Narrator

We'd been guided into it.

The whistle came again, closer, and then, from behind the cabin, a voice called out, cheerful as Sunday, Hello?

Hello?

It sounded like the same voice from night one.

It sounded like Glenn.

Tessa's mouth opened but no sound came out.

Luke whispered, we have to go.

The whistle answered.

And somewhere deeper in the hollow, from a place we couldn't see, something huge moved through brush with a slow, heavy crackle.

We were between them.

People above, something not human below.

That was the moment I understood the real shape of the trap.

The first thing I did in that hollow was the dumbest thing you can do when you're cornered.

I tried to make the scene make sense.

I stood there with my pack straps biting into my shoulders, staring at a rotting cabin that looked like it had been built before anyone cared about permits or property lines.

And my brain kept reaching for ordinary explanations.

Old homestead.

Squatters.

Hunters.

A weird coincidence that Glenn and his friend happened to be nearby and were messing with us for sport.