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19

JENSEN

T he cabin is quiet in the faint light of dawn, save for the soft crackling of the fire I just stoked and the occasional creak of timber as the cabin settles. The storm blew itself out sometime in the early hours, leaving behind a world transformed—pristine drifts piled high against the windows, tree branches sagging under their white burden, the sky above clearing to a perfect, painful blue.

It would be beautiful if not for the weight of dread sitting like a stone in my gut.

I check my watch—5:47 a.m. Early, but we need to move soon if we’re going to make it back to the ranch before nightfall. Looking up, I see Aubrey emerge from the small bathroom, already dressed in layers, her face scrubbed clean, eyes rimmed red from crying or lack of sleep. Probably both.

“Morning,” I offer, keeping my voice low to avoid waking the others upstairs.

She doesn’t respond, just moves to her sleeping bag and begins rolling it with mechanical precision. The message is clear: she’s not speaking to me unless absolutely necessary.

Can’t say I blame her. I’ve been lying to her since the day she showed up at the ranch, withholding the truth about Lainey, about what happened three years ago in these mountains. About my part in all of it. They’re not the only lies I’ve been holding back but they’re the ones that have mattered the most.

They’re the ones that have broken us apart, whatever us there was.

I busy myself with breakfast, setting a pot of coffee to boil and laying out provisions from our supplies. Simple tasks to fill the silence, to avoid staring at her and the way her shoulders stay rigid with tension every time I move near her.

Last night, after our confrontation—after I’d finally told her the truth about Lainey and Adam, about taking them into these mountains, about losing them to whatever lurks in the caves—Aubrey had been adamant. She wanted to see the place where it happened. Needed to understand what her sister found, what compelled her to follow the path that led to her disappearance.

I’d reluctantly agreed, though every instinct screams it’s a mistake. The caves beyond Benson Hut and into Soda Springs are a death trap in the best conditions, even without throwing feral people into the mix. With them hunting us, following us…it’s suicide.

But I owe Aubrey this. I failed Lainey. I won’t fail Aubrey too, even if it means following her into the darkness. I’ll be there to protect her, or die trying.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs announce the others waking. Cole descends first, hair matted from sleep, followed by Red and Eli. Their expressions are grim, the reality of Hank’s disappearance weighing on all of us.

Because of course, he’s still gone, and his absence is heavy.

“Coffee,” Cole mutters, making a beeline for the pot.

Red stretches, joints popping. “Some night. Never thought I’d be glad to see dawn in this place.”

“Everything went fine during the night?” Eli asks. His gaze bounces between me and Aubrey, curious. She’s very obviously ignoring me. I try to give him a look that says that I told her everything and he gives me a subtle, sympathetic nod.

“We need to pack up,” I announce, after everyone’s had time for coffee and a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal. “Hit the trail back to the ranch before the snow gets too soft. Could mean early avalanches.”

“About damn time,” Red says, already gathering his gear. “Should’ve headed back yesterday.”

Cole nods his agreement. “Whole trip’s been pointless. No offense, ma’am,” he adds to Aubrey. “But your sister’s long gone, one way or another.”

A flash of pain crosses Aubrey’s face, though it’s quickly masked. “I’m not going back yet,” she says, her voice steady despite the strain in her posture. “We’re continuing to Benson Hut.”

The room goes still, all eyes turning to her.

“No way in hell,” Red says flatly. “Hank’s gone. Probably dead. We’re not sticking around for whatever got him to come back for seconds and thirds.”

“I agree with Red,” Cole adds with a frown. “It’s not safe up here. I say we cut our losses and head back.”

“Then you two go back,” Aubrey says with steely determination. “Jensen and I will continue on.”

I give the others a pointed look. “Well. It’s your choice. You can come with or go back. I won’t judge what you need to do.”

“You’re seriously going on to Benson Hut?” Red demands, stepping toward me with challenge in his stance. “After what we found in the snow? After Hank’s blood trail leading into those trees? Are you out of your goddamn mind, McGraw?”

“Never felt more sane,” I volley back, my shoulders rising. “You want to give up and go back, that’s fine with me. But we’re going and hopefully we can find Hank along the way.”

Cole lets out a bitter laugh. “So much for not judging! So what, we’re the cowards that rode home so you can play hero? Fuck that. Hey, maybe I’ll run into Marcus when I’m back at the ranch, let him know what you’re getting paid.”

The tension in the room ratchets higher, the fear and anger of the past night boiling to the surface. I see Eli shift his weight to stand between me and Red.

