“What’s the plan?” I helped myself to a cup of coffee. Black. “Do you want to retrace our route?”
The first sip burnt my tongue, but I got it down then passed the mug to Asa, who didn’t miss a beat.
There had been a definite wendigo presence in the area, but the bobcat carcass’s state of decomp dated the latest activity weeks earlier. Cooler mountain air, and the shelter of the cave, made it difficult to tell.
I figured the black witch we were hunting had killed the wendigo not long after it brought down the cat.
“Thank you,” he murmured, sipping after me without a hint of discomfort at the temperature. “Here.”
A muffin sat on his palm, a bite missing on one side, a dare bright in his eyes.
As I plucked the offering from his hand, a silly thrill shot through me.
“What did I tell you?” Clay leaned in close. “Spit muffins.”
Not even that gross oversimplification stopped me from taking a larger bite out of the one Asa left me.
The peridot of Asa’s eyes deepened as he watched me until Clay coughed into his fist.
“There’s a child present,” he reminded us, nudging Colby back to the loft. “Keep it rated PG.”
“PG-13,” she yelled down as she settled in for her next battle. “I’m old enough for kissing.”
Unable to hold Asa’s stare a moment longer, I broke away and called out to her, “Stay inside, and keep your phone close.”
“Will do.” An evil cackle drifted down to us as she addressed her team. “I see the raid was successful.”
“That kid.” Clay shook his head as he led the way out the door. “She’s something else.”
“Bloodthirsty and vengeful,” I agreed. “She also holds grudges about expansion packs.”
A neat furrow creased Asa’s brow, but he didn’t contribute. He was plenty computer literate, but not so much on the gamer side of the spectrum. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t know much. I picked up the lingo for the sole purpose of communicating with Colby, and I still didn’t understand half of what she told me.
“Tonight, we head west,” Clay answered my earlier question. “We’re walking about a mile parallel to the path from last night.”
“Any major campsites in the area?” I fell in step behind him. “Any word on the cleanup?”
“The cleanup is in the books, and the team is standing by in town in case we need them again before it’s over.” He checked the compass on his phone app. “There are no campsites, but there’s a scenic overlook folks gawk at when passing through.”
“A patient hunter could make that work for him,” Asa said, his breath tickling my ear.
“Nah.” I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Too messy.”
“Nothing is too messy for a wendigo,” he pointed out. “You saw that camp.”
A cramp hit my stomach at the reminder when death, even traumatic death, never used to bother me.
“They would have to hide in the brush under the overlook then snatch people who came to the rail. That’s the easy part.” They were ambush hunters. “But what about the victims’ cars? Would a wendigo know what a car was? Or that it had to be disposed of? The trick would only work a few times if they let empty cars pile up on the side of the road. They could roll them off the mountain, but that would be loud. It would also draw human attention no wendigo would want so near its hunting grounds.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought,” Clay said, “into wendigos attacking tourists on scenic overlooks.”
“Not really.” I shifted my attention toward him. “I’ve just seen a lot of cheesy horror movies.”
Genre standards let you puzzle out how any given plot would twist long before the movie got there.
“Since when do you watch those?” He checked our coordinates. “Colby’s too young, right?”
“Camber and Arden.” I blew out a breath. “Teens these days love their gore.”