The thud came again.
Not loud enough to shatter the door—not yet—but heavy enough to travel through the walls, through the floor, straight into Tally's ribs. It wasn't frantic. It wasn't panicked. It landed with weight, followed by a slow, dragging scrape along the front door like something feeling for resistance.
Testing it.
Tally pulled in a breath and forgot to let it out.
Her arms locked tight around herself, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, nails biting into her palms. The living room still smelled like cleaner and leftover food and something faintly sweet—Ella Belle's lip gloss, abandoned on the coffee table. The lights were still on. The ceiling fan still turned lazily overhead.
None of that mattered.
"That's not normal," Tally said, voice sharp and cracking despite her effort to sound pissed instead of scared. "People knock."
Mari stood near the couch, stiff as a statue. Her hair had slipped free from its tie, pale strands clinging to her face where sweat had started to bead. Her eyes flicked between the door and Justin like she was waiting for one of them to define the fear, give it a shape she could handle.
Justin didn't look at either of them.
He stood just off-center from the door, feet planted, shoulders squared, body angled like he'd already decided where he'd put himself if the door came down. His jaw was tight, lips pressed flat, the muscle in his cheek jumping.
Another thud hit.
Harder.
The doorframe groaned.
Mari flinched. "That's—" She swallowed. "Whatever that is… it's not leaving."
Justin finally turned. "We're done waiting."
Tally scoffed, the sound thin and ugly. "You don't even know what it is."
"I know it's not someone asking for help," he said, voice low and steady in a way that made her stomach twist.
The scraping outside stopped.
For half a second, the silence was worse.
Then something wet slid down the door. Slow. Uneven. Followed by a sound like breathing through a clogged throat.
Mari gagged and slapped a hand over her mouth.
Tally's skin crawled. "That's disgusting."
"That's not animals," Mari said quietly.
The generator hummed beneath their feet, steady and unconcerned, like it hadn't gotten the memo that the world had started unraveling.
Justin turned away from the door. "We move. Now."
"Move where?" Tally snapped.
"Anywhere but here," Mari said.
The door took another hit—closer together now, faster, like whatever was outside had figured out where to put its weight.
Fear flipped to anger in Tally's chest. "You're acting like this is the end of the world."
Justin met her eyes. "Maybe it is."
That shut her up.
Mari inhaled slowly. "If we get stuck—traffic, wrecks—we need supplies."
"This is not a movie," Tally snapped.
"It doesn't have to be," Justin said.
Something outside growled. Low. Impatient.
Justin grabbed a jacket. "Change. Sneakers. No heels."
"You're being dramatic."
"Change."
The way he said her name—flat, final—made something in her chest tighten.
She stormed to her room, yanking leggings and sneakers on with shaking hands, muttering the entire time. When she came back, the sounds had escalated. The thuds were closer together. The scraping deliberate.
Mari waited by the garage door, hood up, hands shaking as she kept zipping and unzipping her jacket like muscle memory had taken over.
Justin hit the opener.
The garage door groaned upward, cold air rushing in, thick with smoke and something sour underneath. The lights snapped on, flooding the space in harsh white.
The Jeep waited in the center like it had been expecting them.
Mari moved fast—water, canned food, protein bars, batteries. Efficient. Silent.
Tally stared. "Are you planning to live in the car?"
"I'm planning not to be helpless," Mari said without looking at her.
Justin popped the trunk. "Load it."
"Why your Jeep?" Tally snapped. "My car's faster."
"Speed won't matter," Mari said. "Clearance will."
Justin slammed a case of water into the trunk. "One vehicle."
"So what?" Tally shot back. "I can drive too."
"No."
The word landed heavy.
"That's not fair."
"This isn't fair," he said. "This is survival."
A scream ripped through the air—raw, human—and cut off too fast.
Tally's stomach dropped. "That's not—"
"That's not an accident," Mari said.
The front door cracked. Wood splintered.
Justin froze.
Then he turned and ran back into the house.
"What is he doing?" Tally yelled.
Mari hugged herself. "I think he forgot something."
Justin came back fast, breath ragged, carrying items wrapped in cloth. He didn't explain. He just shoved them into the Jeep.
The engine roared.
The garage door shuddered halfway open.
Light spilled in, harsh and white.
"Wait," Mari whispered. "Justin—"
"I see it," he said. "I see it."
Tally leaned forward—
And then she saw her.
Standing just beyond the driveway.
Her brain tried to fix it. To correct it. Someone hurt. Someone sick.
But the way the nanny stood—wrong-footed, head tilted too far—made her stomach lurch.
Her blouse was torn open, fabric stiff with blood. One sleeve hung shredded, exposing skin that looked chewed, uneven. Her hands twitched at her sides, fingers curled too tightly, nails cracked and black.
Her mouth opened.
No words came out.
Just a wet, broken sound.
"Oh my God," Tally breathed.
The nanny lurched forward as the headlights caught her face.
Her eyes weren't dead.
They were empty.
They slid past the Jeep, drifting upward—
Toward the house.
Tally screamed. "STOP! JUSTIN, STOP—THAT'S HER!"
"She's hurt," Justin said sharply. "She's sick."
"That is not sick!" Tally sobbed. "That's the nanny! She was supposed to bring Ella home!"
The nanny staggered closer, one foot dragging. Blood dripped from her chin.
"Ella could be upstairs!" Tally screamed. "STOP!"
"If Ella was here, we would've heard her!" Justin shouted back.
The nanny slammed into the hood.
Hard.
Flesh hit metal with a sickening sound. Her hand slapped against the windshield, leaving a smeared print as skin tore.
Mari screamed.
Justin threw it into reverse.
"She's not herself!" he yelled. "She's not thinking!"
"She brought Ella's backpack!" Tally sobbed. "You didn't check upstairs!"
The nanny slid off the hood and hit the driveway.
She didn't stay down.
Bone ground under skin as she pushed herself up.
"No," Tally cried.
Justin slammed it into drive.
They burst into the cul-de-sac.
Tally twisted around.
She saw the driveway.
The open house.
And then—
Upstairs.
Movement behind the second-floor window.
A shadow.
Something had been inside.
Already.
Her scream stayed trapped in her chest.
They hadn't been alone.
They never had been.
"If Ella was there," Justin said hoarsely, "she would've come running."
"That's not the same as checking!" Tally screamed.
The nanny stopped at the edge of the driveway.
Didn't chase.
Just watched.
The Jeep tore toward the main road.
Tally pressed her forehead to the glass, screaming her sister's name into the roar of the engine.
"Ella Belle!"
The house vanished behind them.
And with it—
Any certainty they'd left in time.