Night falls silently on the ruins of an explosion. Marina awakens, wounded, disoriented, hidden among bushes and smoke. She doesn't know where she is, but she immediately understands one thing: someone wanted to kill her. With her senses clouded and her heart pounding, she begins to walk through the dark countryside, following the lights of a seemingly sleeping town. The icy water of a fountain becomes her baptism of survival, a gesture to cleanse herself not only of blood, but of a life that no longer exists. In a quiet café, between a cup of cappuccino and the local newspaper, a piece of news hits her like a gunshot: the inexplicable death of the person closest to her. From that moment, fear turns to awareness. Nothing is random anymore. Nothing is over. Only the darkness, now, can keep her alive.
After an explosion that devastates a highway rest area, a woman awakens among the ruins — wounded, but alive. Thus begins a desperate race against time to stay hidden in the shadows
Tales. The Mystery of the Abandoned House in Foppolo. Chapter 18 A: Survivor in the Shadows
The light of sunset fades slowly, like a candle surrendering to the dark. Now the night wraps around me completely, and the only glow comes from the headlights sweeping across the wreckage. I can hear them turning on, one by one, like eyes searching through the ruins. Every muscle in my body feels carved from wood. I’ve been crouched in these bushes too long — trapped and protected at the same time by the tangle of branches and thorns.
It’s time to move.
I rise with effort, each motion slow, deliberate. The pain in my head has dulled, but a high metallic ringing still fills my ears. When I breathe, I smell damp soil, gunpowder, burnt metal. My hands are dark red, streaked with dried blood and scratches. Sometimes my vision swims, but I stay upright.
Ahead, beyond the fields, I see lights. Houses, maybe. A town.
I want to pull out my phone, find out where I am — but when I take it from my pocket, I know it’s useless. The screen is cracked, splintered like ice. I touch it with my thumb: dead. Maybe that’s for the best. If I turned it on, they’d find me.
Yes… them.
And if up there, in the dark, a drone was still circling — searching for my body, waiting for the glow of a screen to pin me down?
I walk along the edge of the fields, avoiding the beaten paths.
The ground is soft, cold, sinking under my feet. The darkness protects me, but it also confuses me. Every now and then I still hear the echo of the blast, as if the memory itself had a sound that refuses to fade....
