Dusk bled into a moonless, star-choked night. The darkness under the trees was absolute, a living thing that pressed against their eyes. Hayato led the way, moving with a woodsman's quiet grace he'd learned in his ronin years. Kei followed close behind, the straw cloak rustling softly, the medical box a constant, awkward weight in her arms.
They traveled parallel to the Tokaido, close enough to use its wide, pale path as a guide, but far enough within the tree line to vanish at a moment's notice. The sounds of the day, the horror on the road, had faded into an eerie silence. No night birds called. No insects chirped. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
"It's too quiet," Kei whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Yes," Hayato agreed. It wasn't the peace of a sleeping land; it was the stillness of a graveyard.
They had been walking for perhaps two hours when Hayato stopped, holding up a hand. A new smell cut through the pine and damp earth: wood smoke. And not the clean smoke of a hearth. This was thick, greasy, carrying the scent of burnt meat.
Hayato pointed ahead and to the left, where a faint, flickering orange glow pulsed between the trees. A fire. He motioned for Kei to stay put and crept forward alone, his new katana loose in its scabbard.
He moved from trunk to trunk until he reached the edge of a small clearing. A burned-out farmhouse stood in its center, its roof collapsed, its timbers still glowing red embers. In front of it, a larger bonfire roared. Around it were people.
Not Gaki. Living people.
There were about fifteen of them. Peasants, by their rough clothing, but armed with scythes, axes, and a few spears. They looked exhausted, haunted. They huddled around the fire, passing a skin of something that wasn't water. One man, older with a grizzled beard, seemed to be in charge. He was speaking in a low, urgent voice.
"…saw it myself. Came right out of the river, dripping wet. Didn't drown. Just walked out and bit Old Man Sato's boy. The water doesn't stop 'em."
A woman cradling a sleeping child spoke up, her voice trembling. "Then where is safe, Ren? The road is death. The woods are death. The water is death. Do we just wait here to burn?"
The leader, Ren, poked the fire with a stick. "We keep moving. North. To Edo. The Shogun has an army. Walls. They'll know what to do."
A bitter laugh came from a younger man. "The Shogun? His tax collectors were the last ones through here. Took our last rice. You think he cares if we live or turn into monsters?"
Hayato was weighing whether to reveal himself when a twig snapped behind him. He spun, hand on his sword hilt.
It was Kei. She'd crept up, unable to stay alone in the dark. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses, fixed on the group of survivors.
The sound had been small, but in the silent night, it was enough. Ren and two other men were on their feet in an instant, grabbing their weapons. "Who's there?" Ren barked, squinting into the dark. "Show yourself!"
Hayato stepped into the edge of the firelight, keeping his hands visible, away from his swords. Kei hesitated, then followed.
The peasants tensed, weapons raised. They looked at Hayato's swords, his posture, the grim set of his face. "A ronin," one spat. "More trouble."
"We mean no harm," Hayato said, his voice calm and clear. "We are travelers, like you. Heading north."
Ren stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. "Travelers? With a doctor's box?" He pointed at Kei's burden. "And you move like a soldier, not a pilgrim. Who are you really?"
Kei surprised Hayato then. She pulled the hat from her head, letting her bound but clearly feminine hair be seen. She met Ren's gaze. "I am a physician. My name is Kei. I was serving Lord Kiyomori when the plague broke out. This man," she gestured to Hayato, "helped me escape. We are trying to reach Edo to warn the Shogunate and continue my research. We have… findings."
Her honesty had an effect. The mention of Lord Kiyomori, the clear evidence of the medical box, her calm tone, it softened the suspicion in Ren's eyes. The woman with the child looked up with a flicker of desperate hope. "A doctor? Can you help? My boy… he has a fever."
Kei moved immediately, without waiting for Ren's permission. She walked to the fire and knelt by the woman. She put a hand on the boy's forehead, then gently checked his neck and arms. "He is warm, but I see no marks. No black veins. It may just be exhaustion and fear. Keep him warm. Try to get him to drink a little water if you have it."
Her gentle, professional manner was a balm. The group's hostility faded, replaced by a weary curiosity. Ren lowered his spear. "You're really from the lord's compound? Then you've seen it. Is it true? The dead… walking?"
"It is true," Hayato answered, stepping fully into the circle of light. "They are fast. Strong. They feel no pain. Only hunger. And the bite or the blood passes the sickness."
A murmur of fear ran through the group. Their worst fears confirmed.
"Then we are all dead," the young man said, sinking back down.
"Not all," Kei said, looking up from the child. She glanced at Hayato, a silent question in her eyes. He gave a minute shake of his head. Not yet. Telling them about his immunity now would only cause more panic or dangerous hope. She understood. "There is much we do not know. Which is why we must reach Edo."
Ren studied them both. "You know how to fight," he said to Hayato. It wasn't a question.
"I do."
"And you might know something about this curse," he said to Kei.
"I am trying to learn."
Ren looked around at his haggard group, the elderly, the mothers, the frightened young men. He made a decision. "We travel together, then. To the next way-station. It's a fortified inn, a day's walk north. If it's still held by the living, we can rest behind walls. Safety in numbers. You fight. She tends the sick. We share what food we have."
It was a fair offer. More than fair. Hayato nodded. "Agreed."
The tension broke. They were offered a place by the fire. A woman handed them each a small, hard ball of cold rice. It was the best meal Hayato had eaten in weeks.
As they ate, they talked. The peasants' story was a mirror of countless others. The plague had hit their village two nights ago. It started with a peddler who collapsed in the square. By morning, he was up and biting. They'd fled with only what they could carry, watching their home burn behind them.
