Chapter 1
“You know, every horror movie starts with a road like this.”
Francis had his boots up on the dashboard again. Mud was drying across the laces in thick brown streaks, and every time he shifted his feet, dirt fell into my truck floorboards.
“For the last time Franky, if you get mud in my vents again, I’m leaving you in Tennessee.”
“Yeah? In the middle of nowhere?”
“No. Specifically Tennessee.”
Clarence laughed quietly from the backseat, barely looking up from the GPS tablet balanced on his knee.
“We technically crossed into Virginia about twenty minutes ago.”
“Then I’m leaving him in Virginia.”
Outside, snow drifted sideways through the headlights. The mountains around us were almost invisible behind the storm. Tall black pines crowded the road so tightly it looked like the forest was trying to swallow the truck whole.
The weather report said light snowfall.
The weather report was full of shit.
Francis rubbed his hands together near the heater vent.
“So remind me again why exactly we volunteered for this?”
“We didn’t volunteer,” I answered. “We got volunteered.”
“Same difference.”
Clarence adjusted his glasses.
“The mining company lost contact with Survey Team Delta three days ago. Last transmission came from Black Pines Ridge near an abandoned logging route.”
“See that?” Francis said, pointing at Clarence. “That right there? That's why you don’t let nerds explain things. He somehow made missing people sound boring.”
Clarence smirked.
“They’re probably trapped in the snow.”
“Or dead.”
“Thanks Francis.”
“You’re welcome.”
The truck bounced violently as we hit another pothole buried beneath the snow.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
The road ahead narrowed even further. Trees leaned overhead like skeletal fingers. Our headlights barely cut through the snowfall anymore.
Then the radio crackled.
All three of us looked up immediately.
Static.
Then:
“—hello?”
Francis slowly lowered his feet from the dashboard.
The voice was weak.
Male.
Breathing hard.
“Please…”
Clarence grabbed the receiver.
“This is Recovery Team Echo. Identify yourself.”
Static burst loudly.
Then:
“They’re still outside.”
A chill crawled up my spine.
“Who is this?” Clarence asked.
No response.
Then something else came through the speaker.
Whistling.
Soft.
Human.
Slow and uneven.
Francis looked toward the woods.
“Tell me that’s interference.”
The whistling continued for another few seconds before the radio went dead completely.
Nobody talked after that.
About ten minutes later, we found the camp.
Or what was left of it.
The first thing I noticed was the silence.
No generators.
No voices.
No movement.
Just snow falling through dead floodlights.
The second thing I noticed was the blood.
“Aw hell,” Francis muttered quietly.
The campsite sat in a clearing surrounded by thick woods. Four tents had been shredded open from the inside. Equipment cases were overturned everywhere. Snowmobiles sat abandoned under heavy snow buildup.
One of them was still running.
“How long does a snowmobile stay running?” Francis asked.
“Not three days,” Clarence answered.
I killed the truck engine.
The silence afterward felt wrong.
Like the woods were listening.
“Alright,” I said, pulling my jacket tighter. “Everybody stays close. No splitting up.”
Francis chambered a round into his rifle.
“You worried about bears?”
“No.”
That answer hung in the air.
Clarence grabbed the floodlight from the truck bed while I checked the nearest tent.
Inside was frozen blood.
Lots of it.
But no bodies.
“No drag marks,” Clarence said from behind me.
“Heavy snowfall probably covered them.”
“No,” Clarence whispered.
He pointed.
The blood stopped abruptly near the tent entrance.
Like whoever was bleeding had simply vanished.
Francis shined his flashlight toward the tree line.
“You guys smell that?”
I paused.
At first I thought it was the cold.
Then it hit me.
Rot.
Not normal decay.
Something sour.
Wet.
Animalistic.
Clarence covered his nose.
“What the hell is that?”
Francis slowly aimed his rifle toward the woods.
The smell grew stronger.
Then we heard it.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Footsteps in the snow.
Slow.
Heavy.
Circling the camp.
“Hello?” I shouted.
The footsteps stopped.
Complete silence again.
Then:
“Gunth…”
My blood froze.
That voice came from the trees.
Soft.
Almost hidden beneath the wind.
But it was my mother’s voice.
Francis immediately turned toward me.
“You heard that too right?”
Before I could answer, Clarence whispered:
“No…”
He sounded terrified.
“That's not possible.”
Then another voice came from deeper in the woods.
This time:
“Francis…”
A woman’s voice.
Francis staggered backward slightly.
“Greene?”
The flashlight in his hand shook.
The woods ahead remained completely black.
Then something moved between the trees.
Tall.
Too tall.
It stepped behind another pine before the flashlight fully caught it.
But I saw enough.
Its arms were wrong.
Far too long.
“Back to the truck,” I said immediately.
Nobody argued.
We moved together carefully, weapons raised.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The footsteps matched ours now.
Keeping pace.
Circling.
Watching.
Then Clarence stopped suddenly.
“Guys…”
His voice cracked.
I turned.
There were footprints beside us in the snow now.
Bare human footprints.
Huge ones.
And they appeared one at a time.
As if something invisible was walking beside us.
Francis whispered:
“Tell me you guys see that.”
Then the radio in the truck came alive again.
Static screamed through the speakers.
And through the static came my own voice.
“Back to the truck.”
End of Chapter 1
