Speaker 1: License and registration. The driver flinched, blinked a few times,
and scrambled for the glove box. He panicked missed the latch.
When he finally opened it, papers spilled out, and he
sat there frozen before scooping them up. I've been a
police officer for two decades. Night shifts out in the
country usually meant nothing more than drunk drivers, runaways from
one of the nearby shelters, or coyote calls from ranches
with loose venting. It was rare for anything to linger
in my mind after a shift ended. Most of it
was the same monotony, repeated again and again. But that
night was different. That one etched itself in slow, vivid pieces.
I still haven't managed to fully pull apart. The moon
had been high in full casting a silver wash over everything.
Parked off country Road eight, half asleep when a car
zoomed past me, going at least two times the speed limit.
I sighed and figured it was just another guy out
too late, probably drinking. I flipped my lights on and
found them pulled over near the bend without much resistance.
I walked up to the driver's side. The car was
an old Toyota, probably early two thousands, primer patches and
the fender muffler rattling. Both men inside looked wrecked. The
driver was gripping the wheel hard enough that I could
see the tension pushing veins through the skin. His hair
was flattened with sweat. The guy in the passenger seat
stared forward, not blinking, hands in his lap. That's where
it all began. The driver handed me his license with
both hands. Finally, his voice cracked when he spoke, can
you give us a fine? Anything? Please? We really we
just need to go. I ignore the nagging, and he said,
asked what I always ask. Have you two been drinking?
They both answered, but not together. They looked at each other,
first silently, like they were trying to argue how much
to admit. Then the driver said no. Passenger echoed it,
his voice low and scratchy. I looked them both over again.
All right, I'm going to run your information turn the
vehicle off for me. The driver hesitated, but ultimately killed
the ignition. I returned to my cruiser and ran the
plate and driver's name. Nothing suspicious, nothing at all. Actually,
the owner of the vehicle matched the driver. Everything came
back clean. When I returned to their window, they gotten
significantly worse. The driver's head was twitching toward his shoulder
every few seconds, like a muscle spasm. The passenger was
in a similar condition. When the driver spoke again, his
voice had a strain that sounded close to breaking. You
don't understand. We have to go. We're out of time, sir.
Can we just go now? That's when I started getting angry.
Everyone always at somewhere to go. It gets old. I
told him to keep his hands on the wheel and
to relax. This doesn't have to be a big thing.
You listen, I listen. You're making this worse by acting jumpy.
I'm going too easy to perform a field sobriety test
for me. The driver's eyes darted to the mirror and
then to the trees ahead. His leg was bouncing. Now,
heel thumping against the floorboard. We don't have time, please.
I took a deep breath, stepped back, and started a
circle toward the back of the vehicle to get them out.
That was when the engine roared to life again. Tires
screamed against the dirt shoulder as they shot forward, fish
tailing back onto the road and vanishing around the bend.
I stood there for a second, blinking. My first thought was,
what the hell are you running from? I sprinted to
the cruiser through the door open and called it in.
This is Unit eighteen. We got a ten eighty fleeing vehicle,
silver Tiota heading eastbound on country Road eight two occupants.
I'm in pursuit. The tires back gravel as I pulled
out onto the road behind them. The moon followed us,
both glaring and wide. The car struggled to hold a line.
It swerved out of its lane every time. The tires gripped, overcorrected,
and skidded. The tail lights bounced in and out of view.
Ahead of me. Ahead of us was a wooden sign
camp winding pines youth retreat. The trees thinnerhead and the
gravel turned to soft earth. My head lights caught the
rear of the car as it fished out sideways, back tires,
chewing up dust and pine needles. The engine reved again,
the lost traction entirely. I saw the nose of the
Tiota swing off the road and the whole car vanished
through the tree line. A split second later, there was
the sound of branches snapping and a hollow metallic thud.
I hit the brakes and threw the cruiser into park.
My boot hit the dirt before I'd finished radioing the update.
