For her part, Pru was frustrated. She couldn’t understand why McCoy was being so skittish—he was a handler, for Pete’s sake. He’d been dealing with stuff like this for years. And she thought of herself as a handler-in-training. She knew that she had a lot to learn, but it wasn’t like she was going to freak out at the simple sight of something monstrous. After all, she had been seeing such things for years.
She was about to say as much, but suddenly a woman came bursting through the foliage, her face set in a mask of unbridled terror. She was running like a cartoon character, with both arms extended in front of her, palms outward, as if she intended to push anything in her path out of the way. She was making a shrill keening sound and, though Pru couldn’t be sure in the darkness, the woman’s arm appeared to be bleeding.
McCoy stepped out and caught the woman as she sped by, a move which even Pru saw was a disaster waiting to happen, for the woman was in no mood to be stopped. She let out a terrified wail and began to flog McCoy, who tried to shield himself with one arm while grasping the woman’s waist with the other.
“Hey, lady!” Pru shouted as she jumped to McCoy’s side. “Cut it out! Calm down, we’re here to help!”
Though the woman didn’t pause in her assault of poor McCoy, she turned to regard Pru. Her eyes, wide with fright, slowly began to focus, and her thrashing lost much of its urgency. As if some unseen switch had been pulled, he woman sank into McCoy’s grasp, sobbing uncontrollably.
“It’s okay,” McCoy said, gently allowing the woman to settle into a sitting position on the ground. He opened his mouth to say something else, but just then two more people erupted onto the scene. A man with comically disheveled hair was half-carrying, half-dragging another woman. The second woman obviously had an injured leg, as she was hopping more than running as she attempted to keep up with her male counterpart.
The man saw McCoy and stopped, but the woman just kept right on hopping along. The man still had a grip on the fleeing woman and was violently jerked forward. The pair fell into a jumbled mass of arms and legs in the middle of the path.
McCoy performed a brief evaluation and saw that the man was the most coherent of the three new arrivals. The guy looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and his clothes, while appropriate for the climate and conditions, had obviously been purchased at some high-end retail shop. He was certainly not a local; most likely, he was a member of the documentary crew.
“What happened here?” McCoy asked the man, who was trying to untangle himself from the woman and regain his feet. “What are you running from?”
“Dead,” the first woman mumbled. She was staring at the ground, and every few seconds a violent shudder ripped through her body.
“Who’s dead?” McCoy asked to no one in particular.
“Trevor,” the man replied. He had succeeded in standing and was brushing his clothes off. “Trevor Baxter, a member of my crew. And maybe—probably—Mark Sanchez. But we didn’t find his body, so I don’t know that for sure.”
“Where is Trevor’s body?” McCoy asked.
“Up the trail a bit, hanging in a tree.” The man seemed to regain some of his composure. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Name’s McCoy. This is Prucilla.” McCoy motioned at Pru, who had heretofore remained unnoticed in the confusion.
“I go by Pru,” Pru said simply.
“Caleb Goins,” the man said. “I’m the director and project manager. We’re here shooting a documentary.” He motioned in to the girl on the path, who was slowly rising on her injured leg. “This is Erica Berkman, and that’s Claire Keller over there. She’s my production assistant.”
“Well, I’m really happy to meet all of you,” McCoy said dryly. “Right now, though, we need to get you back down to your camp.” He turned his attention to Erica. “How badly are you hurt?”
“My ankle hurts really bad, but I think it’s just sprained,” Erica replied. “I think I can make it.”
“How about you?” McCoy asked, turning to Claire, who was still slumped on the ground.
“Dead,” Claire muttered.
“Her brain’s fried,” Pru said. “We’ll just have to lead her back.”
“You’re going to lead them back,” McCoy said. “Get them back to their camp and wait there.” He fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call 911 and get some help on the way.”
“You probably won’t have a signal here in the woods,” Caleb said. “My phone is back at camp. I can call as soon as we get back.”
McCoy looked at his phone. The signal strength was bouncing between one bar and no service. He might get a call through, but he doubted it.
“Okay, fine. Pru, make sure they get back and stay with them until help arrives.”
“Where are you going?”
“To check things out up ahead. You heard what Caleb said. They only found one body. The other man might still be alive.”
“Dead,” Claire said again.
“They can make it back on their own,” Pru said stubbornly. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not,” McCoy said. “We’re a team, and sometimes teams have to split up. One of us needs to make sure these folks get back to camp safely. I’ll try to find the missing crew member.”
“But you didn’t bring your knapsack,” Pru argued. “All you have is a gun. What if you run into the demon?”
“Demon?” Caleb and Erica asked simultaneously.
“It’s a long story,” Pru said.
“I’ll be fine,” McCoy assured her. “But this Mark fella may not be, especially if we stand here all night flapping our jaws.”
Pru wanted to argue the point, but she knew McCoy was right. With or without his knapsack, which contained various items for dealing with the supernatural, McCoy stood a much better chance of surviving an encounter with a demon than Pru. Though not happy about it, she relented.
“Okay. But I’m giving you half an hour. If you’re not back by then, I’m coming looking for you.”
