The lead creature pauses, head tilting. Up close, it's worse than I imagined. Human-shaped but stretched, like someone grabbed a person by the head and feet and pulled until the proportions went all wrong. Its eyes reflect the laptop screen, twin points of hungry light.
"You're here for me, right? The nosy journalist who wouldn't leave well enough alone?" I take a deliberate step closer to the laptop, drawing its attention to the screen. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not running."
It speaks, and the sound scrapes against my skull. "You... see... too much."
"Occupational hazard." My hands shake, but my voice stays steady. "Though I have to say, your intimidation technique needs work. The whole 'lurking in the shadows' thing is very last century."
The creature moves closer. Twenty feet. Fifteen.
Fear floods my system—adrenaline making everything sharp and bright and immediate. Every instinct I've ever had screams at me to run, to hide, to make myself small and invisible and safe.
I plant my feet and hold my ground.
"You know what your problem is?" I continue, backing toward the laptop but slowly, controlled. "You rely on people being afraid. On them disappearing when things get difficult."
Ten feet. Close enough to see the wrongness of its face, the way its mouth stretches too wide.
"But I'm done disappearing."
It lunges.
I dive sideways, rolling behind the fallen log as quickly as my pudgy legs can propel me.
Which is way faster than I would have imagined. I guess being potentially shredded by a zombie werewolf can motivate even the most plus of the plus sized.
Claws rake the air where my head was. The laptop crashes to the ground, screen flickering but staying lit.
"Now would be good!" I shout into the radio.
The forest explodes into motion.
The howl cuts through the night air like broken glass as the three mutant wolves scatter. I don't flinch anymore—three days of preparation have worn the edge off supernatural terror, replaced it with something steadier.
Focus.
"Movement on the north ridge." Caleb's voice calls on the radio, calm as if he's reporting a traffic violation. "Two figures. Maybe three."
I adjust my position behind the log, pulling over the laptop to balance on my knees. The screen glows blue-white in the darkness, displaying the pattern I've been tracking for weeks. "Consistent with the 1987 incident. They'll circle counterclockwise, test the perimeter before committing."
"Copy that." No question in his tone. No second-guessing my analysis. Just acceptance and action. "Rowan, shift east. Mara, hold your position."
The trust hits me sideways—not the desperate, clinging kind that demands proof, but the steady sort built from shared honesty. He doesn't ask if I'm sure. I don't ask if he believes me.
"Contact." Mara's voice, sharp with adrenaline. "They're faster than expected."
I scan my notes, cross-referencing behavior patterns. "The moon phase. It's two days past full—they're operating at peak strength but losing patience. They'll rush the center instead of wearing us down."
Caleb's response comes without hesitation. "All units, adjust for aggressive approach. Ellie, how long do we have?"
"Minutes. Maybe less." I save the file, close the laptop. The bait phase is ending; now I become part of the solution instead of the problem. "The 1987 report mentioned disorientation when their attack pattern was disrupted. If we break their formation…"
"They'll scatter or consolidate." Caleb finishes the thought. "Either way, we control the engagement."
Something crashes through the underbrush twenty yards to my left. I don't run. Running is what it expects, what it's evolved to trigger and chase. Instead, I stand slowly, deliberately, making myself visible in the clearing.
"Showtime." I key the radio once, then clip it to my belt.
The creature emerges from the tree line like a nightmare given form—too tall, joints bent at wrong angles, eyes that reflect light like broken mirrors. Behind it, its companions materialize from shadow.