Vehicles crashed east perimeter of Winding Pines, approaching scene. Now
my blood was hot. My thoughts weren't entirely rational, because
all I could focus on was the fact that they'd
gone from a routine stop to endangering everyone at that
camp and themselves too. I pulled the flashlight and unsnapped
my pistol holster, just in case. People typically get dangerous
when cornered, and this is about as cornered as you
can be. They had to have a reason for speeding
away like that. The car had come to a stop
against a thick pine, The front end crushed in but
not folded. Steam hissed from the hood. A branch had
punched through the back window and scattered glass across the
back seat. Put your hands where I can see them,
I shouted, no movement. I approached the driver's side, light
cutting through the cabin. The driver's air bag had gone off.
He was slumped against it, head back, mouth open. A
thin line of blood ran from his eyebrow to his cheek.
He was breathing. I swung the beam to the passenger side.
The guy in the passenger seat hadn't survived. His arms
were bent under him, and his legs were angled against
the passenger's side seat in a way I didn't think
was even possible. The neck hung off his collar, bone
head tipped unnaturally with a jaw slack and lopsided. It
was a grotesque scene. That's when the driver gasped awake.
He fought with the seatbelt for a second, then shoved
the door open, landing on all fours in the dirt.
I stepped up fast and pointed the flashlight at him.
What the hell do you think you were doing? You
ran from a stop and killed your friend over what?
He didn't answer. He didn't even look at me. He
rolled on to his back, eyes skyward, then suddenly turned
over again and started scrambling to his feet. I grabbed
for his wrist, but he tore away, stumbling once before
crashing into the tree line. God damn it. I snarled
and ran after him. Low branches clawed up my shirt,
pine needles filled my boots. The sound of him moving
ahead wasn't fast or steady. He was desperate and clumsy.
I caught up to him nearer slope, where the tree
cover thickened. He was crouched with one hand pressed to
the dirt and the other to his chest, trying to breathe.
Sweat poured off him in waves, soaking through the collar
of his shirt and streaking down his arms. His pupils
were huge, swallowing almost all the color. I grabbed him
by the elbow and pinned him against the pine trunk. Hey,
are you on something? You high? I held my grip
and looked him over again. His pulse was racing under
my thumb. You need Narkan, tell me now. He didn't
answer right away, and people that need narkan usually never do.
His mouth open and close a few times before anything
came out. What did make it out didn't make sense.
Listen you if you just if you hide now, maybe
I won't know you are nearby. I'd seen overdoses before,
plenty of them. Some twitch and mutter, others go still
and drop. This looked like the textbook interpretation of a situation.
When Narkan was to be administered at AESAP, I told
him to stay with me and started guiding him back
the way. We came. He will with me, barely. It
almost seemed like he was trying to fight my grip,
but he was too weak. He dragged his feet and
his breath scraped through his throat, eyes darting wildly. We
made it to the tree line and I got him
too the cruiser. The back seat was clean. I helped
him in, closed the door and stepped back. I reached
for the radio on my shoulder, despatch, there's is Unit eighteen.
I've got one fatality of the crash site and one
possible overdose. Suspect is incoherent, requesting e MS priority. I
went around to the front of the cruiser and opened
the glove box, pulled the knark and kit free checked
the spray, and turned back. The shouting coming from the
back of the vehicle stopped me. It was a low, thick,
clicking sound, almost like wretching, but wetter. I stepped around
and aimed the flashlight at the rear window. He was shaking.
His whole body was moving with these wild spasms, his
limbs flailing against the seat and his jaws snapping open
and shut. He started to break apart. It began at
the arms, skin pulling apart in long wet lines. Muscles
swelled underneath it, roar and coiled, growing outward. Thick strands
of fir pushed through the seams. His shirt tore open
at the chest, then peeled away as his shoulders expended.
Bones cracked and reset themselves. I heard them go, one
at a time, snapping like twigs under foot. His mouth
opened in a silent scream, and a second row of
fangs pushed out of his gums, while the original teeth
dropped into his lap. His face stretched forward as the
scullery shaped eye suckets shifting as they sat further apart.
