that only the late hours of the day could carry—a burdened kind of tranquillity that tore at your thoughts and pulled them into tartarean crevices.

Julianna walked with the others, but her body felt light, too light. It wasn't because she was detached or distanced, no, she was still here, still moving, still breathing, but the world around her seemed to push against her in ways she didn't want. Every crunch of her shoe on the forest floor rang like an intrusion. Every breath she took was a reminder that she could still exist in this empty, ruined world, but the absence of her brother, proved that he couldn't.

"Can we take a break soon?" Javi's voice broke the silence like a soft but necessary ripple. He sounded exhausted, his words hanging in the air a little too long, as if trying to will them into reality.

Misty gave him an exaggerated, sympathetic glance from the front,"Yeah, sure, Javi. I mean, we've all been walking for—what, four hours straight? Who's counting anyway?" She chuckled, but there was an edge to it, something that felt forced, like she was trying too hard to keep the mood light.

Shauna muttered something under her breath, and when Julianna looked over, her eyes were dark—darker than they'd been lately. Shauna hadn't spoken much since they'd left Lexington, and the absence of it was starting to fill the spaces between them all.

There was no deflection in Jackie's voice when she turned to the rest of them. "I swear, if we have to keep walking through places that look like something out of a horror movie, I'm gonna lose it."

Lottie, on the other hand, remained uncharacteristically calm. She had said little since the morning, but now, her presence felt different. Almost distant, in a way. She turned to face them, her eyes scanning the surrounding woods, as if anticipating something the others couldn't quite sense. "It's not far now," she said, her voice measured and low. It was the kind of voice people use when they don't want to give too much away, when they know things they haven't said.

Julianna knew it was coming before she saw it.
As the trees started to thin, the ground beneath their feet began to change. The soft hum of life faded into an eerie stillness. It wasn't just the quiet that was unsettling, it was the way the air seemed to blanket around them, feeling like something that had been soaked in something that bent the laws of nature for too long.

They stepped into an open space that stretched far beyond the treeline, the ground before them barren and burned, the earth an unsettling shade of grayish ash. The soil was cracked and scarred, as if something massive had been scoured away. And there, laid out in an expanse that seemed to go on forever, were the skeletal remnants of what had once been a forest. Now, it was a charred wasteland. Scattered bones. Burned corpses. The air tasted faintly of something metallic, like blood mixed with rust.

Javi stopped in his tracks, looking around, his face pale.

"I'm guessing this is the Ossuary Fields," Natalie said, her voice flat, sighing, as though she had known it all along. She had that air about her, like she was speaking of something far older than any of them could comprehend. "Where they burned the bodies of the infected in the first few days. Me and Misty talked to Kaitlyn about it last week, in the radio tower, before everyone was awake."

Shauna's face twisted, and her voice came out as a low murmur. "There's something wrong with this place."

"It's because there's something worse here than just the Soma," Lottie said, her eyes searching the distance. "Whatever was left here... It's still here. You can feel it." She paused, as though realizing the weight of her own words.

"Great," Jackie muttered, shaking her head. "Just when I thought I could catch a break. First it's running dead people, then mimicking ones, then acid rain, then hallucination inducing air, then toxic mist releasing zombies, gooey dead people, scarily mutated hunter zombies, and now cursed fields. What's next, witches?" Her laugh was hollow, strained.

"I don't like this," Javi said, fidgeting nervously with his jacket. "I don't wanna be near it."

They all stood there for a long while, the ground beneath them felt like it was respiring, like the very earth was still conscious of their occupancy. It was as though the bones beneath their feet were waiting for something—a warning that was buried far too underground for any of them to understand.

Julianna could feel it in her chest, this place was wrong in ways that words couldn't touch, and the feeling wrapped around her like the lingering warmth of a forgotten ember, glowing faintly beneath the fabric of her thoughts.

It settled into her like a slow drizzle, not quite wet, but damp enough to make everything feel askew, like the air itself had softened into something viscous. Her body seemed to hum with it, as if the sensation had threaded itself into her very particles, leaving a residue of quiet urgency in the spaces where she hadn't known to look. It was the kind of sensation that didn't ask to be noticed, but was impossible to disregard, like an unnoticed echo in a vast empty room, its ripples stretching further than she could trace. A throb, not of desperation, but of something close to it, as if the air had taken a taste of her, and now it had no intention of letting go.

"I don't wanna stay here longer than we have to," she spoke, her voice weak, like she was speaking more to herself than to anyone else.

But the others didn't respond immediately. They couldn't. There was no real answer to be given. Instead, they just moved, slowly—reluctantly.

As they walked, the fields stretched out before them, lonely and bare, like the graveyard it had become. The history there felt too close, too real. The ash beneath their feet was nothing compared to the ghosts of the past that seemed to follow them through the desolate air.

And still, no one spoke of it again. Not because they didn't feel it, but because sometimes the dead were better left undisturbed.

