The Devouring Age - Chapter 11 – The Final Crossing

The trio finally reached the edge of the lower valley—a wide river of blackish water, reflecting the crimson sky like molten glass. The Quetzalcoatlus circled high above, keeping them in sight. The roar of the giant predator echoed behind them, closer now, sending tremors through the earth.

Garrison motioned toward a narrow fallen log spanning the river. “This is it. Cross carefully. Don’t make a sound.”

The log was slick with moss, trembling slightly in the current. Marla stepped on it, testing its stability. Andrew followed, arms outstretched, heart thudding. The river below was a frothing, dark ribbon. Something stirred beneath the surface—shapes moving just out of reach.

They made it halfway when the air shifted—the tear they had passed earlier, pulsing violently on the opposite bank. Its glow reflected in the water, making the surface flicker unnaturally. Marla felt her stomach turn. The thing from the tear had followed them.

Behind them, the predator emerged—a colossal hybrid of scales, claws, and teeth. Its roar cracked the air, and the Quetzalcoatlus dove in, screeching. The river below erupted. Something large twisted through the water.

Garrison shoved them forward. “Move! Don’t look back!”

Marla stumbled but Andrew caught her. They ran the final steps across the log. The moment they hit the bank, Garrison lunged toward the tear. It pulsed, the edges stretching wider than before, a violent light illuminating the valley.

He stepped in.

Marla hesitated. “Garrison!”

He looked back. “Go! Now!”

Andrew grabbed her hand. Together, they leapt into the tear. Light swallowed them. The sounds of predators, the Quetzalcoatlus’s screech, and the distant, echoing roars of prehistoric hunters faded into nothing.

They fell—not into air, not into water, but into emptiness. Time fractured around them, and a strange, hollow calm pressed in.

When they landed, the air smelled familiar. The forest around them was quiet. Gentle. Safe.

Marla opened her eyes. They were back—behind their cottage, the storm clouds gone, the forest still. The tear was gone. No predators, no monsters, no red sky.

Andrew pulled her close. “We made it.”

Marla nodded, voice trembling. “But… Garrison?”

They looked for him. Nothing. No trace of the survivor who had guided them.

And somewhere, deep in the woods, a low whisper of air moved through the trees—a reminder that the rift still existed, somewhere, waiting.

Epilogue – Shadows in the Present

Life resumed, but nothing felt the same. Marla and Andrew could hear the echoes of the forest in their dreams: the distant roar of tyrannosaurs, the screech of winged predators, and the faint, alien whispers from the tear.

They never spoke of what they had seen—no one would believe them. Yet sometimes, at night, Marla could swear she saw movement in the corner of her eye: a shadow that didn’t belong, a glimmer of scales in the moonlight.

One evening, while checking the back of their property, Andrew noticed something carved into the mud: a boot print, fresh, unmistakable, pointing toward the woods.

Marla froze. “Not again…”

Somewhere, beyond the veil of time, the world they had escaped still waited. And the creatures—both natural and unnatural—were patient. They did not forget.

And one day, the tear would open again.

To be continued…

Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model