A snout forced its way forward, the cartilage crunching as
it grew. The cruiser exploded outward as it launched itself
through the window. The back half of the car ripped open.
Metals screamed, and plastic shattered. I staggered back and drew
my side arm, took aim and fired one, two, three.
The shots hit. They had to have. I saw dark
bursts bloom through the fir, but it didn't drop. It
didn't even flinch. Then it started moving. Its nose twitched,
turning toward the direction of the camp. There was a
noise off in the distance somewhere far beyond the trees,
it sounded like a bell or something similar. It heard it,
and it started running toward the youth camp. Its whole
body dropped low, and it moved on all fours, fast
and lopping each stride pushed it deeper into the woods
until I couldn't see it any more. I stood in
front of the scene I just witnessed, with my gun
stillop frozen in time. I raised the radio to my
mouth with a hand that wouldn't stay still. My finger
hesitated on the transmit button because I didn't know what
to say. My head was still ringing, but that wasn't
why my voice came out unsteady. This is Unit eighteen.
I paused and tried again. Someone is heading toward camp
winding pines, um big, heavily armed. I think my vehicle
is destroyed and he he ran off toward the camp
and eaed back up. Now emergency priority, he replied. Didn't
take long copy that Unit eighteen. The nearest support is
sixty minutes out. Dropper sport is unavailable. Do you need medical?
I stared at the ruined back of my cruiser. I
didn't waste time trying to rationalize what I'd seen. If
I stood there thinking about it, I wasn't going to move.
I keyed the mic again, negative, unmed. I'm going in.
I let the radio fall back to my shoulder, then
turned toward the trunk. It took some force the pride open.
The frame had twisted when the back exploded out. I
grabbed the shotgun from inside, racked it to make sure
it was live and check the sling for rounds. I
kept clipped in a side pouch. I jogged up the trail,
following the dirt where its weight had torn into the soil.
They were wide at the front and dragged behind, deep
enough to catch a boot heel and trip someone if
they were aren't careful. Up ahead, tucked behind a split
rail fence with a cheap floodlight flickering against the roof,
I went up and knocked hard against the window. A
man inside jolted awake and nearly spilled the styrophrone cup
from the desk. I raised my badge before he had
any chance to say anything. Police Officer Dunley, something's loose
in the camp. I need you with me. Are you armed?
He blinked at me, still half way out of sleep,
then nodded, yeah, what's going on. There's something in the camp.
I don't know what, but the kids aren't safe. He
stared at me a second longer, and I could see
the disbelief behind his eyes. But a moment later he
opened the drawer and pulled out a pistol, tucked it
into a hip holster, and locked the door behind him.
We started toward the center of the camp. He finally
spoke behind me, are you going to tell me what
we're looking for? I didn't stop walking. You wouldn't believe me.
I just saw a police officer walk out the woods
looking mannick. You might be surprised what I'll believe to night.
I didn't answer. He picked up his pace to match mine.
The kids they're all inside right now, I asked. Yeah,
we just got here to day. I drove the kids here.
Most are probably asleep. Staff as light out around ten.
It's a full week retreat. They get the run of
the place during the day, bonfires, archery, swimming, all that
at night dispose the staying cabins. What's out here? I
didn't have answers. Every question he asked was something I'd
already tried to ask myself and come up short. After
a while, I raised the and and told him to
stop asking so many questions I didn't know. We cleared
the brush line and the tree cover opened. Ahead of
us was the center trail, wide enough to fit a vehicle.
On the left, two cabins faced each other across a
patch of lawn, and at the end of the trail,
angled slightly toward the turnlop, was a boss. As we
approached the cabins, I slowed and lowered the barrel of
the shotgun. The guard caught up beside me, still scanning
the dark. Tell me how this place is laid out,
I said. He glanced around and started pointing. There are
six cabins in total, all lined up in two rows,
three on each side. Staff buildings over there, past the
main trail near the mess hall. We've got a generator
shared behind that, and the first aid hut closer to
the lake. No perimeter fencing, but we've never needed it.
