Ethan sat against the boxcar's steel wall, the shovel propped beside him, its blade dulled by bear blood and gravel. Mia rested nearby, axe across her lap, sipping from a water bottle as she patched a tear in her hoodie with a strip of cloth. Cal stood by the door, crowbar in hand, peering into the night, while Tara lay on a blanket, bat tucked under her arm, sorting nails into a small pile. Riley paced the flatbed outside, machete sheathed, her shadow flickering in the dim glow of a candle Pete had lit on a crate. Vance's crew occupied the first boxcar, low murmurs drifting over, their weapons—pipes, chains—stacked near the entrance.
The red-streaked sky faded into a deeper crimson, night settling over the tracks, the air growing thick with a damp chill. [Predator Sense] hummed, picking up faint skitters west, a growl south, but nothing immediate. The train cars creaked faintly, rust flaking from the walls, the silence broken by the occasional clink of a spear against the flatbed's barricade.
Riley climbed into the second boxcar, wiping sweat from her brow. "Watch shifts," she said, voice low. "Two hours each. Ethan, Mia—first. Cal, Tara—second. Rest now."
Ethan nodded, grabbing the shovel and standing. Mia set her bottle down, axe in hand, and joined him at the door. "West side?" she asked, stepping onto the gravel.
"Yeah," Ethan said, leading her to the flatbed's edge, where the tracks stretched into the dark. [Perception] caught the details: a thin fog rolling in from the west, curling around the rails, its edges glinting faintly in the candlelight. "Fog's new," he said, gripping the shovel tighter.
Mia adjusted her axe, peering into the haze. "Smells off—sharp, like metal."
Cal poked his head out, crowbar resting on the frame. "Fog's trouble," he said, sniffing the air. "Could hide anything."
Riley stepped up, machete drawn, joining them. "Keep eyes on it. Wake us if it moves."
Ethan and Mia took positions on the flatbed, the burly man handing them a spear to prop between the barricade's gaps. The fog thickened, swallowing the tracks fifty yards out, its metallic tang stinging their noses. [Predator Sense] pinged—a faint rustle, not a heartbeat, within the haze. Ethan tapped the shovel against the steel, a low clang echoing. "Something's in there," he said, voice steady.
Mia raised her axe, stepping closer to the edge. "Small or big?"
"Small," Ethan said, squinting into the fog. [Perception] sharpened—a flicker of legs, segmented, skittering low. "Insects."
The rustle grew, a swarm of foot-long centipedes bursting from the fog, mandibles clicking, legs churning the gravel. Ethan swung the shovel, smashing two into the dirt, ichor splattering. Mia's axe cleaved another, its body splitting, while Riley leapt down, machete slashing a pair mid-charge. The burly man roared awake, sledgehammer crushing three in one swing, waking the camp.
Cal and Tara scrambled out, crowbar and bat swinging, crushing the last few as Vance's crew joined, pipes and spears driving into the swarm. The centipedes fell, their bodies piling along the rails, the fog thinning as the threat faded.
[Monster slain: Lesser Abyssal Centipede x3]
[Attributes Gained: +1 Endurance]
[Rewards Gained: None]
Riley wiped her machete on a rag, kicking a corpse off the flatbed. "Fog brought 'em," she said, sheathing the blade. "Rest's over—shift's yours, Cal."
Cal nodded, crowbar ready, stepping up with Tara, who dragged her bat along the steel. Ethan handed the spear back to the burly man, returning to the boxcar with Mia. "Fog's still out there," he said, setting the shovel down.
"Worse'll come," Mia replied, settling onto the blanket, axe close.
Ethan leaned against the wall, the duffel at his feet, the night's chill seeping through the steel. The fog lingered west, a silent threat on the tracks.