Authors note: aaaa i cant believe i finished the second chapter! I was really worried i was gonna lose interest but people seem so genuinely interested in this and im so grateful OTL Thank you so much readers for your comments+kudos, i'll keep doing my best! btw this one is a little more edgy than the first but its from the pov of an upset 12 year old so what can u do really 8')

Trigger warnings for this chapter; Mentions of animal death.

POV: Zak.

It's a hunting day. I hate these days. People think I'm naive, and maybe I am, but I just can't bring myself to accept that killing is a way of life. I don't want to believe that my life is more valuable than an anyone else's, even an animal's. My connection with them is too deep. Well. . . Cryptids at least. Not something like a seal. Maybe that's the part that means something. Maybe there really is a reason for the foodchain. After all, I don't feel bad when we put out the mosquito zappers. I've never even thought about going vegan. So why does it feel so much worse when instead of picking up beef at the supermarket, I'm carrying it fresh in my arms?

More importantly, how did humans end up on top of the chain when most of society topples over because they're scared of a kid?

I guess I'm not really a kid anymore though. At least, I'm trying not to be. When I think about being at home, watching tv with my brothers, I'd give anything for it. But I'm here, and I have to be strong if I want to see them again. Even when things started getting scary, when we had to split up, when my parents stopped responding, I never lost hope. My mom always raised me to look for the silver lining in things, and that if I keep my head up I'll be ok.

But she also told me that we can get through anything, so long as we have each other. . . What about when we don't have each other? Sure, I have Uncle Doyle and Zon. . . but they have about the same capacity for support. A.k.a., sitting in awkward silence, occasionally making a sympathetic noise.

He's trying his best, I can tell, but he's just as ruthless and reckless as always. Usually with mom and dad, there's more of a balance. Most of the time, I can't tell if he wants me to toughen up or ease back. It's hard to know what he's thinking. He'll try to do a backflip on a snowmobile going 90 miles per hour, but if you try to get him to talk about feelings he's suddenly elusive. Being around an ancient cryptid anti-christ isn't what scares him, no, It's the concept of missing someone that has him sweating. We're in the same boat there, or more like the same sinking ship. I just wish he wasn't trying to keep it to himself.

Casually the snowmobile grinds to a stop. We're here faster than usual, I guess he wasn't lying when he said he wanted to do this fast.

"Get the bags ready."

Bag duty. Just like always. I want to do more, but when I see him pull the harpoon out my heart sinks. I stare at the frozen ground and my hands head towards our supplies. I stop about an inch away. My eyes dart back up. I can feel something. It's close, and it's watching us.

"Zak?"

It's getting closer. For some reason, I no longer feel at the top of the foodchain.

Seconds pass and it starts to feel far away, but not really. It's as if it can still see us somehow. I look for the threat, but it's traces are fading fast. My reaction feels overblown and I lower my guard.

". . . I thought I heard something."

"Uhh. . . Like a seal?"

Wow.

"No, like a cr-"

My heart jumps again. It's circled back. I still can't see it. Why can't I see it. . . I look down. It's not in front of us. It's beneath.

Suddenly it flies up at me, shattering the ice and rippling the water of the basin. I lose my balance and fall back onto the snow, before locking eyes with the creature. It's angry. My body doesn't want to move but as I see Doyle go under, I'm able to break into a dire sprint for the snowmobile. I shuffle around in the storage compartment, looking for the claw. I try not to carry it on me anymore. It's a dead giveaway to locals that I'm the harbinger of the apocalypse or whatever. Seemed like a good idea, until now.

As my hands clasp around it my eyes are immediately enveloped in a burning amber. With my confidence slowly crawling back, I turn to face the cryptid. It's tall, much taller than a man, and even though it came from water, it's covered in a thick brown fur. It bares its teeth at me. It wanted to claim this area as it's territory, and it's more than prepared to fight me for it. I raise my claw and concentrate.

"We're not trying to take anything from you, we just needed a seal. It's uh. . . the foodchain, y'know?"

It whines at me before curling into a defensive position. It's hostile for sure, but mostly it seems. . . lost. Most of them are. Ever since Argost started name dropping Kur, it hasn't just been humans freaking out. Cryptids keep finding me, Doyle jokingly calls them 'my biggest fans', but I don't see it like that. It feels more like children getting in trouble and looking for their parent to rescue them, and while I definitely didn't sign up to be a parent, I do feel responsible for them. After all, I'm destined to 'lead' them. I just hope it's not in a evil dictator way.

"HEY! This isn't going any further until you save my uncle. Then we can talk"

I raise my claw higher, my eyes glow brighter as our connection grows stronger, I can tell it wants to understand me. A headache starts building, but I keep the connection. Eventually, and with much hesitation, it decides to back down. I watch it slip back into the water. Seconds start passing, which turn into minutes. My anxiety steadily grows. I decide to hold my breath until it returns. It makes me feel better, if I can do it, so can he. It seems like ages before the cryptid emerges, and proceeds to slide me a very wet, and very irritated, Doyle. I rush to his side as he gasps for air, which reminds me to exhale. His breathing is rushed and sporadic, but it's better than not breathing at all. Next to me, the cryptid lets out an eery whistling sound. It wants to finish our negotiation, and words cannot express how not up for that I am right now.