And inside, I asked, each cabin's got two rooms, one
for the kids and one for the staff assigned to them.
Usually a counselor or a teacher sleeps in the same
space or the next room. How many in each. This
group is light, maybe six or seven per right now.
We stopped outside the nearest door. The building was quiet.
A single bulb over the entryway flickered but stayed on.
I looked through the window, nothing but the outline of
bunks in the dark. Here's what we're doing, I said,
We go in quiet. Wake the adult first. You help them.
Get the kids up, no screaming, no explaining. Tell them
to head for the bus, Stay low, stay quiet. Once
they're there, they crouched behind it and wait. He swallowed hard,
then nodded. Push the door open. It lead out a creak,
but not enough to wake anyone. The air inside was stale,
heavy with the warmth of sleeping bodies. I moved toward
the back, where I could make out a single adult
figure in the bed along the far wall. I leaned
in close and shook their shoulder. Once they starred and
squinted at me. Please stay quiet, I whispered, flashing my badge.
Wake the kids, get them dressed enough to move. Tell
them it's a drill. If you need to lead them
to the bus and crouch behind it. The teacher nodded
and sat up fast, already calling out in a low
voice to the bunk nearest to her. The kids began
to stir. The next few minutes passed without a sound
louder than soft shuffling and half whispers. The children dressed
in silence, the teacher guiding them out one by one,
leading the group with a hand pressed to the water.
I stood at the threshold and watched until the last
pair ducked into the dark, headed toward the bus. The
guard moved beside me, his hand on his weapon, breathing unevenly.
One down. I said, we didn't linger. We moved onto
the second location. We eased in flashlight, low barely tracing
the floor. Bunk beds lined both walls. The kids in
them were out cold, limbs tangled in thin sheets. Some
are toys on their pillows, shoes beside the frame, an
old paperback books slipped beneath mattresses. I stepped between two
of the beds, careful not to let my boots squeak
on the waxed floor. No movement, no sounds except snoring
and the soft click of the cabin windowpanes shifting against
the breeze. This cabin was bigger. We woke the teacher up,
gave them the same commands and got underway to the
next room. In the third room, it was the same
drill on the fourth one. However, the door's base had
visible claw marks on it. I motioned to the guard
and we took our positions on either side. I opened
it slowly. I could feel it before we even stepped inside,
a drop in the air pressure. My flashlights scanned the bunks.
Kids were asleep, and I kept scanning the room looking
for anything. The security behind me let had an audible
gulp and touched my shoulder. I turned to look at him,
but he didn't speak. He pointed up above us, pressed
against the beams between the rafters who was watching it.
Its claws were buried in the wood, six of them
spread outward to anchor its weight. The arms were stretched
long and sinewy joints bowed out in unnatural angles. Its
stomach rose and fell with short breaths. Mucus hung from
its mouth in strands. Its chest was still wet from
the transformation. Patches of firm matted to beare swollen muscle.
It stared at the smallest bed in the room. The
girl in it had a face turned up, breathing through
a mouth. One arm hanging over the edge of the mattress.
I raised the shotgun and fired. The blast lit the
room in one flash. The slug tore through its shoulder,
ripping a chunk of its back out. It roared no,
It screamed something deeper than anything I'd ever heard to
this day. Kit woke up instantly, and chaos erupted. I
pumped the shotgun and fired again. This time, the thing moved.
It came down fast, not a fall, but a lunge
that ripped it free of the ceiling and sent pieces
of beam flying with it. I tried to shoot once
more as it hit the floor, but before I could
even so much as take another step, it slammed its
arm into my weapon and shattered it clean in half.
The guards shouted behind me. The monster rammed into him
and knocked him against the back wall. Then it disappeared
through the open door in a blur of limbs. I
stood there, holding the ruined half of my shotgun, my
arms shaking, lungs heaving. Get the kids to the bus,
I shouted, turning toward the guard. Now move. He stumbled up,
paled and wide eyed, but he nodded. We yanked open
the rest of the doors and started dragging everyone awake.
