Wayward Pines Novels & Stories

“There’s never any time for wandering, so you have to make time for it. Otherwise, you could live your entire life without ever seeing the world. That would be a terrible waste.” “But how do you make time when there really isn’t any? I haven’t even finished half a day of this assignment, and I’ll probably be given another one immediately afterward. Maybe somewhere even farther away.” “Sometimes it’s as simple as changing your perspective.” “What do you mean?” “For me, what we’re doing right now already counts as wandering.” They reached a wide open field bordering the villagers’ rice paddies, directly west of the cliff at the summit of Mount Wijil.

The road into Black Hollow narrowed the farther Evelyn Hart drove, until the asphalt itself seemed to hesitate, curling into the dark woods like a reluctant traveler. Towering pines pressed in from both sides, their needles whispering in the wind, and for a moment she wondered if she had taken a wrong turn somewhere past the county line. Her GPS had given up an hour ago, screen flashing with the cruel taunt: No signal.

Iris “Welcome to Whispering Pines!” the cheerful pilot announces as our small private plane touches down on what can barely even be called a runway. It’s more like a cleared strip of land in the middle of nowhere. My eyes widen as I look out the window and recognize the familiar landscape of rolling hills and dense forest. No fucking way. “Arthur…” I start, turning to face him. He’s grinning like a kid in a candy shop. “Surprise,” he says simply.

Her head hung limp as if that would lessen the pain. However, Dad seemed to have lost his mind. He threw down the pole and drove his fist into Queenie's face. Then, he grabbed her by the neck and yelled, "You'll pay for all the pain Yvonne suffered!" Queenie's face was turning blue. Her struggling faltered. Just then, Yannis' disdainful voice sounded. "I've underestimated you, Benjamin Linnus." Dad finally let go of Queenie and turned to him. He walked slowly over to Yannis, his expression dark as a cloud.

POV: ARAYA Dawn pools cold in the Vale of Hollow Winds, a pale film over black pines and frost-bitten grass. Breath ghosts from my lips. The air tastes like iron, pine sap, and the tension before a blade is drawn. Across the clearing, Dorian moves. Not trains. Moves—like the world is something he wears well.

“So are you.” There was silence and the wind rustled through the leaves overhead, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and something she couldn’t place but it was warm, rich, grounding. She almost thought it came from him. She took a step closer without realizing it. “I don’t think I recognize you,” she said. “Are you from the city?” His lips curved, faint but noticeable. “You could say that.” “That’s not an answer.” “No,” he agreed, and for a moment the air between them reduced, it was charged, as though his words carried more weight than words.

Three Weeks Later Warm, real sunlight streamed through the windows of the small, hidden cabin. It wasn’t the ranger station, nor the Crossroads. This was somewhere Winters had taken them—a long-abandoned forestry outpost tucked into a golden, sunlit valley far from the scorched battleground. Undiscoverable. Still.

Open land gave way to trees‚ dense‚ tall‚ endless rows of dark pines pressing close against both sides of the road until the sky was barely visible through the canopy. He turned again‚ this time onto a private road marked by a heavy iron gate that swung open automatically as the Phantom approached. A small brass plaque on the stone pillar read WOLFE in engraved letters. The gate closed behind us‚ heavy bars sliding shut with a mechanical groan‚ sealing us inside what was unmistakably private family land. The road narrowed. The trees thickened. The light dimmed as the canopy grew denser overhead‚ the pines towering so high on either side they blocked out most of the afternoon sun.

"They kept our eastern trade routes open last winter. We owe them at least a conversation." Blythe rested her hands on the table. "They will receive a modest ration increase. Enough to sustain, not to encourage dependency." A few murmured nods; others, tight-lipped resistance. Beta Vegas, arms crossed at Vito's right, added, "Our border scouts have also reported odd movement near the Weeping Pines—an abandoned area. There are no scent trails. No known rogue markings." Elder Marlow raised a brow. "The Weeping Pines are near the Greenhouse ruins, aren't they?"

"I know I sound crazy, but you have to believe me when I say that I have a bad feeling. I know something is wrong. I need to get to him." Adam's mother thinks again about my words. It's as if I can see her thoughts processing through the black of her eyes. "Alright," she says. "Let's go. Come on." She drives us down a road I've never been on before, and it suddenly turns to dirt. I realize it's because I've never been this north of Waindale, an area close to the mountains and blanketed by dense forest. The ground is uneven and rocky, bouncing me around in my seat. When I stare out at the trees, they seem to carry on forever, never thinning out, only becoming thicker, so close that they seem