The plane passed overhead, both wings ablaze.

  I ducked as a flaming tire shot down like a rocket. It hit a tree so hard it snapped like a dry twig, then kept bouncing into the forest. Everything was shaking, the world screaming, more metal flying down.

  Then the plane crashed, the sound so loud I wanted to cover my ears. Stillness followed, some of the black trees smoldering. I took a tentative look around, half expecting something to take my head off.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mumbled.

  It’d crashed not far away, a few miles at most. Normally I’d avoid heading to a crash site, but I needed answers. The voice mentioned an “orientation” that I missed. If there were survivors, maybe they’d know what was going on.

  The interior of my truck was a massacre. Glass was everywhere, the seats torn. The passenger airbag had failed to deploy, and the driver’s side didn’t do much better. Only half the thing had come out. Avery told me all the time the truck was a deathtrap, but she didn’t know her like I did.

  “Sorry girl,” I said, reaching behind the driver’s seat. “I hate to leave you like this, but I have to go.”

  My backpack was thankfully still in one piece, and I jerked the thing out, nearly taking a tumble. That potion had helped, but I needed a doctor. My shoulder was still fucked, and I was cut all over. My hand was better but still had bite marks in it. The worst thing was my foot. It kept bleeding more and more with each step, the eel creature having done a number on my shoe as well.

  “But I’ve had worse,” I said, knowing it was true.

  I limped a few steps, my bad leg burning, but that was nothing new. If anything, all my other injuries made the old wound sting a little less.

  There was a protein bar in my bag that I scarfed down in about two seconds. There was also a water bottle, but it was only half full. I finished it off before checking the rest of my supplies.

  I had three more protein bars, a package of ramen, some underwear, socks, three lottery tickets, and one of Avery’s scratch pads. Not a lot to work with, but it was better than nothing.

  Trying to wear the backpack did not go well. Even using my good shoulder, the light weight of the bag was agony. I could push through the pain—knew I could and then some—but I had another idea.

  The inventory box appeared at my feet, and I shoved the whole backpack into it. A little notification appeared telling me the backpack had been added. I closed the inventory, then reopened it. The bag was still there.

  “Convenient.” I closed my inventory and then limped toward the forest, careful to avoid the bits of flaming scrap.

  A long, gnarled stick sat in the red sand. It was a little taller than me, and thick around both ends. I scooped it up, sweat beading on my brow. Using it as a walking stick, I trudged into the forest.

  Wind picked up, chill and silent. The branches above swayed, leafless and clawed. I shivered as I pressed on, eyes watchful for more “Sand Crawlers.”

  It didn’t take long to find where the plane had made first contact.

  The trees were blasted on either side of a massive tear in the ground. A trail of destruction careened down the steep hill ahead, then disappeared from view. But I could hear voices now. Screams.

  My hands tightened around the stick.

  I closed my eyes and started counting down from five. That therapist was full of shit, but she’d been right about this. I held a breath, then let it out, my heart pounding like a caged beast. I’d known there’d be screams. It was a damned plane crash after all. But it never mattered how ready I was. Screams always sent me back.

  My bleeding foot pressed into the sand, pain helping me stay focused. Then I slowly started descending the hill, each step a struggle. Some of the voices grew clearer, shouts for help on the wind.

  By the time I reached the base of the hill, the entire plane was a raging inferno.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  It had slammed against a cliff at the end of a massive clearing. A crowd of people stood about sixty yards away from it, others laying on the ground, motionless. There was a small team trying to pull people from the wreckage, but as I watched, something inside exploded. Flames whipped out in a frenzy, and the would-be rescuers were forced to fall back.

  Part of me wanted to turn around. This was pure chaos and misery, and the longer I looked at it, the more I wanted to leave. But I needed help, and so did they.

  I limped toward the crowd. Most of them looked pretty jacked up. There was one woman who was missing a foot, and a man next to her had half his skull exposed. Two other people were on the ground, crying and horrifically burned.

  “Jesus.” I paused as some of them turned to look at me. “Christ.”

  “Were you on the plane?” A woman asked, pushing past the rest. Her arms were soot smeared, and dry blood caked half her face.

  I’d been so shocked at the scene I hadn’t noticed what they were wearing.