Any One who asked what was going on got told
to move on. Some listened, some hesitated. I shoved them forward.
Screaming started in the distance, not children, adults, someone farther
in the camp, in a separate spot. I turned toward it,
but didn't move. I couldn't go. If I left now,
even to try and stop it, the kids would be
put in danger. Keep them moving, I told the guard,
get them to the damn boss. I'll follow go. I
stayed behind them, waiting for it to show again. The
only thing I had now was my nine millimeter, nothing
worth using, but I had to try. The bus came
to life, cutting through the noise of crying children and
panicked adults. The last few teachers climbed on, pushing kids
down the aisle. I looked out toward the woods once more.
The trees were quiet, and somehow that was worse. I
boarded last, and the door slammed shut behind me. The
guards sat in the driver's seat, white knuckled on the wheel,
eyes flicking between the road and the mirrors. Awoke the aisle,
gun drawn, scanning every window. The bus groaned as it
moved forward. I felt each shift in the tires, every
bump of dirt and gravel. We got back on the
road and kept moving at a steady pace. I was
near the back of the bus, facing the left side,
and suddenly, through the trees there was movement. It was running,
keeping up with the bus. Its gate was off. One
arm hung the limp at his side, still dragging the
arm I had hit with a shotgun. The other clawed
forward with each leap, digging through brush, flinging it behind me.
Its face was set forward, mouth open, eyes locked onto
the vehicle. I shouted toward the front, faster, go, don't
slow down. The trees gave way to the slope that
led down toward the bridge. I could feel the edge
of it coming. It jumped. The impact shook the entire frame.
The roof blowed inward, and metal popped near the rear.
Kids screamed in every direction. The bus tilted for a
moment before rocking back into balance. Something's on the roof.
There's something on the roof, the guard shouted. He slammed
the brakes for a second, but the whole chassy veered, wheels,
catching the edge of the bridge. We can't swerve, I barked,
keep it straight and we're never going over. The bus
started to shake again. The weight shifted from front to
back as the creature moved. You could hear the metal
stre with every step it took across the roof. In
a split second, a massive claw tore through the ceiling
above the driver's seat, ripping down clean to the thin steel.
The guard didn't even have time to scream. The strike
came fast, and his head separated from his shoulders in
a clean diagonal motion. His body twitched once, then slumped sideways,
arm locked against the wheel. The bus tilted hard to
the right. Then it flipped, metal tore against pavement. Screams
drowned everything. The lights inside cut out, and my body
slammed into the back seat in front of me. I
remember the sound of windows shattering, the screech of steel folding,
and the wet thump of bodies hitting the walls. We
slid to a stop. Smoke seeped in from somewhere behind me.
I was on my side, face mashed against the wall
and my vision blurred. I heard screaming, but not from inside.
Through the cracked windshields and side panels, I could see it,
its arms, had wrapped through part of the roof's metal lattice,
caught in the bend. Its legs thrushed against the air, claws,
tearing through the breeze, searching for traction. It was still
attached to the bus with its arm, it sought their
useless arm was dangling in the air outside. Its weight
was pulling the whole vehicle forward. The bus had stopped
on the slope near the drop. The concrete barrier outside
was cracked and sunken. If it tipped, we'd go over.
The monsters screamed again, voice roar and furious, spit raining
down through the cracks. Every time it flailed, the nose
of the bus dipped a little further down toward the edge.
I pushed myself up, head swimming. If it kept pulling,
the bus was going into the river, and we'd go
with it. I grabbed my pistol from beside me and
moved toward the front. Every inch I crawled made the
bus shift. The people around me were mostly unconscious, but
were slowly stirring awake, causing the bus to list even more.
I pressed my shoulder to the wall and used the
seats to guide myself forward. The smoke inside the cabin
had thickened. I raised the pistol up at an angle
from the side of one of the cracked windows. Aims
sent a mass and pulled the trigger until the slide
locked back. Countless rounds punched through it screamed, head snapping
back once, but didn't fall. It was completely stuck. I
dropped the gun. It was useless now. I looked around
for anything I I could do or use. The shattered
plastic and hanging wire offered nothing. I looked at the
front panel by the windshield. There was a fire axe mounted.