"The worst part," a young woman named Hana said, her voice hollow, "is recognizing them. Old Mrs. Yumi from the tea house… she chased me. I could see her favorite hairpin, still in place…"
The group fell into a miserable silence. Hayato finished his rice. "You said something about the river. They come out of the water?"
Ren nodded grimly. "Aye. Saw it with my own eyes. Doesn't drown 'em. Just slows 'em down. Makes 'em… soggy." He shuddered.
Kei's eyes lit with that clinical curiosity. "Fascinating. The metabolic process must be anaerobic, or at least require very little oxygen. The drowning reflex is overridden…"
The peasants stared at her, uncomprehending.
"The sickness keeps them moving, even underwater," Hayato translated roughly.
"Oh," Hana said. "That's… not comforting."
Suddenly, the boy who had been sleeping cried out, a short, sharp sound of fear. Everyone jumped. His mother shushed him, rocking him. "Hush, Koji. It's a bad dream. Just a dream."
But Koji was pointing a shaky finger past the fire, into the dark woods. "The fox lady," he whimpered. "The sad fox lady is watching us."
Hayato was on his feet in an instant, sword half-drawn. The others scrambled up, grabbing weapons, peering into the impenetrable blackness.
"I don't see anything," the young man said, his voice tight.
"A child's nightmare," another muttered, but he held his scythe ready.
Then Hayato saw it. Or rather, saw her.
At the very edge of the firelight, between two broad pine trees, stood a figure. It was a girl, no older than sixteen. She wore a torn and dirty red kimono. Her long black hair was matted with leaves. Her face was pale and streaked with dirt. And her eyes… they reflected the firelight with an animal-like glow. She stood perfectly still, just watching.
"Who's there?" Ren called, hefting his spear. "Identify yourself!"
The girl did not move. She did not speak.
"It's a Gaki!" Hana gasped. "A trick! Look at her eyes!"
But she wasn't groaning. She wasn't shambling. She was just… watching. And she looked profoundly, heartbreakingly sad.
Kei stepped forward slowly, pushing past Ren's restraining arm. "Wait," she said softly. She took a few steps toward the girl, then knelt, making herself smaller, less threatening. "Hello? Can you understand me? Are you hurt?"
The girl's head tilted, like a curious bird. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Then, a whisper, so faint it was almost lost in the crackle of the fire. "…hungry…"
The peasants recoiled. "See! She's one of them!"
But Kei held up a hand. "She spoke. The others don't speak." She looked back at the girl. "What is your name?"
The girl's whisper was a little stronger. "Sakura." She looked past Kei, directly at the huddled boy, Koji. "He is… scared. It's loud."
Kei's breath caught. "What's loud, Sakura?"
The girl brought her hands up to press against her ears, though there was no noise. "Them. The hungry ones. All the time. In here." She tapped her own temple. "Grumble, grumble, grumble. Want, want, want." Her glowing eyes filled with tears. "It never stops."
Hayato understood before the others. He lowered his sword. "You can hear them."
Sakura's eyes shifted to him. She nodded once, a jerky motion. "They're everywhere. In the woods. On the road. In the river." She pointed a thin finger north, along their intended path. "There are many that way. A… a crowd of hungry. Around the loud stone place."
"The way-station," Ren breathed, his face falling. "It's overrun."
"She could be lying!" the young man protested. "Leading us into a trap!"
Sakura flinched at the raised voice, shrinking back into the shadows. "Not lying," she whispered, hurt. "The thoughts are loud. They hurt."
Kei reached slowly into the medical box and pulled out one of the last rice cakes. She held it out. "Are you hungry for this, Sakura? For food?"
Sakura stared at the rice cake. She took a hesitant step forward, then another. She moved with a strange, graceful silence. She took the rice cake from Kei's hand. She didn't devour it. She nibbled it, like a rabbit. "Thank you," she murmured.
She was eating. Normal food.
"You're not like the others," Hayato stated.
"I was in the woods," Sakura said, her mouth full. "When the bad smoke came. From the south. It made the birds fall. I breathed it. I slept for a long time. When I woke up… I could hear." She looked at the fire, her expression lonely. "My family is gone. The village is gone. There is only the hungry noise. And the few little quiet spots, like you."
She was talking about them. The living.
Ren lowered his spear, his defiance crumbling into pity and confusion. "Gods above. What are you, girl?"
Sakura finished the rice cake and looked at Hayato with those unsettling, luminous eyes. "You," she said. "You are the quietest of all. You are… a hole in the noise. A silence that burns." She took a step closer to him, unafraid. "Can I stay with you? The quiet… feels safe."
Hayato looked at this strange, sad, psychic girl. She was a liability. She was also a warning system. And she was, unmistakably, a victim. He looked at Kei, who gave a slight, emphatic nod.
"You can stay," Hayato said. "But you do what we say. And you tell us when you hear the… hungry noise."
A small, fragile smile touched Sakura's lips. It transformed her face from a ghost's to a child's. "I will."
That night, the watch was shared. Hayato sat awake, his sword across his knees, watching the dark. Sakura sat a few feet away, hugging her knees, her eyes closed. Once, her eyes snapped open. "Three of them," she whispered. "To the west. Moving away. They… found a deer."
Another time, she pointed east. "One. Alone. It's… thinking about the moon. It's confused."
Hayato didn't know what to make of her. But as the first true light of dawn began to bleach the sky, and the group stirred to move, he realized something. With Sakura, they weren't just blindly fleeing. They were navigating a world of invisible threats. She was their fox, their guide through the rotting forest.
And as they shouldered their meager packs and left the burned farm behind, Hayato took one last look at the road ahead—the road to the "loud stone place," the way-station, now a nest of the hungry dead. Thanks to the fox-girl, they would not be walking into it blind.
The game had changed. They were no longer just survivors. They were becoming hunters.