Eerie blackness envelops the unfamiliar space around me, weighing on my chest like a blanket of lead as the mattress below swallows me whole. My mind is fuzzy, my senses dull; the only sound that reaches my ears is the deafening, maddening, ringing silence. 

I sit up. 

The hazy light from the morning sun shines through the window like thick fog on a sunny day, dancing around as the shadows from the oak tree swirl, casting haunting, disfigured shapes throughout my bedroom. The birdsong is muffled, echoing, distorted, as though I'm hearing it underwater. As my ears strain to listen to their song, the tune of Back in Black reaches my ears, the notes warped, every third beat or so missing, and it comes from below me. 

The heavy feeling never leaves my head as I push myself out of bed, stumbling downstairs to the bright, hazily lit kitchen, where Uncle Tommy is dancing at the stove. A pillar of smoke rises from the pan he's cooking at as he wildly waves a spatula around, singing in it like a microphone as he wiggles his hips in the way that Uncle Tommy does when he thinks no one is watching him, undisturbed by the impossibly loud skipping music that plays from the radio on the counter beside him. He flips a charcoaled pancake with a flourish and tosses it onto a plate, appearing not to care that he's cremating breakfast. 

"Uncle Tommy?" My mouth feels unfamiliar, as though gravity is pulling on my every word, begging for my silence.

The music skips again. 

His visage is stock-still, spatula in hand mid-flip, but the second burnt disk lands with a sizzling splat on the burner. 

The mesh of burnt flesh-colored bread hisses as the burner sears it, the sizzle doing little to mask the cacophony of pitched screaming that emits from the radio. Thick red juice and muscle sinew spill from the bubbling mess on the stove, wrapping, wiggling, and writhing against one another. The smoke does not mask the malformed silhouette of another human being that begins to form before my eyes. 

My throat is tight, and my voice doesn't allow me to warn my uncle as black ichor drips from the very quickly growing humanoid body that forms on the stove. A twisted, lipless, toothy smile envelops the face of the creature, and I can't will myself to look away. 

Uncle Tommy brings his hand down on the growing mass as a grating laugh like grinding metal erupts from the tiny creature. Thick, drenched meat squeezes between his fingers, plopping onto the tile floor as he lifts it to his face; a wet crunch echoes over the beat of the music. 

It's impossible to look away. 

He turns, smile twisted like an antique animatronic, though his milky glazed eyes are untouched by the grin. Thick black veins pulsate under pale grayish skin, each pulse on beat with Back in Black. My mouth is open in a silent scream, drowned in pure noise that assaults my ears. It reverberates in my chest, but I can't run away. My joints are locked, my muscles stiff, my head so very heavy. 

I can't look away. 

Blood and stringy muscle drip from Uncle Tommy's stained teeth, chunks of dead, rotting flesh peeling away at his face. His mouth is moving, but the words are impossible to hear. The smile twists again, frowning. His mouth moves more, his voice at the back of my head. Once again, I can't hear the words.

The noise cuts abruptly, the silence somehow louder than the sounds of Hell. Uncle Tommy leans in once more as though he's sharing a secret, the rank stench of rotting flesh wafting over my face as the loudest whisper emanates from his mouth, scraping the back of my skull like a needle on a chalkboard, "Time is short, Cassy." 

Blind panic overtakes my every sense as my joints finally free themselves, and I swing at the horrendous image of my uncle, my hand landing a solid blow. Wrapping my fingers around his impossibly thin neck to stop him from advancing further, I attempt to throw him into the stove, his strangled voice giving way to a softer tone as his decaying form dissipates in the harsh light that floods the kitchen and overtakes my vision. 

After blinking several times, my eyes finally adjust, and the worried face of Dani is standing over me, the light from the cabin window haloing her in a soft golden glow. It's now that I realize it's Dani's wrist I have in my white-knuckled grip, and the look she's giving me borders on grave concern. I sit up, prying my quivering fingers from around her arm and running my hands through my hair, taking a deep breath as I process where I am, grounding myself in reality. 