The bus was old, so old that it still had
a fire axe. The glass over the case had already
been cracked from the impact. I slammed my elbow into
it and broke through. My fingers wrapped around the handle,
and I yanked it free. The blade looked older than me,
but it was solid. I didn't have time to second
guess it. I crawled the last few feet, pushing through
snap seat supports and shattered glass. The closer I got,
the more it thrashed. Its body was angled down now
and it had made progress in its thrashing, but I
needed to send it down for good. I brought the
axe down. The first strikes sank into the muscle above
its wrist. It screamed and flailed maniacally, enough to tear
across my forearm. Warm blood poured from the cut. I
didn't stop. I raised the axe again and brought it
down where the elbow had bent backward into the metal.
The joint cracked, it loosened. I hit again and again.
The tendon finally snapped. The rest of the body fell free,
but the mangled arms stayed stuck. The monster dropped away, screaming,
claws raking empty air, then vanished into the dark gorge below.
The scream echoed for a few seconds, then cut off.
The bus groaned again and shifted. We needed to get
out of there fast. For a moment, no one moved.
At teacher near the middle broke the silence and began
yelling for everyone to stay calm and get out as
soon as possible. I limped back along the floor, holding
the cut across my arm with my palm to stop
the bleeding. I helped the nearest ones get out first,
guided them through the back panel as it opened. Other
adults took over from there, ushering the kids onto the
road and away from the bus. Smoke still clung to everything.
My vision blurred from the blood loss and the ringing
in my ears. I could barely feel my legs. Once
everyone was off, I lowered myself down from the rear
of the bus. I remember stepping on to the pavement,
still carrying the axe, and standing there without saying anything.
All the kids huddled together behind me. Everyone was covered
in ash and blood and smoke, but we were alive.
The bus led out a low groan. Something inside popped.
The weight had shifted again, its front tilted toward the edge,
the left side pulling down first. I yelled for everyone
to back up. The whole thing tipped off the edge
and slid forward. Tires scraped once against the concrete, and
it dropped. Red lights flickered between the trees as the
first cruiser appeared from the main road. Then two more
ambulance headlights swept the edge of the woods. They finally
came a blur of boots and flashlights closed in, radios buzzing,
Paramedics pulled out, stretchers, officers fanned out. I watched all
of it as if I were stuck in a tunnel.
One of them called out my name, Jesus Danley, What
the hell happened? It was Jameson, some one I knew.
He took one look at me, then grabbed my shoulder
and started leading me back toward them. Come on, sit down,
you're bleeding. You're out on your feet. I didn't argue.
I followed him to the back of a cruiser, where
a paramedic opened a kit and started cleaning the cuts
across my arm. Everything stung, but it didn't matter. The
paramedic asked something, but I didn't answer. Then another medic
approached through the clipboard. We need to know where the
first body is, the one you radioed in at the
original crash. You said, one fatality. I nodded where Jameson
touched my arm. You said there was a wrecked car. Yeah,
I said, My throat was dry in the forest back
on the shoulder, near the main trail. It's not too
far out. They helped me into the cruiser and drove
me down. You passed the broken fence and came up
to where the Toyota had hit the tree. Two meddicks
got out and moved toward the rear of the vehicle.
I stayed behind, leaning on the open door. Then One
of them turned back and called to me, there's no
one back here. I stood up straighter. What he motioned again,
there's blood, but there's no body. We walked toward them,
looked through the window myself. The back seat was soaked,
you could still see the pattern where the blood had dried,
pulled down to the floor mat. The seat belt was
stained red and stiff. But the body wasn't there? Not
a single bone, not a piece of fabric, not a trace.
I stepped back, blinking. Jameson stood next to me. Was
he dead when you saw him? Yea, I said, Could
he have moved? No? I locked past the car into
the trees behind the clearing. Her question rang in my
head at that moment. Was it not the only one