The moment the four platoons fanned out from the convoy and onto the overgrown lawn of 321 Black Apple Lane, the air felt too warm. Storm clouds began their slow crawl across the sky, heavy with gray threat. Distant thunder throbbed like the growl of something vast and unseen. The warmth of the sun had dimmed. It filtered through those thick gatherings of storm clouds. A shift was coming and Beau felt it. They had to hurry. They had to find a way inside the house before they were flooded out.

  Beau gathered his platoon in the grass. They didn’t have much more distance to traverse, only around the corner of the house and into the backyard. But anything could be under the house or in the sky along the way.

  “Birds in the air, dogs or worse on the ground,” Beau muttered, scanning the yard from behind his visor. “Stay sharp.”

  They passed by a torn rope toy, thick as a fallen log. It lay tangled in the crabgrass. A frisbee the size of a flying saucer was overturned, half submerged in a puddle. He passed a chewed up rubber bone. Its teeth marks were large enough to crush a man. Just beyond, he saw a cluster of sun-bleached tennis balls like mossy boulders. Near the foundation, claw marks raked the siding. Something had lived there. Something big. Something still might.

  Clink. Clink. Clink.

  Beau halted. “Wait.”

  The platoon stopped.

  The wind chime that hung just above their heads stirred gently in the breeze. It was a decorative piece ordinarily meant to evoke peace, but in the hearts of the Tinylings it sounded like warning bells.

  A screech split the air.

  A blue jay, bright and brutal, dove out of the canopy like a jet fighter. It sailed low and fast. Leaves and dirt exploded in their faces. It snatched one of Beau’s soldiers off the ground before anyone could react. The bird’s talons curled around the screaming man’s torso. One beat of its wings and it was gone again, the soldier’s cry trailed into the silence.

  “Defensive perimeter!” Beau barked. “Now!”

  They scrambled. Rifles lifted skyward. They scanned the treetops, but the blue bird had vanished. A single stray bluejay feather fell lifelessly, caught in the wind.

  “We need to keep moving!” Beau shouted. “If we stay out here, we’re target practice!”

  They pressed on. They trudged through the thick grass toward the backyard. The overgrowth there was worse. As they neared the deck, the ground trembled. It wasn’t from a bird that time, but something much closer. And much bigger.

  Something growled, low and deep.

  It came from the crawlspace under the back deck. Beau raised a fist. His platoon crouched and froze.

  A golden monster exploded from under the deck. The golden retriever raged at them like a feral behemoth. It lunged forward and clamped down on the closest militia soldier. The dog shook him wildly, flinging his body side to side like a chew toy. Blood splattered across the mulch.

  “Open fire!” Beau yelled.

  Dozens of Vindicators lit up, hammering the beast with slugs. But it didn’t flinch. Their slugs had no effect on the dog. The platoons scattered. They vaulted behind brambles and patches of weeds, behind rocks, anything they could use for cover. Beau ducked behind a tennis ball, breathing hard.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  A thick slime coated his helmet. He wiped it off his visor and looked up to see the golden retriever looking down at him, with the ball in its mouth, huffing and puffing, and drooling. A large dribble splashed beside him.

  Beau held up his hand to shield the next explosion of drool.

  But the dog leapt away from him and dashed across the yard toward the front, and then in one fluid motion jumped over the convoy and ran full speed down the street with a green tennis ball clutched in its mouth.

  “This place is a jungle,” said a soldier. “Are you okay?” He extended a hand to Beau, who accepted it, and lifted him to his feet.

  “Yeah. Keep moving.”

  They kept going. That’s when they saw it—a feature of the side of the yard they later coined Gutter Canyon.

  Rainwater had carved a miniature ravine along the side of the house which was created from the running water from a drainage pipe. To a regular human, it was six inches deep and twice as wide—a chasm to a Tinyling. At once inch tall, that depth could suck you in, trap you in the mud, and kill you. And the water moved, slowly and hungry. In the middle of the canyon, half buried in the mud, lay an old red plastic gardening trowel. It lay toppled like a half sunken bridge. Its spine was flat enough to walk on, but they would have to reposition it to cross safely.

  “We’re crossing,” Beau said.

  “We could go back and see if Rena found another path—” Mahoney started, but Beau cut him off with a shake of his head.

  “We have to go now before the dog returns. Before the bird returns. Everyone has their own mission. We have ours. And our mission is to get across this ravine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As a team, they launched grappling hooks around the garden trowel and locked it into place. With the effort of five militia, they pulled like tug-of-war. Little by little, they pulled and inched the trowel out of the mud. Within a couple of minutes, pouring sweat, the militia members maneuvered the trowel just enough so it provided a clear if slightly unstable path across the ravine. The plastic trowel was slick and one wrong step could send someone into the muddy river.

  Beau went first, leading by example. He slipped on the last few steps, but caught himself and then hopped to the other side of the ravine. He supervised every militia who crossed, grabbing their arm for support as they jumped to him.

  The last man…he nearly made it.

  The bird’s screech came again.

  The blue jay returned in a blur of flapping blue wings. It swooped—and missed—but its claws knocked the final soldier clean off the trowel and into the water. He screamed and flailed, but his visor was still open. Water poured inside. His limbs spasmed.

  “Help him!” someone shouted.

  “Private Haines!” Beau screamed, reaching for the grappling hook on his back.

  But it was too late. The current dragged him into the muddy water. He vanished, drowned and gone forever. They waited for his armor to float to the top, but it never did. The stream of dirty water continued across the yard and through the fence, and into the yard of the house beside them. Beau sent two militia to run over and try to find them, but they never could. He was gone.

  Silence fell over the platoon.

  Beau stared at the drain pipe, jaw clenched.

  “We have to keep moving,” he said finally.

  The battered platoon continued forward, most of their rifles aimed toward the sky. They stalked across the grass, quietly, fully alert to the new dangers around them. The house loomed above them. Once they saw the back porch, they realized they finally made it. But at what cost? The deeper Beau went, the more he understood. The house wasn’t a safe haven, it was wild like a jungle and they were intruding. If they wanted to claim it for themselves, there would be more violence.

  ###

  Author’s Note:

  This episode is published here up to the 75% mark.

  The remaining chapters—including the climax and aftermath—are available in the complete episode on Amazon.

  https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0GKQTTBXX

  Thank you for reading and supporting the series