Chapter 3 — The Name
"How does it know your name?"
The woman's whisper barely reached him.
Victor didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His eyes remained fixed on the dark shape behind the window.
The creature had stopped moving.
For several seconds, neither of them did anything.
Then Victor realized something.
His stomach tightened.
"It heard me."
The woman looked at him.
"What?"
"I told you my name."
Her expression changed.
Victor looked toward the window.
"It was outside."
The woman didn't respond.
Victor's mind raced.
The voice had sounded human.
Too human.
Maybe it wasn't the same creature from the grave.
Maybe there were people out there.
Maybe someone had followed him.
Maybe—
A fingernail dragged across the glass.
Scrrrrrape.
Victor flinched.
The woman grabbed his wrist.
"Don't."
Her grip was surprisingly strong.
Victor looked at her hand.
Then at her face.
She was terrified.
Not confused.
Not surprised.
Terrified.
That told him more than anything she could have said.
She had seen something like this before.
Maybe not this creature.
But something.
Victor lowered his voice.
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You locked the door before it even came."
The woman swallowed.
"I've worked nights for seventeen years."
Her eyes remained fixed on the window.
"You learn things."
Another sound came from outside.
A slow step.
Then another.
The creature moved away from the glass.
Victor watched its silhouette disappear.
He waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Nothing.
The woman didn't move.
Victor whispered:
"Is it gone?"
"Not yet."
"How do you know?"
She pointed toward the ceiling.
Victor looked up.
A small security monitor hung above the counter.
The screen was dark.
He frowned.
"Why isn't it working?"
"Power's still on."
She reached beneath the counter.
Victor heard a click.
The monitor flickered.
A grainy black-and-white image appeared.
The parking lot.
Victor stared at the screen.
Empty.
The entrance.
Empty.
The road beyond.
Empty.
The woman changed the camera.
The side of the building.
Nothing.
The rear parking area.
Nothing.
Victor looked at her.
"It's gone."
She shook her head.
"No."
She switched to another camera.
The image showed the road behind the station.
Nothing.
Then she switched back.
Victor stared at the screen.
There was something wrong.
He leaned closer.
"Go back."
The woman looked at him.
"Why?"
"That camera."
She rewound the footage.
The image jumped backward.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
There.
Victor saw it.
A dark shape crossed the far edge of the parking lot.
Too fast for a person.
The woman froze.
Victor stared at the monitor.
"Can you slow it down?"
She did.
The footage became a series of jerky frames.
Victor watched carefully.
The shape appeared for less than a second.
A body.
Four limbs.
Then nothing.
He looked at the woman.
"You've seen it before."
She didn't answer.
"Right?"
She lowered the volume on the monitor.
"I've seen things."
"What things?"
"Things I don't talk about."
"Why?"
The woman looked at him.
"Because people don't believe you."
Victor glanced at the door.
"Do you?"
She hesitated.
"I do now."
Victor didn't understand.
"Why?"
Her eyes moved over his clothes.
The blood.
The burns.
His bare feet.
Then his face.
"Because people don't walk out of the desert covered in blood."
Victor frowned.
"The desert?"
She pointed toward the darkness outside.
"There's nothing for miles in that direction."
Victor looked through the blinds.
"You know where I came from?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because I know this road."
She walked toward the counter.
"There isn't a town behind us. There isn't a neighborhood. There isn't a highway for a long way."
She looked at him.
"You came from the wrong direction."
Victor felt something cold settle in his stomach.
"How far?"
"From what?"
"The nearest town."
She thought for a moment.
"About thirty kilometers."
Victor stared.
Thirty.
He hadn't realized he'd walked that far.
The woman continued.
"There's an old service road farther north. It hasn't been used properly in years."
Victor's expression tightened.
"There was a tunnel."
She stopped.
"What?"
"A tunnel."
The woman's face changed.
Victor noticed immediately.
"There was a concrete entrance."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"Was it underground?"
"Yes."
"How long were you inside?"
Victor tried to calculate.
He couldn't.
"I don't know."
"An hour?"
"Maybe."
"Two?"
"Maybe longer."
The woman stared at him.
Victor realized something.
"What?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
"Tell me."
"That tunnel shouldn't be accessible."
Victor's eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"Because it was sealed."
"By who?"
She didn't answer.
Victor felt his frustration rising.
"Everyone keeps looking at me like I should know things."
The woman remained silent.
"I woke up tonight."
His voice became quieter.
"I don't know where I am. I don't know how I got there. I don't know why there were thousands of dead people."
The woman looked at him.
Victor continued.
"I don't know who I am."
For the first time, something like sympathy appeared in her eyes.
"I believe you."
Victor looked away.
Then—
a metallic sound came from outside.
The front door handle moved.
Slowly.
Victor looked back.
The handle turned.
The lock held.
The woman immediately reached beneath the counter again.
This time she pulled out a shotgun.
Victor stared.
She noticed his expression.
"What?"
"You have a gun."
"I live alone."
"Inside a gas station?"
"People do stupid things when they think no one is watching."
The handle moved again.
Victor stood.
The woman pointed the weapon toward the door.
"Sit down."
Victor didn't.
"Sit."
He obeyed.
The handle stopped.
Silence.
Then the creature spoke.
"Please."
Victor's blood ran cold.
The voice was different.
It sounded like an old man.
Weak.
Frightened.
"Please help me."
The woman closed her eyes.
Victor looked at her.
"You've heard that before."
She nodded.
"Don't answer."
The voice came again.
"Please."
A pause.
"I've been hurt."
Victor looked toward the door.
The voice sounded so real.
Almost painfully real.
The woman whispered:
"It does that."
"What?"
"It talks."
Victor stared at her.