“Stay with them until the police arrive,” McCoy ordered. “I’ll be back by then.”
“Fine. But you’d better be careful, McCoy.”
“Every chance I get,” McCoy promised, and disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter Nine
The man studied the abandoned camp, unsure of how to proceed. The girl was obviously somewhere nearby; the Jeep was there, and the engine was still warm. He could no longer hear any screaming, but every once in a while a twig would snap loudly. Someone was in the woods, though he couldn’t tell in which direction they were travelling.
Standing in the field like a fool wasn’t an option. He thought about the vision he’d had of the girl dead, lying in a wooded ravine. It seemed likely that this was the time and place. If so, he may already be too late.
No. Failure was not an option, either. He had never failed before, and he wasn’t about to fail now.
Taking the .45 from his waistband, the man moved toward the foot of the mountain.
***
McCoy moved slowly, allowing his senses to reach far into the dark woods. He felt nothing, and for some reason, that bothered him even more. There could be only three reasons why he sensed no paranormal presence.
The first, and most likely, was that the entity had already fled the scene. A demon would have stayed around long enough for its handiwork to be discovered; afterward, it would probably leave, its appetite for human fear and suffering sated.
Secondly, they might not be dealing with a supernatural entity, after all. If the killer or killers were human, McCoy would no more sense their presence than the average person would sense a paranormal being.
The third reason, as unlikely as it was, bothered him more than the previous two. As he had mentioned to Pru earlier, some higher demons had developed the ability to mask their presence from even the most sensitive human. This scenario was particularly troubling, because not only would McCoy be walking blindly into a trap, but he would a
lso be facing an evil entity with a pay grade well above the most common demons. And, as Pru had pointed out, he was unarmed with anything other than a handgun and his wits.
As a general rule, he always kept his knapsack nearby whenever an encounter with the paranormal seemed likely. But he’d left it at Pru’s house because taking it might have made Becky more suspicious, and he’d frankly thought he wouldn’t need it. He’d had no intention of getting into any type of situation that might put Pru in harm’s way.
At least she had conceded to take the others back down to camp. But McCoy was no fool. He knew that as soon as Pru perceived the film crew to be safe, she would more than likely come looking for him. That meant that he needed to move faster.
Abandoning much of his caution, McCoy increased his speed. The terrain was rough, but he had grown up in the mountains and was as comfortable in them as a fish in water. Of course, he was nowhere near as nimble as he’d been as a youngster, but his skills hadn’t noticeably declined with age.
The moon had risen, and that was an asset. Though precious little of the pale light found its way through the canopy of leaves, it was enough so that he could see where he was going. He paused briefly, listening for any telltale sign of a human presence. He heard nothing. The woods were as silent as a tomb.
In truth, he didn’t expect to find the missing man alive. Any demon worth its salt would not allow a victim to escape if it were bent on murder, and since one of the men was dead, the odds were high that the other was, as well. But he had to try. Besides, if he could just get a hint of what he was up against, it would make it much easier to prepare to deal with the situation. He had been working under the assumption that it was a demon, but other than Pru’s nighttime encounter, he had no actual proof.
He reached an area where the undergrowth had been significantly disturbed, as if several people had been running around aimlessly. Looking up, he saw what appeared to be the body of a man silhouetted against the night sky. Directly under the body, he discovered a small pool of blood covering the dry, dead leaves. This was obviously the one they’d called Trevor.
Where, then, was the other body? McCoy supposed it was possible that, through some miraculous stroke of luck, Mark did indeed escape. But it was not very likely. The demon, or whatever had killed Trevor, had obviously positioned his body to have the most gruesome effect when found. McCoy scanned the treetops, but found no sign of another corpse.
He didn’t have time to dally about. Pru and the others would probably reach the camp soon, and he wanted to head back before she got the bright idea to come after him. Once the police arrived, they would mount their own search for the missing man. With no sign of Mark or anything supernatural, there was little more McCoy could do besides turn back.
As he turned to head back down the mountain, McCoy heard a snap, like a small branch breaking. Spinning around, he saw a figure standing fifty or sixty feet above him on the path. The darkness conspired against him, but McCoy estimated that the figure stood well over seven feet tall. He didn’t think it was Mark.
On the other hand, he sensed nothing paranormal. At this distance, a demon would have given off an almost overwhelming wave of evil energy. Any paranormal being that McCoy had ever encountered would have been easily detectable at such a close proximity, yet he felt nothing.
The figure shifted slightly, bringing itself more into the faint moonlight. McCoy stood transfixed, amazed at what his eyes were seeing. The creature’s head closely resembled that of a goat, and its massive body, while seemingly human, appeared to be covered with coarse hair. As the handler gazed upon the unlikely creature, its eyes began to glow a dull red. It raised one arm, and McCoy could see that it was holding an axe or hatchet.
“Screw this,” McCoy muttered. He brought the 9mm up to bear and squeezed off two quick shots. He was a decent shot, and at twenty yards he usually hit whatever he was aiming at, but the creature didn’t flinch. Instead, it threw back its massive, malformed head and gave a shrill laugh, something akin to the sound of a hyena. Then it turned and sprang back up the slope, disappearing quickly into the shadows.
