Slinking into the bare-branched woods, I sink deep into the snow, the squeak under my boots matching the heavy white of my breath before me. The temperature is diving tonight, the dead of winter nearly upon us. Tomorrow’s going to suck for RJ.
I work my way toward the clearing and find the cabin dark and silent. I’m halfway through a loop around the place with the camera-finding tool RJ gave me when the man himself cuts into the silence.
“Grunt if you’re okay.”
I grunt, then, not able to keep my mouth shut, mutter, “I can hoot like an owl, which might be both more fun and more forest-y.”
“You want to hoot like an owl to say you’re okay?”
I do my best impression of a great horned owl, getting RJ to chuckle on the other end of the call. “Okay then. Bird-song it is, you country boy.”
“Ha. I’ve spent more of my life in the city than you have, you suburbanite, you.”
His laughter gets louder, and I grin into the darkness, continuing my trek around the perimeter.
“Whatever. Just keep it down. We’re too far away to help.”
I hoot again, just to keep him laughing, and finish my loop.
“Nothing out here in the woods. I’m going to approach the cabin.”
“Careful.”
“I know.”
But even after a lap of the cabin, my device hasn’t gone off. I slip back into the woods, flipping the thing over in my hands. “Are you sure it’s working?”
“No cameras?”
“No, unless I’m not using it right.”
“We ran through it last week. You know how to make it work.”
I groan, leaning against a stout trunk. “Do you really think there aren’t cameras here? Am I even at the right place?”
I hear typing faintly in the background. “Your phone’s location is right where you should be.”
“Did we ever figure out what they use this place for?”
“No.”
A familiar buzz works lazily through my body. “I’m going to look in the windows.”
“Jansen.”
“I know, be careful. But this place looks abandoned. There are no cars. There are grooves from other tires, but they’re buried under fresh snow.”
“Fine. Pick an SOS sound, though.”
“‘Oh shit,’ won’t work?”
He grumbles, but doesn’t answer, letting me keep things light as I follow the snow-covered tire tracks to the front porch, not wanting my footsteps dancing across the lawn should someone come by. The porch smells faintly ofcigarette smoke and something rotten, my stomach rolling before I make it to the front door.
I take it back. This place isn’t creepy. It’s downright foreboding.
Peeking in the window doesn’t get me anything. Every blind that could be drawn is. “I’m breaking in,” I whisper, pulling my picks from my pocket and slipping my hands free from my mittens, tucking them under my arm.
“Jansen—”