"Look, I have to get him inside, I'll come back and help you later!"

It bares its teeth again, letting out a snarl. Before it can approach me, I concentrate harder, repeating myself mentally till it starts to sinks in. The creature, looking just as tired as I am from this ordeal, glares at me and huffs before disappearing into the water. . . Oh god. I really am a parent. I just told that cryptid to go to it's room.

I focus on the matter at hand and drag Doyle towards the snowmobile. He's absolutely freezing. His breathing has evened out but it's still fast, choppy from shivering, and he doesn't seem that responsive. His eyelids flutter when I say his name, but he doesn't even stir.

With a sigh I mount us both to the vehicle. The last time I tried to drive this thing, I ended up crashing through the shed and flying into a snowbank.

You get to be a man today, I tell myself. You're gonna learn how to drive. It's easy, you just uh. . . turn it on and. . .

I can't remember how to turn it on.

I press a button randomly, and brace for impact.

. . .

Nothing. All right.

I do the same to another button. Still, Nothing. I press a few more, flip a few switches, etc. Getting antsy, I pull a chord and finally hear the engine rev to life. Hah! Step one complete!

I think back as hard as I can, and remember seeing Doyle press on the handlebars. I try leaning forward to replicate it. It starts moving. I'm doing it!

I quickly pick up speed. Now for step three: Steering.

. . . Howww did he steer it again?

Involuntarily, I start zig zagging. I rush to slam the other handlebar, assuming it must be the brake. My assumptions are good and we come to a violent halt that nearly sends me flying.

"S-Stop-God- Y-You're G-Gonna kill us."

I whip around.

"Doyle!"

Though barely conscious, he places his hands next to mine.

"You gotta- t-turn it. . . Like a s-steering wheel."

Slowly, I press the throttle again, tilting it back and forth gently. My mario kart skills shine through. I'm actually driving!

"L-lean with the turns."

I smile. "C'mon Doyle, don't be a backseat driver."

He lets out a shaky laugh. The secret step four of driving a snowmobile that's often forgotten; Break the tension so you don't spend the entire drive home worrying about your only immediate family dying on you, and leaving you to your own devices in the Alaskan bush.

Once I get my bearings, I head home with no problem, after coming here so many times I recognize every landmark. Even if I needed help, I think I might know where we are better than Doyle right now, which would make me feel super cool if he wasn't so out of it because he's. Yknow. Dying.

"We're almost home." I say.

". . . What? How fast are you going?"

He speaks shakily, but the shivering has stopped. I can't tell if that's a good sign or not.

"Oh, mister 70 miles per hour is concerned?"

He rolls his eyes at me. Eventually, I come to a rather abrupt stop near our cabin. My driving definitely still has room for improvement. I start helping Doyle inside, practically dragging him. Zon trills at us with concern when we enter.

"It's okay girl." I pat her comfortingly. "We just. . . hit a snag." Really, a snag hit us. A tall, furry, angry snag that wants me to be it's real estate agent.

Doyle stumbles to his bedroom, stripping his coat off and dropping it in the hall. I go to the closet and start pulling out blankets, turning around when I hear a small thump. He's kneeling in the doorway and looks like he's going to be sick.

"I'm fine I just. . . want to sleep for a while." He says while practically crawling to the couch, before letting his body drop onto it haphazardly.

"Wake me up around 6 so I can start dinner. . ." He says with his eyes shut, it's like he's already asleep. I lay out a blanket on him and sit next to Zon.

I check on him a lot, making sure he's still breathing and all that. Mostly I sit and think, idly stroking the back of Zon's neck. A few times I try and think of a plan for if he doesn't wake up, just in case, but I don't get very far. The reality starts to hit me that even though I can drive a snowmobile, and I don't cry over hunting anymore, I'm not ready to be on my own yet.

I look towards the clock. 4:30. He hasn't even turned.

Maybe it's better to distract myself. My mind wanders to the rest of my family. When things like this happen I almost feel bad, I'm sure they're just as worried about us as we are about them, and I hate giving them a reason to be, even if they don't know it's happening. My heart tends to race when I imagine what kind of scenarios they might have found themselves in, I try to tell myself it's just paranoia, but then I look at us. Things aren't too optimistic here right now.

4:30 turns to 5, which eventually turns to 5:30. Distracting definitely isn't working. I can't take it anymore, I nudge him awake as gently as I can.

"Doyle?"

No response.

I lean down and check his breathing again. He's okay. . . . Well actually, he's alive, and I'm starting to think I should raise my standards.

"Doyle!" I shake him. He moans, but won't budge.

I sit on the floor with a heavy sigh. I feel like screaming. Not even to wake him up, I'm just at my wits end. If my mom was here, she'd know exactly what was wrong. I have no way to help him. Not to mention, we're in the middle of nowhere. The closest village is in Teller, 30 miles away from our cabin.

I take another look at him.

. . . If I drive 70 miles per hour, I can make it there in less than 30 minutes.