"How?"
"I don't know."
The creature knocked softly.
Knock.
Then:
Knock.
"Please."
Victor felt something strange.
Not fear this time.
Recognition.
The voice was familiar.
Not the words.
The voice itself.
His mind reached for something.
A room.
A dark room.
Someone speaking.
A hand against glass.
A memory—
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
Victor grabbed his head.
He gasped.
The room disappeared.
For half a second he saw—
Snow.
A forest.
Someone running.
A woman screaming his name.
Then—
nothing.
Victor collapsed against the chair.
The woman rushed toward him.
"What happened?"
Victor breathed heavily.
"I saw..."
"What?"
"I don't know."
His hands were shaking.
The headache faded as quickly as it had appeared.
Victor looked toward the door.
The creature was still outside.
But now he was certain of something.
He had heard that voice before.
Not tonight.
Before.
The woman stared at him.
"You remembered something?"
Victor looked at her.
"No."
He paused.
"Maybe."
Outside, the voice suddenly stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
The woman raised the shotgun slightly.
Victor listened.
Nothing.
Then headlights appeared at the end of the road.
A vehicle was approaching.
The creature moved.
Fast.
The shadow crossed the front of the store and disappeared into the darkness.
Victor watched the headlights grow brighter.
A pickup truck pulled into the station.
It slowed.
Stopped.
The driver looked toward the store.
The woman lowered the shotgun.
Victor noticed that she did not relax.
The truck's horn sounded twice.
The woman walked toward the door.
Victor whispered:
"Don't open it."
She looked back.
"Why?"
"You told me not to."
She stared at him.
Then smiled faintly.
"Good."
She unlocked the door.
Victor stood.
A man stepped inside.
He was probably in his sixties.
Heavy jacket.
Work boots.
Gray beard.
He looked at the woman.
"You alright, Mara?"
"I'm fine."
His eyes moved to Victor.
They stopped.
The man's expression changed.
Victor noticed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
The man looked at Mara.
Then back at Victor.
"Who's he?"
Mara answered:
"Found him walking down the road."
The man stared.
"From where?"
Mara didn't answer.
The man's eyes moved down to Victor's feet.
Then his blood-covered clothes.
He looked uncomfortable.
"You need an ambulance?"
Victor opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, the man looked toward the windows.
"Did you hear anything?"
Mara's expression tightened.
"No."
The man nodded slowly.
He didn't believe her.
Victor noticed.
The man reached into his jacket.
Victor instinctively tensed.
The man pulled out a phone.
He looked at the screen.
No signal.
He frowned.
"Strange."
Mara said:
"There's been trouble with the tower."
The man nodded.
He put the phone away.
Then looked at Victor again.
"What happened to you?"
Victor stared at him.
"I don't know."
The man gave a humorless laugh.
"That's convenient."
Victor didn't answer.
The man walked to the counter.
Mara handed him a cup of coffee.
He took it.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Victor watched them.
There was something strange between them.
Not friendship.
Not exactly.
They had the look of people who had experienced something they didn't want to discuss.
The man finally said:
"You should take him to the hospital."
Mara nodded.
"I know."
Victor looked between them.
"I don't have a phone."
The man looked at him.
"You don't have anything."
Victor looked down.
The man was right.
No wallet.
No identification.
No money.
No phone.
Nothing.
Victor suddenly felt very exposed.
He had no proof that he existed.
No way to prove his own identity.
No way to call anyone.
No one waiting for him.
No home.
No memories.
Nothing.
The man finished his coffee.
Then he looked at Mara.
"Call it in."
Mara nodded.
Victor noticed the wording.
Not call the police.
Not call an ambulance.
Just:
Call it in.
He looked at her.
"Who are you calling?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she said:
"Someone who can help."
Victor frowned.
"Who?"
Mara looked toward the road.
"The people who handle things like you."
Victor felt his stomach tighten.
"Things like me?"
Mara realized what she'd said.
She went silent.
The old man looked at her.
Neither spoke.
Victor slowly stood.
"What does that mean?"
Mara's face hardened.
"Sit down."
"No."
Victor took a step toward her.
"What am I?"
The old man suddenly looked toward the window.
"Wait."
Everyone went silent.
The man's eyes narrowed.
"Where's the dog?"
Mara frowned.
"What dog?"
"The stray."
Victor looked outside.
There was usually a stray dog around the station.
The old man had apparently seen it earlier.
Now it was gone.
The man slowly put his coffee down.
"Something's wrong."
Victor listened.
At first he heard nothing.
Then—
a faint sound.
From somewhere behind the building.
A low whine.
The old man reached for the shotgun.
Mara stopped him.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because if it's still here..."
She looked at Victor.
"...it came back for him."
Victor felt every muscle in his body tense.
The old man stared at him.
"What did you bring here?"
Victor shook his head.
"I didn't bring anything."
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then stayed on.
Victor looked at the dark window.
His reflection stared back.
For a moment, everything seemed normal.
Then something moved behind his reflection.
Victor spun around.
Nothing.
He looked back at the glass.
Nothing.
The old man whispered:
"Don't look at the windows."
Victor turned toward him.
"Why?"
The old man's face had gone pale.
"Because sometimes..."
He stopped.
Victor waited.
"Sometimes they don't leave."
The room became completely silent.
Victor slowly looked at the window again.
This time he didn't see a reflection.
He saw a pair of pale eyes staring at him from the darkness outside.
They were not looking at Mara.
They were not looking at the old man.
They were looking directly at him.
Then the creature smiled.
Victor didn't move.
And somewhere deep inside his mind, beneath the emptiness where his memories should have been, a single thought surfaced.
Not a memory.
Not a name.
A warning.
Run.