The forest had gone eerily silent, the smell of blood still faint in the air, and the tension so thick that even the wind seemed to avoid rustling the leaves. The daredevil campers stood frozen in place, eyes wide as they looked at the scorched earth, broken weapons, and the smeared trails of crimson. The campfire they once laughed around now flickered weakly, as if mourning what had happened to their friends.
No one spoke. Not even a breath broke the silence. The surviving members, those lucky or brave enough to escape earlier, stared in horror at Flint and Dwayne. The two men, battle-worn and grim-faced, carried the burden of the truth—truth they didn’t have the time to explain.
Because the mimic had escaped again.
“What… what happened to them?” one of the campers finally asked, voice
