I rush toward it, arms outstretched, ready to slam it shut and lock it back into place, but deep tracks in the snow outside catch my eye. They’re visible just below the opening. Someone—or something—was here.
Turning on my heels, I book it back into the hallway, dropping his bag next to mine with a thunk onto the hardwood floor.
“Fuck!” I cry, worry ricocheting through me. “Scott!”
I stumble toward the front door and fling it open, ignoring the crash of the heavy wood against the wall. The vibrant rush of the outside world slams into me, blinding my vision. My damp hair clings to my neck as I stand on the threshold, scanning the driveway.
The tracks I saw from the window don’t match the large bootprints leading from the cabin to the cars. They were smaller and less discernible on the footwear. It couldn’t have been Scott.
Where is Scott?
My shallow, speedy breaths form puffs of mist in front of me. Panic drags at my ribcage, like claw marks of a beast trapped in an enclosure. I peer into the bright day, blocking thesun from directly vying for my eyes. How long was I packing? He couldn’t have gone that far. Certainly not far enough that he wouldn’t hear my call.
“Scott?” I call again, voice shaky. I wait. Nothing but a bird chirping softly answers back.
Something scraped against the cabin last night. It pounded on the door. Now, a window in the room neither of us has used is open, and Scott’s nowhere to be found. When I put everything together like that, it’s undeniable that something’s going on.
Scanning the yard, it’s nothing but endless white, even though the snow stopped some time ago. The thick line of trees no longer feels like an entrance for adventures. It feels like a prison gate keeping us stuck here.
The Jeep’s hood is propped wide. The driver’s side door of my car is, too, but Scott’s missing from the scene.
I swallow, forcing away the dryness creeping up my throat. Maybe he went out to the shed to look for something, but that idea is kicked to the curb as quickly as it comes. His footprints don’t lead in that direction.
My breath rattles in the cold air as realization sinks in. I might have been right to be afraid all along. Something isn’t right in these woods. Something wantsmyattention.
As though summoned, the wind gusts hard, threatening to push me aside or throw me to my knees. The cabin door clicks shut behind me as I move back inside, shivering fiercely while my teeth chatter hard enough to crack a tooth.
He didn’t answer me. My gut hollows. This isn’t good.
I let out a strangled cry and rush back down the hallway, ignoring the warning signals blaring in my head.
I have to leave. I have to get help.
The thirty seconds I spent outside calling for him left meprehypothermic. I can’t go back out there without more layers. My clothes end up a mess in the hallway, but by the time I’m done, I’m wearing an extra-soft layer and my snow gear. As long as the weather holds, I’ll be good out there for a while.
I gather every spare ounce of courage and fling the cabin door open again, stepping out into the elements. Scott’s tracks glisten in the snow. The perfect path to trace his steps, but that’s the weird thing. They lead down the steps to the Jeep, where he’s left the hood propped open, and then over to my car. I slam my car door shut, not trying to kill the one battery we still have left.
That’s when I see the drops of crimson blooming against the packed snow.
Blood pounds in my ears, and I grip the roof of my car. Not only is he missing, but he must be injured. Logic tells me it could be something small, but if that were the case, he would have walked inside for a Band-Aid.
I look back at the cabin, knowing he’s not there, but I want him to be. I want to see him behind the curtains, moving about, so I can rush back in and give him a piece of my mind for making me worry. The only thing beyond the veil is the dim glow from the lights I didn’t bother turning off.
I drop my focus back to the ground, the blood smears into streaks, as though someone was dragged. Each mark makes my stomach twist tighter, the bile lapping at the back of my throat.
“Scott…” His name tears from me, barely above a whisper.
The trail pulls me toward the Jeep. I pause, eyeing the shotgun holstered against the roof rack. I’ve been shooting once in my life with my dad and Scott. It ended with a bruised shoulder and an even bigger bruise on my ego. It’s an activity Inever imagined partaking in again. But something in my gut tells me to grab it.
Unhooking it, I break the shotgun to check if it’s loaded. Of course, I find the chambers empty. Digging around in the glove box, I see a small box of ammo and load two shells, tucking a handful into each pocket.
With the weapon’s comforting weight in my hand, I push past the edge of safety, toward the trees that have felt like a barrier to the unknown since this all started. The closer I get, the stranger the silence grows. The birds have abandoned their posts high in the trees. The wind sighs through the branches, carrying with it a low moan that could be the forest… or him.
I halt at the forest’s edge, unable to convince my consciousness to push through the heavy limbs. The drag marks in the snow vanish into the dark undergrowth like a signature written in haste off a page.
My pulse hammers, each beat a warning for me to head. Telling me not to go in, to turn back for safety.
I pivot, eyes dragging back over the serene landscape to the cabin. Inside offers warmth and light. But I’d be isolated again. A sitting duck, waiting for whatever’s been taunting me to come back and finish the job.
