The Sanctuary of 17B

Chapter 10: The Balcony Beast

The silence that followed the mimicry of his own voice felt like a physical weight. Dimas stood by the balcony door, the mop handle in his hand feeling suddenly flimsy, like a twig against an oncoming tide. He signaled Alina to stay back, his gaze fixed on the locked glass door.

"It’s mimicking me again," Dimas whispered, his voice barely a tremor. "Whatever is out there, it’s trying to goad us into opening up."

Alina moved up beside him, her knuckles white as she gripped the kitchen knife. "Should we barricade the balcony? If it can reach the glass, it can probably shatter it."

"No," Dimas breathed, his eyes narrowed. "If we barricade it, we won't see it coming if it breaks through. We need a sightline. If it tries anything, I’m ready."

Skritch. Skritch.

The sound came again, but it was less rhythmic this time, more desperate. It sounded like something heavy and soft shuffling against the concrete.

"That doesn't sound like the spider-things," Alina noted, her voice wavering. "It sounds… clumsy."

Dimas took a breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I’m going to check. One inch. If it’s not what we expect, we slam it shut and lock it."

"Dimas, don't," Sarah called out from the kitchen, her voice sharp with fear. "Think of the kids."

"I am thinking of the kids," Dimas replied, reaching for the sliding handle. "If we don't know what’s out there, we can’t defend against it. We’re sitting ducks if we don't know our surroundings."

He turned the lock with a soft click and eased the door open just wide enough to slide his hand through. The frigid, metallic air of the outside world rushed in, smelling of ozone and something else—something raw, earthy, and pungent.

He didn't see a spindly, nightmare-limbed shadow. Instead, as the sliver of space widened, he saw a mountain of grey feathers and a bulbous, shifting mass.

"What in the hell?" Dimas muttered, pushing the door open a few more inches.

It wasn't a monster of the void. It was a pigeon—or it had been once. It was the size of a small sofa, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle, feathers matted with the same thick, grey dust that characterized the fog. It was shuffling blindly, its beak clacking against the balcony railing, a low, cooing sound rattling in its throat.

"It’s a bird?" Alina shoved past him, her eyes wide. "It’s massive, but… it’s just a bird."

The creature bumped into the door frame, its head lolling. It seemed completely unaware of their presence. Its eyes were milky, clouded over with the same grey, sightless film that plagued the people in the lobby.

"It’s blind," Dimas realized, his shoulders dropping from his ears. "The fog got to it too. It’s disoriented. It’s just trying to find a place to nest."

"It’s an abomination," Alina said, though her fear was rapidly being replaced by a predatory kind of calculation. "Look at the size of those thighs, Dimas. That’s enough meat to feed all of us for three days."

Dimas stared at the giant, feathered carcass. The idea made his stomach churn, but then he looked back at the room. He saw Siti trying to comfort a whimpering Budi, and he saw the empty noodle packet on the floor.

"You’re serious?" Dimas asked, his voice low. "We don't even know if it’s edible. It’s been out in that... that stuff."

"We’ve been breathing the stuff," Alina countered, stepping onto the balcony with the knife held low. "If the fog hasn't erased our brains yet, maybe our bodies can handle a bit of protein. Are you going to let those kids starve because you’re squeamish?"

Dimas looked at the bird, which let out a mournful, guttural coo. It was pathetic, really. It was just a scavenger trying to survive in a world that had forgotten how to make sense.

"Fine," Dimas said, his voice hardening. "But do it fast. We don't want the noise attracting any of those tall things."

Alina didn't hesitate. She stepped onto the concrete, her movements swift and practiced. She caught the creature by the neck, and with a single, brutal motion, she drove the knife into the base of its skull. The bird didn't even struggle; it simply collapsed, a heavy thud that shook the balcony.

"Got it," Alina said, her voice breathy. "Help me drag it in. It’s heavier than it looks."