The wind in the Ossuary Fields had turned colder, more spiteful. They'd been walking for what seemed like hours, the quiet between them the fizz of a soda gone flat—something that should've burst, should've spilled over, but instead just sat there, stale and waiting, pressurized in a way no one could quite name. It stretched thin between them, a taut thread on the verge of snapping, until a rustling fractured the stillness.

A figure appeared out of the haze of smoke and ash, disheveled and stumbling forward like he was half-drowned, his hands twitching as if they no longer belonged to him. The man's face was gaunt, eyes wide and vacant. His clothes were tattered, ripped at the sleeves and legs, like he'd been wandering here for days, weeks maybe. His skin was caked in dust and sweat, but it wasn't just the dirt that made him look like he was falling apart, it was the crazed way his eyes darted, unfocused and wild, like they were seeing something that didn't exist.

Julianna's breath caught in her chest, and for a moment, she felt like time had slowed, everything else fading as she locked her gaze onto him. Her thoughts screamed at her, but her feet stayed frozen, her muscles tensing as she braced for something, anything, to happen. The rest of the group must have sensed it too. A collective unease rippled through them, but it was only Natalie who subtly took a step closer to Julianna, their eyes briefly meeting, a silent understanding passing between them.

The man's voice was hoarse, raw—like the remnants of something human still clung to him, something that wasn't quite gone. "I... I can't let you... No... no...you're one of them..." His voice cracked as he staggered forward, his arms reaching out like claws, desperate and frantic. His gaze flicked over them like he didn't really see them, just shadows, just shapes, just threats.

Julianna's heart slammed into her throat, her legs still unwilling to move, her mind screaming in a way she couldn't comprehend.

"Stay back" Shauna's voice rang out, harsh and sharp, but the man didn't seem to hear it. He didn't even acknowledge it. He was focused on Lottie now, moving toward her at a terrifying momentum. She had froze, terror plastered on her face.

The man lunged.

His movements were a blur of violent intention. A predator's instincts honed to an art. The sound of his bare feet slamming against the floor was the last thing Lottie registered before he was upon her. He moved with a speed that defied belief, and before she could even summon the breath to scream, he had her in his grip. His hands dug into her shoulders like claws, the pressure unforgiving, as if he were trying to tear her from the world itself, to steal her away into the depths of whatever calamitous place his mind had been twisted into.

Lottie fought, thrashing beneath him, her chest heaving in frantic desperation. But he was stronger than she could comprehend. Her movements were nothing but futile flails against an unyielding force. Her hands pressed against his wrists, her fingernails digging into his skin as she struggled to break free, but he didn't falter.

A horrible, guttural noise ripped from her throat as he slammed her repeatedly into the dirt, his hands now locking around her neck like a vice, squeezing with a force that felt more animal than human. Her fingers scrabbled at his arms, her shoes dug into the ground, but his weight pressed down, unrelenting, grinding the fight from her inch by inch. The world narrowed to the brutal press of his hands, the awful, rasping wheeze of air trying-and failing-to get into her lungs.

"Get off her!" Natalie's voice was raw with panic, and then she was there, yanking at his shoulders, clawing at his face, but he didn't so much as flinch.

The man's eyes flicked to hers just for a moment, a gleam of madness in them, but there was no fear. He wasn't afraid.

He wasn't even human anymore—just a force of violence, a monster too deep in his rage to be reasoned with.

His grip only tightened, his knuckles going bone-white.

Lottie's legs spasmed once, then stilled.

The world seemed to freeze, the noise dying away. A deafening noiselessness settled in her mind, broken only by the clamouring cadence of her heartbeat, wild and erratic, inundating everything else.

Julianna didn't think.

Her hands found the machete, and the second it was in her grip, she was swinging-fast, hard, without hesitation, without thought.

The serrated blade hacked into him where his neck met his shoulder, tearing through muscle, through flesh, through the thick fibrous tissue of something vital. The impact shuddered up her arms, rattling her teeth, but she barely felt it, barely heard the sloppy, scoring sound over the way the man screamed.

But he didn't fall. He reeled back, a choked, aqueous noise tearing from his throat as his body convulsed, blood gushing from the open wound in thick, arterial spurts. His hands flew to his neck, clutching at the deep gash, but it wasn't enough, he was deluging in it, in himself. His mouth gaped, sucking in air that wouldn't come, his chest jerking like a broken marionette, tendons twitching beneath his skin. His knees buckled, but he was still standing, still alive.

His eyes snapped to hers, and there was something in them, recognition, horror, desperation. He reached for her.

Julianna swung again.

The blade met his throat with a sickening, grating crunch. This time, it went through. Bone scraped against steel, the force of it making her own arms sting, her wrists buckling under the impact. His body spasmed violently, a fresh explosion of blood fountaining from the ruin of his throat, splattering across her face, hot and thick and cloying. The noise he made wasn't even human-it was wet and strangled and anthropoidal, like something trying to crawl out of itself.