"Sorry," I manage to mumble, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to clear the horrendous image of my mutilated uncle from my mind. "Had a nightmare." 

"Are you alright?" Dani asks, standing straighter as she rubs the spot my hand had nearly squeezed the circulation out of her wrist. "It sounded pretty intense." 

I laugh, though 'scoff' is more accurate, given how vividly and dangerously creative my brain sometimes likes to be. "It was, but I'm fine now." I glance up at Dani, "I appreciate your concern, though; it's sweet of you to ask." 

Dani blinks, likely waiting for a sarcastic remark from me that never comes. She clears her throat, shifting her weight on her feet as she crosses her arms. Save for her sudden awkward body language, I also notice that the other bed in the room is empty, and my siblings are nowhere to be seen. 

"Where'd everyone go?" I ask slowly, trying to avoid sounding accusatory. 

"Your brother and sister said that they wanted to let you sleep in since you took down the Titan," Dani replies, sounding slightly more confident. "Apparently, my brother had the same idea. They're likely in the mess hall, having breakfast before they help build up the defenses." 

At the mention of the fight with the Titan, and subsequently the Widow's, my body aches at the memory of being tossed about like a ragdoll and fighting for my life. 

"Go ahead and get dressed," Dani says, limping out of the room. "I'll walk you to the mess when you're ready to join them." 

Only a little perturbed by her sudden polite attitude, I shrug once she steps out of the room and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, pulling on my boots. It was nice to sleep without them on, though I imagine such a luxury won't be in ample supply once my family and I move on from this place. Grabbing my bomber, I step out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, scrubbing my face with the ice-cold water and waking myself up further. I contemplate a quick shower but think better of it, knowing that I'll just end up getting dirty and sweaty again with the work that's planned today.

Instead, I do a quick sponge bath, undressing enough to give my body a quick scrub to wipe the grime and dirt off my skin before dressing once more, feeling only slightly refreshed and ready for a day full of hard labor. As promised, Dani was waiting for me in the cabin's living room and leads the way out into the crisp, cool autumn air. The camp is bustling with activity, with dozens of campers running about to help clean up the debris from last night's attack. 

A station at the front of camp has been set up where several of the Cottonwood guards are busying themselves with hauling what remains of the corpses of Widows and campers outside, not bothering to separate the bodies as they take truckloads outside of camp to dispose of them. Several other guards are busy removing useful weapons and articles of clothing from the bodies before the trucks take them away, and the sight of distraught families watching as some of their fallen friends and loved ones are being driven off makes my heart sink. 

Any one of those bodies could have been Felix or Octavia. Hell, any of those bodies could have been me. All three of us came close to meeting a gruesome end at the hands of bandits, and for no better reason than we happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Though it was kind of Josh and Dani to let my family and I crash in their cabin, my distrust over Leon has yet to dissipate. However much I would love to have my sister's optimism regarding the people here and how safe it seems to be, I simply cannot shake the feeling that something obvious is inherently wrong. 

A flash of movement before my eyes jerks me back from my thoughts, and Dani is watching me, looking a little annoyed. "Welcome back to Earth, Major Tom. Ground Control has been trying to contact you for a while now." 

Shaking my head, I blink at her. "Sorry, I was lost in thought. What did you say?" 

"Yeah, I could see that," Dani gestures once more to the opened double doors that we are currently standing in front of that lead into the mess hall. "I said, soup's on, your family is inside." 

"Right, of course!" I feign a smile as Dani watches me with a careful expression like I might blast off to space again, but once I catch sight of my siblings eating breakfast with Josh, I hurry inside. 

Josh greets Dani and me with, "Well, good morning, sleepyheads! Hope you have an appetite, 'cause Butch cooked up that deer from last night just for you three!" 

I slide in next to my sister, where a plate of cubed venison, scrambled eggs, and steamed vegetables awaits me, and as I sit, I slide a particularly large cube of meat off my sister's place and pop it in my mouth before she can snatch it from me. 