They hauled the carcass through the sliding door, the wingspan nearly filling the entire living room. The others scrambled back, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and ravenous curiosity.

"Is that… a pigeon?" Sarah asked, her voice cracking.

"A big one," Dimas said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Siti, can you handle this? We need to gut it and check the meat. If it’s tainted, we bin it immediately. No exceptions."

Siti moved forward, her nurse’s pragmatism overriding her shock. She grabbed the knife from Alina. "I’ve dressed enough game in my village to know what good meat looks like. If the blood is clear, we’re good. If it’s grey… we don't touch it."

The room went silent as Siti began to work. Every eye in the room was fixed on her hands. As she made the first cut, a collective breath was held. The blood that welled up wasn't grey or oily; it was dark, thick, and red.

"It’s clean," Siti whispered, a tremor of relief in her voice. "The muscle looks normal. It’s not… it’s not like the fog."

"Thank god," Sarah exhaled, leaning back against the wall.

"We have to cook it well," Dimas said, his tone back to his 'tactical' mode. "No rare bits. We boil it, we roast it, we do whatever we have to, but we make sure nothing survives the fire."

"I can do that," Siti said, already clearing the small kitchen counter. "I’ll use the rest of the water to make a proper broth. We’ll save the fat to store the leftovers. This is a blessing, Dimas."

"It’s a resource," Dimas corrected, though his gaze softened as he looked at the kids. "Let's call it a win."

Alina walked over to him, leaning against the kitchen wall. "You okay? You look like you’re about to pass out."

Dimas looked at the apartment—the barricaded windows, the whiteboard with their rules, the pile of feathers being swept into a corner. "I just keep thinking about what else is out there. If a pigeon can grow that big, what else has changed?"

"Then we adapt," Alina said, reaching out to pat his arm. "Like you always say. We analyze, we plan, we execute. We’re not the ones losing, Dimas. We’re still here."

"Yeah," Dimas muttered, watching Siti carefully clean a piece of meat. "We’re still here."

The smell of cooking meat began to fill the room—a rich, fatty scent that was miles away from the stale, salty noodles they’d been living on. It was intoxicating. Budi and Leo were sitting up now, their eyes following the movement of the ladle as Siti poured the broth into their bowls.

"Eat," Siti said softly, handing a cup to each of them. "It’s hot. Take your time."

Dimas sat on the floor, his own portion in hand. It tasted gamey, intense, and incredibly rich. He felt a wave of warmth spread through his chest—a literal, physiological boost that made his head feel clearer than it had in days.

"We’re going to be okay for a few more days," Dimas said, looking around at the group. "But we can't get comfortable. That bird didn't come here by accident. It was looking for shelter. Which means the cold or the fog is getting worse out there."

"So we climb?" Alina asked, her eyes meeting his.

"We climb," Dimas agreed. "But tonight, we eat. We get our strength back. Tomorrow, we prepare to breach the stairwell."

He looked at the whiteboard, at the tally marks he’d drawn for their survival. One, two, three… nine days. Nine days of living in a box, holding onto their names, holding onto their sanity.

"I remember the feeling of a perfect aim," Dimas said, his voice low and firm, almost as if he were reciting a mantra. "The focus. The silence. I’m going to keep that. We’re all going to keep that."

"I remember the smell of my art supplies," Alina whispered.

"I remember the sound of the heart monitor," Sarah added.

"I remember my boy’s laugh," Siti finished, stroking Budi’s hair.

Dimas leaned back, the warmth of the food settling in his stomach. The apartment was still a trap, and the world outside was still a nightmare of shifting shadows and erased memories. But as he watched them eat—really eat—for the first time, he felt the icy grip of the fog loosen just a fraction.

"We win this round," Dimas whispered to himself, his hand resting on the mop handle. "One round at a time."

The night outside stayed black and silent, the fog pressing against the glass like a ghost, but inside, the fire was burning, and for now, that was enough.