Page 225 of Property of Whiskey

I stare at him.

“What?”

“Wren snacks.”

I laugh. “Criminal mastermind carries Ziplocs.”

“Preparedness.”

I slide the fabric inside and seal it.

Then something moves between the trees.

Every muscle in me tightens as Whiskey’s flashlight stops beside mine. I swing my beam toward the movement and catch eyes first, low between two trunks.

Then the head rises higher than I expect.

A narrow face. Legs too long beneath a body that looks painfully thin. Wet hide catches silver under the flashlight, and along its back runs an uneven dark line that rises in short jagged points.

Spines.

For one startled second, I forget to breathe.

The thing turns its head. Light catches one eye before it slips behind a tree and disappears into darkness.

“Did you see that?”

Whiskey answers immediately. “Deer.”

I spin toward him. “That deer needs medical attention.”

“Still deer.”

“It had spikes.”

“Branches.”

“They moved with it.”

“Sticky branches.”

“Whiskey.”

“I ain’t calling it a monster.”

“I didn’t say monster.” I stare back into the woods, but nothing moves where the animal disappeared.

Then something white flashes farther downhill.

Not horizontal.

Vertical.

A person.

Chapter Seventeen

Twila