His legs gave out. He collapsed in a heap, twitching once, twice, three times.

A sound that didn't sound real. That sounded like something dying. Someone dying.

His whole body jerked, spasmed. His hands wrenched away from Lottie's throat as he reeled back, clutching at the gaping wound. Blood gushed in congealing, arterial bursts, black in the dim light, slicking his fingers, his chest, the ground beneath him.

His breath hitched, squelching, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, but only a sick, gurgling wheeze came out.

Julianna staggered back, the machete still in her grip, dripping, but her fingers felt numb, like they weren't part of her anymore.

Lottie coughed violently, gasping for air, her hands shaking as she clutched her throat, coughing—Julianna knew that, but the sound felt far away, muffled, like it was happening through glass. The only thing she could hear was the drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the dirt.

And Julianna couldn't look at her.

She couldn't look anywhere but him.

He was staring at her. Eyes wide, unfocused, full of something she didn't want to name. His mouth moved again, barely, the smallest twitch, but whatever he was trying to say was lost beneath the thick, bubbling sound of blood filling his lungs.

And then his arms gave out.

His body crumpled sideways, landing in a heap, twitching once before going still.

Lottie lay on the ground, gasping for breath, hands clutching her neck as she fought to draw in air. Her body trembled violently, and her skin was pale, as though death itself had brushed against her. But she was alive. She was alive. Julianna saved her.

But the man... the person was dead.

Julianna’s hands trembled, fingers twitching like faulty wiring. Her chest was a vise, cinching tighter with every shallow, fractured breath—too fast, too sharp, not enough. The world was closing in on itself, crinkling at the edges, and the only thing she could hear was the relentless, high-pitched ringing in her ears, killing out everything else. Distant voices, the shuffle of movement—it all blurred into nothing. Just the ringing.

She had killed him.

The thought felt like it didn't belong to her, like it was something foreign, something that had slipped into her mind and taken root. But it was real. It had happened. The words were there, twisting in her gut, and the guilt rushed in, a flood that threatened to drown her.

She stood there, the weapon in her hands, her legs shaking beneath her. She felt small. She felt wrong. She had never asked for this. She had never wanted to be the one who did this.

She wasn't even sure what she was feeling anymore. The action was so heavy in her chest that it made it hard to breathe, hard to think. She wanted to look away from the body, wanted to pretend it wasn't there, but the image of the man, of his wild, terrified eyes, kept replaying in her mind, over and over again.

Was it worth it? The question clawed at her from the inside. Was it?

The others were gathered around Lottie now, helping her up, checking on her. They were too focused on Lottie's safety, too wrapped up in the relief that she was alive to really notice what Julianna had just done. They didn't speak about the man she had killed.

Except Jackie.

She stood apart from the others, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, like she was trying to hold something in, trying not to shiver. Her eyes flicked from the blood-drenched machete to Julianna's face, and for the first time since the world had ended, Jackie was afraid of her.

Not afraid like she was of the infected, or of the burning sky, or of all the horrors that had chased them through the last few weeks. This was different. More personal. More real. She had known Julianna almost her whole life, as long as she’d known Jeff, had quiet conversations with her, smiled at her, gave her nicknames. But this?

This wasn't someone she knew.

Julianna had done that. Had taken a weapon and cut a man apart like she wasn't even thinking, like it was just a reflex, a necessity. And maybe it had been. Maybe it had. But Jackie couldn't ignore the way it had looked.

The way Julianna hadn't hesitated.

The way she had done what no one else had been able to do.

The calculation slithered in after the fear, cold and sharp. If Julianna could do this to a man, a person, without thinking, without even blinking, then what else was she capable of? What would she be willing to do, if she had to? If it was the only way?

Jackie swallowed hard, her throat tight. She didn't have an answer. And that was what scared her most of all.

For Julianna everything paused.

Lottie's choking gasps, Shauna’s ragged breathing, the shifting movements of the others—none of it felt real. None of it touched her.

Only the blood on her hands did.

Warm. Sticky. Sinking into the lines of her palms, into her fingernails, like it was trying to stay, aching to dry and remain forever. Someone was moving toward Lottie, but Julianna barely noticed. The world was tilting, warping, the edges curling inward like burnt paper. She could feel her heartbeat in her teeth, in her skull, a frantic, pulsing thing that wouldn't stop hammering, hammering, hammering-

"Jules—"

Natalie.

She was right in front of her, gripping her arms, searching her face.

The others were with Lottie, hovering, panicked, their voices blurred into something distant, unintelligible. But Natalie had gone straight to her.

"Julianna," she said again, softer this time, and her hands were warm, too, but not like his. Not like his.

Julianna opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

The machete slipped from her grip, hitting the dirt with a dull, final sound.

And inside her, something cracked wide open—something she wouldn’t notice for a while.