McCoy stood still, uncharacteristically frozen into inaction. He was having trouble processing what he’d just witnessed. Despite his earlier conviction that the Goat Man was not real, he had to admit that the creature, or whatever it was, had certainly looked like the Goat Man. But that fact alone created a paradox, for the Goat Man was supposedly a supernatural being, and yet McCoy had not sensed anything supernatural.
Still, if the creature were not supernatural in origin, then it should be lying dead on the trail, or at least severely wounded. McCoy was sure that he hadn’t missed the target completely with both shots.
There were only two explanations: either the creature could mask its presence in the same way that a powerful demon could, or else he hadn’t seen what he thought he’d seen.
In any event, it was long gone now, though he had no idea where it might have disappeared to. On the heels of that thought, he remembered Pru and the others, alone back at the camp. If he hadn’t been able to sense the creature, then neither could Pru.
Turning, McCoy began to rush back down the trail at breakneck speed.
***
Pru decided that she didn’t like Caleb Goins. The man was, for lack of a better word, a prick. Though initially shocked and disoriented, he had now regained his composure sufficiently that he was acting like a total asshat. The sooner Pru could be rid of him, the happier she would be.
“Come on. Chop-chop,” Caleb snapped. He was leading the group, and was impatiently motioning for the others to keep up. It had fallen on Pru to both assist the injured Erica and make sure Claire didn’t go wandering off. The redhead was pretty much out of it; Pru had seen clumps of moss with a better sense of their surroundings. Every so often, Claire would simply stop in her tracks and mumble to herself, prompting Pru to grab her and drag her along until she found her momentum again. Pru strongly suspected that a nice long stay at the Hotel La-La Land was in the cards for poor Claire.
“We have to hurry,” Caleb huffed. “There’s a lot to do, and not much time.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s an injured person here,” Pru said, trying to keep the venom in her tone down to an acceptable level. “And the other one is a total walking mushroom. Why are you in such a hurry? We’re safe enough, for now.”
“Of course we’re safe,” Caleb bristled. “But the project isn’t finished yet. Just a few more details, then we’ll be done.”
“Project?” Pru asked, unbelieving. “Are you talking about your stupid movie? Who cares? People are dead, asshole.”
Caleb threw her a look of disdain. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re just a kid. And an undereducated one at that, judging from your language.”
“Keep it up and I’ll educate you with a punch in the mouth, college boy.”
Caleb stopped and spun around angrily. “You just don’t get it, do you? No, of course you don’t. This film could rake in millions. Do you realize how many people pay to watch horror movies that are supposedly ‘real’ or ‘based on a true story’? Well, I’ve got the real deal here, Missy. Just a few more minutes of filming, and I’ll have all I need.”
Pru stopped, bringing Erica to a halt beside her. Claire bumped into them from behind.
“Wait. You’re planning to go back up there and take pictures of the body?”
“Footage, not pictures. And yes, that is precisely what I intend to do, after I retrieve a camcorder from the base.”
“Think again, chum. When we get back we’re calling the police. And then we’re all going to sit in a happy little group and wait for them.”
“I’m not asking you to tag along, Heidi. You can stay there with the women, and I’ll go back up myself. Then, when I return, we can call the authorities.”
“Caleb, you need to listen to the kid,” Erica said. “You already have footage of Randy’s body. There’s no use risking your lif
e going back up there.”
Pru couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You actually filmed a dead body? Before you called the cops?”
“We certainly wouldn’t have been able to do it after the police arrived,” Caleb said dourly.
“You’re one sick puppy,” Pru spat.
Caleb tensed, clearly not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. “I’d watch my mouth if I were you, Missy.”
“My name’s not Missy. And you can sit on it and spin, for all I care.”
“You need a lesson in manners,” Caleb growled, his face distorted by rage. He began to advance on Pru, who stubbornly stood her ground.
“Caleb! Stop!” Erica pleaded.
Caleb reached out and shoved Erica, causing her to tumble to the ground with a shriek.
“Now, Missy. It’s your turn.” Caleb drew his arm back.
“Excuse me,” a voice from behind them said.
Caleb spun around and was greeted with a fist to the face. He dropped to the ground with a whimper and lay still.
Startled, Pru looked up to see what was quite possibly the hottest guy she had ever laid eyes upon. He was tall with long, black hair, which was pulled back into a tight ponytail. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which clung to him and outlined his trim but muscular build. On the ground, Erica let out an audible gasp. Even Claire seemed to come out of her stupor slightly as she regarded the stranger.
“Sorry about that,” the stranger said, his voice deep and husky. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a diplomat.”
“S’alright,” Pru replied dreamily. She realized that she was staring a hole through the stranger and dropped her eyes. “I mean, I could have handled him. But thanks, anyway.”
“No problem.”
“Who are you? I’ve never seen you around before.”
“My name’s Anthony. Anthony Donovan. But I go by Wolf.”
“Wolf,” Claire repeated.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” Pru said. “She hit her head on a tree.”
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