Guest

The van loomed larger.

The interior was dark.

The smell hit me when I got close.

The driver, a middle-aged man in a ball cap, looked at me like I was a problem.

They asked where exactly the van was.

I described the bend and the landmarks as best I could.

I said there was a notebook inside with dates and notes about hikers.

I said there were pits.

I said there were at least three people near the creek.

I told him I'd activated SOS on my satellite device and thrown it into the creek.

They called for medical, and EMTs came, and they wrapped my knee and said it likely needed imaging.

The deputies asked if I could guide them back to the trailhead.

I said my knee was not going to handle it.

They didn't like that, but they didn't argue.

They went out there anyway.

We ate in silence.

Every few minutes Nolan would stop chewing and listen like he'd heard something.

A couple times I heard faint movement in the trees, branches shifting, a soft footfall, but nothing that I could point to is definite.

There were sections where the track pattern changed, like whatever made them had been on all fours, then stood up.

You could see where the front prints stopped and only two deep impressions continued, spaced like a bipedal stride.