Ethan folded the blanket, shoving it into a scavenged duffel bag as the gym buzzed with movement. Mia strapped her axe to her belt, packing water bottles beside a dented can of peaches, her hands steady. Cal coiled the rope over his shoulder, crowbar tucked into his jeans, while Tara slung her bat across her back, tying a strip of cloth around a bundle of nails. Riley barked orders near the fire pit, her machete gleaming as she directed survivors to gather gear—blankets, tools, a few candles stuffed into bags. The fire smoldered low, its heat fading, the air thick with sweat and ash.
"Southwest canal's our exit," Riley said, kicking the crate aside, the map now rolled under her arm. "Half a mile out, then we're clear of campus. Move fast, stay tight."
Pete handed out spears—broomsticks sharpened with broken glass—to a cluster of survivors, their faces grim but set. Ben grabbed a tire iron from the pile, joining Tara, his wrench swapped out. The burly man with the sledgehammer hefted a sack of cans, grunting as he slung it over his shoulder. Ethan shouldered the duffel, the shovel's handle poking out, its blade still crusted with tunnel muck.
"How's it look out there?" Cal asked, nodding to the barricade's gap.
Riley signaled Pete, who peeked through the southwest mat. "Fields are quiet," Pete said, spear in hand. "No quakes since dawn."
"Then we go," Ethan said, stepping toward the gap. "No point waiting."
Riley led the way, machete raised, as Pete and two others dragged the barricade open. The group filed out—twenty strong, weapons and bags clanking softly—into the morning air, damp and heavy with the briny tang of the breach. The canal's entrance waited a quarter-mile southwest, past the track shed, its grate still propped open from the night before. [Predator Sense] hummed, picking up faint skitters north, a low growl east, but nothing close.
They crossed the fields, turf crunching underfoot, the sinkhole's glow a dull smear to their left. The shed's rusted frame came into view, the rope dangling into the tunnel below. Riley stopped at the edge, peering down. "Water's up," she said, pointing to the shin-high flow, now lapping at the grate's base. "Move quick before it rises."
Ethan dropped the duffel, grabbing the rope and sliding down first, the shovel scraping the concrete as he landed. Mia followed, axe glinting, then Cal, Tara, and the rest, Riley last with her machete. The tunnel stretched southwest, its walls slick with moss, the candle from last night unlit in Ethan's pocket—no need with the group's numbers now. The water tugged at their legs, cold and steady, the drip ahead a faint echo.
They waded forward, bags held high, the tunnel's ceiling forcing a hunch. The bones from the night before lay tangled in the open grate, scraps of cloth floating in the current. Riley stepped over them, machete cutting through a root blocking the path. "Keep up," she said, voice sharp.
The tunnel widened, the water calming, the breeze stronger—freedom close. Then [Predator Sense] flared—wings beating, a screech piercing the air from behind. Ethan turned, shovel raised, as a flock of pterodactyls—small, hawk-sized, beaks sharp—burst from a crack in the ceiling, diving at the group.
Survivors shouted, swinging spears and tools. Ethan bashed one mid-flight, the shovel cracking its skull, feathers scattering. Mia's axe sliced another, blood splashing her arm. Cal thrust the crowbar, pinning a third to the wall, while Tara's bat swatted two from the air, their screeches cutting off. Riley hacked with her machete, carving through a pair, the burly man smashing one with his sledgehammer.
The flock thinned, bodies dropping into the water, the current carrying them away. Ethan swung again, crushing the last one, its beak snapping shut as it sank.
[Monster slain: Lesser Pterodactyl x2]
[Attributes Gained: +1 Strength]
[Rewards Gained: None]
Riley wiped blood from her machete, breathing hard. "Move—now!"
The group pressed on, splashing through the tunnel, the exit's red light glowing ahead. Ethan gripped the shovel, the duffel heavy on his shoulder, Mia at his side. The ambush was over, but the canal's promise held.