"Wha-hey!" Octavia exclaims, snatching her plate away from me and nearly hitting Felix in the chest as she yanks it out of my reach. "You have your own shit to eat!" 

Smirking, I mumble, "Big sister privileges," between chewing the tender deer meat, and Felix chuckles at the display despite nearly having breakfast dumped in his lap. 

After swallowing and picking up my utensils, I shudder happily at the delicious meal. "Oh man, it's been so long since we've had an actual meal; I almost forgot how delicious food can be!" 

Josh laughs at that, but Dani's brows crease momentarily as she sits to eat before her expression returns to neutrality. "Honestly," Josh says, taking a bite of his breakfast. "Butch is probably one of the biggest reasons why morale at Cottonwood is usually pretty high! He's one of the best cooks I've ever had the pleasure of eating from!" 

Dani scoffs. "You're only saying that because you suck at cooking." 

Feigning offense, Josh slaps a hand to his chest and glares at his sibling. "How dare you insult my cooking skills! You know full well that Butch has banned me from helping in the kitchen!" 

Octavia nearly chokes on her food at the proclamation. "What the hell did you do to get banned from helping in the kitchen?!" 

Josh opens his mouth to respond, but Dani is quick on the dime with her explanation, saying, "He nearly burnt the entire mess hall down because he figured that if you baked something at three-hundred-fifty degrees for twenty minutes, you could cook it in half the time at twice the temperature." 

Josh rolls his eyes. "How was I supposed to know that an oven can't reach seven hundred degrees?!"

"It can," Dani retorts, "But not for cooking." 

With Josh's mind sufficiently blown by this news, the pair of them are sent spiraling into an argument over whether or not you can bake something in an oven during its self-cleaning cycle and whether or not the idea is a good one. The lighthearted bantering, joined in on occasion by Felix and Octavia, is almost enough to make the past twenty-four hours seem normal, and I find myself getting actively engaged in the heated debate, laughing along and offering my own two cents. 

Once breakfast is finished and Dani can stand back up without buckling over in pain, Josh directs us all to Leon's office as he had wanted to talk with us regarding our jobs in Cottonwood's recovery. Already dreading how the conversation may go, the five of us are joined once more by Sparrow at the log cabin before we are ushered upstairs to meet with the man himself. 

"We have to bury our dead!" As we approach Leon's office, a shrill woman's voice meets my ears. "We don't burn them like the Feral's or the Widows!" 

Leon's response is soft with exhaustion, and perhaps it's my paranoia coloring my perception, but a hint of annoyance laces his voice as he says, "I'm sorry, Alison, but we simply don't have time to dig so many graves right now."

Dani is the first to reach the door, which stands ajar at the top of the stairs, and she gently pushes it open. A distraught middle-aged woman stands before Leon, her hands balled into frustrated fists as she shakes them at the Cottonwood leader. "They were our people! Our children! Our family and friends! We can't treat them like trash when they laid down their lives for us!"

Beside the woman, tucked against her hip, is a young boy, no older than five or six, and the haunted look on his face makes my heart drop, and rage seethes beneath my skin as my eyes snap back to Leon. Before I can get a biting remark in, the distraught woman notices our presence, and her face softens when she sees Dani. 

"Oh, thank god, Dani! Please, talk some sense into him!" Alison takes a step towards Dani, who tenses as Alison grips her wrist to stabilize herself. "Miles lost his father - my son - in the attack last night. You knew James, you know how brave he was! He deserves to be buried with the others, not burned!" 

Dani stands stiff before Leon, her expression conflicted - compassion is twisted with confusion, hurt, and discomfort as Alison gently shakes Dani's arm while she talks. Dani glances at Leon, and though I've only known her briefly, I know her well enough to be sure that she would never go against anything Leon said. "Well, maybe... I mean-"

Alison's face falls when she comes to the same realization, and I release the breath I have held since stepping inside this office. "Leon," I address, my voice sharp, and Alison's gaze settles on me. "I understand where you're coming from, but your people just went through Hell last night. They deserve to mourn their dead properly; burning them with the enemy and infected dishonors their sacrifice."