  All of them, even the dead people strewn across the ground, were wearing armor, some of them robes. And each had a weapon at their hip or on their back. Staves, swords, axes, bows—it looked like they’d just raided a renaissance fair.

  “Were you on the plane?” She asked again, her eyes searching, desperate.

  “No,” I replied, fighting the urge to back away. “I wasn’t on the plane.”

  She looked like she might burst into tears.

  “Charlie!” she called, wandering past me. “Charlie!”

  Another explosion sounded off inside the plane, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “We’re screwed,” a man to my right said. Then he started laughing. “We’re screwed!”

  A few people collapsed onto the sand, some from exhaustion, others from injury. There was a little girl, her face buried in what I assumed was her mother’s chest. It reminded me of Avery, of the night we lost everything.

  “Did you see anyone in the forest,” I heard someone ask.

  The man was hunched, face all hard edges. He was bald, but his grey beard stretched down to his chest. He was wearing a dark blue robe, and it flowed as he approached.

  “I didn’t see anyone, but I wasn’t paying much attention.” Which was the truth. I noticed a few luggage containers on the way, but that was about it.

  He nodded, his calmness a bit unnerving. “There are many people unaccounted for.” He stared at the flaming wreckage, fire reflecting in his dark eyes. “Some think they could have fallen from the plane as we descended, but they have likely been taken elsewhere.”

  “Taken?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

  He looked me up and down. “You are not equipped like me or the others. Did something happen to you?”

  I was about to answer when someone started screaming.

  A trio of juvenile sand crawlers came skittering down the hill. The woman who’d been calling for Charlie fell backwards, one hand up to defend herself. The monsters weren’t close to her yet, but they would be soon.

  Several people in the crowd fell back, others scrambling across the ground. Some of them just stood there, mouth’s open in shock.

  The old dude beside me didn’t even flinch. He just started walking forward, calm as could be, like he was on a stroll through the park. There was a staff in his hand—a length of polished wood that was about shoulder height, a crystal at the tip. The white crystal flashed blue as he pointed, then a bolt of electricity arced through the air, blasting one of the Sand Crawler’s in the face.

  It fell over, the two beside it jumping back. Then it slowly got up, the woman scrambling toward us, still on her knees.

  “That is all I can do,” the old man said, voice measured. “I am out of mana, it seems.”

  I hobbled to his side. Everyone in the crowd was pressed back now, some of them shouting for someone to help. Useless. My pulse rose, the night of the accident flashing through my eyes. There had been so many people there when the water started rising. Not a single one of them lifted a finger to help me or Mom. They just kept shouting, begging for somebody to do something. No one had.

  Fire shot through my open palm, missing the Sand Crawler’s by a few feet. It startled them though, and they fanned out, hissing.

  “Thank you,” the terrified woman mumbled as she reached us. She got to her feet and shuffled past, whole body shaking.

  I didn’t bother saying anything in response. A part of me knew I didn’t help out of the kindness of my heart. It was to spite them, the ones who shouted and begged, who stood by and watched other people die. Because if someone like me could lend a hand, what did that say about them?

  “More are in the forest,” the old man said. “Be ready.”

  I peered into the dark patch of trees, seeing nothing of note. The three Sand Crawlers were closer now, and I nailed one with a fireball. It hit the dirt, tried to get up, but another fireball finished it for good. Another bolt of electricity from the old guy killed another, leaving the survivor to second guess its chances.

  Its centipede legs twitched as it reared up and hissed. Then the forest beyond came alive, dozens of hisses joining the first.

  “What,” a man behind me said. “Are those things?”

  He stepped past me, two other guys with him. They all wore leather armor and were brandishing weapons. The guy in front, a tall dude with blond hair and glasses, had a longsword. One of the other guys had a bow, the other a mace.

  “Juvenile Sand Crawlers,” I said, as if that made any sense.

  The tall guy moved a bit in front of everyone else, sword raised. Looked like it wasn’t the first time he’d used one. “Juvenile…” he mumbled, thinking the same thing as everyone else.

  If those were children, how big did the adults get?

  One of the trees fell over, then another soon after it. Our group took a step back as the hissing grew louder, the ground trembling as something massive sped our way.

  It looked like we were about to get an answer to that question.