The confrontation hovers on a knife’s edge?—

Then a sound stops us cold. A heavy pounding on the cabin door, three solid blows that reverberate through the room.

We all freeze. Eli reaches for his shotgun, leveling it at the door.

“Who the hell…” Red whispers.

The pounding comes again, more insistent this time.

I move cautiously toward the door, my own pistol drawn now. “Who’s there?” I call, voice tight with tension.

“It’s me, boss! Open up! It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here!”

That voice. Impossible, but unmistakable.

“Hank?” I call out, disbelief making my voice crack.

“Course it’s me! Who the hell else would be out in this frozen wasteland? Now open the damn door before my balls fall off!”

I glance back at the others, their faces mirroring my shock. Slowly, keeping my gun at the ready, I slide back the bolt and crack open the door.

Hank stands on the porch, snow crusted on his boots and pants, nose red from cold, but otherwise looking perfectly fine. Unharmed. Whole.

And maybe a little annoyed.

“Jesus Christ, finally,” he mutters, pushing past me into the warmth of the cabin. “Thought y’all were gonna leave me out there to freeze.”

The room erupts in exclamations—Cole and Red surrounding Hank with questions, Eli hanging back with open suspicion, Aubrey watching the scene with wide, confused eyes.

“Where the hell have you been?” I demand, shutting the door and securing the bolt. “We searched for you last night. Found your blood trail leading into the trees.”

Hank blinks at me, then laughs—a harsh sound that raises the hair on my arms. “Blood trail? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Red snaps. “You’ve been missing since last night. We thought you were dead.”

“Not dead, just drunk,” Hank says with a dismissive wave. “Found a bottle of vodka in the bathroom cupboard, finished it off during my watch. Must’ve passed out in the outhouse. Woke up half-frozen but otherwise fine.”

I exchange a look with Eli. This doesn’t add up. We checked the outhouse. Multiple times. And the blood we found was fresh, clearly visible in the snow.

“We saw the blood, Hank,” I say carefully, watching his face. “Drag marks leading into the trees.”

Something flickers in Hank’s eyes—too quick to identify, gone before I can be sure I saw anything at all. “Know nothing about that,” he says with a shrug. “But I did see a mountain lion earlier in my watch. Big bastard. Scared him off by waving myself around like an idiot. Maybe he bagged a deer after that.”

“A mountain lion,” Eli repeats, skepticism heavy in his tone. “Same one that stalked Aubrey at Cedar Creek?”

“Could be,” Hank says, moving to the fire and extending his hands toward the warmth. “Probably. Who knows? You see one cat, you seen ’em all.”

The explanation is plausible enough, I suppose. A mountain lion could explain the blood and drag marks, though they certainly looked precise. But it doesn’t explain how we missed Hank in the outhouse, or the strange feeling crawling up my spine as I watch him warm his hands by the fire.

Something’s not right. Maybe it’s just the tension of the night, the fear and lack of sleep, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.

“Take off your shirt,” I demand suddenly.

Hank turns to stare at me, confusion written across his skinny, weathered face. “Come again?”

“Your shirt, Hank. Take it off.” My voice is harder than I intend, but I need to know. Need to see if there are wounds, marks, anything to explain that blood trail.

I need to know if he’s going to turn.

“Have you lost your mind, McGraw?” Hank asks, looking around the room as if seeking confirmation that I’ve gone crazy. “It’s freezing in here and you want me to strip? Didn’t figure I was your type.”

“Shit, Jensen, what’s your problem?” Cole asks. “Maybe you are going mental.”

“Just do it,” I insist, ignoring Cole, my hand still hovering near my gun. “Show us you’re not hurt.”

The room has gone quiet, everyone watching this strange confrontation with varying degrees of confusion and alarm.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank mutters, shaking his head. But he takes off his coat and begins unbuttoning his flannel shirt, movements slow and deliberate. “Man gets lost for one night and suddenly everyone’s acting like he’s possessed or something.”

He shrugs off the shirt, revealing a thermal undershirt beneath. With an exasperated sigh, he pulls that off too, standing bare-chested in the cabin’s chill air.

His torso is exactly as I remember it—lean and wiry, skin weathered from years working outdoors, the faded tattoo of a rattlesnake curling around his right shoulder. No wounds. No scratches. Not even a bruise.

“Satisfied?” he asks sarcastically, arms spread wide. “Or would you like me to drop my drawers too? Show you what a real dick looks like?”

I grunt, giving him a dry look. The blood trail was real—Eli saw it too—but Hank is clearly unharmed.

“That’s enough,” I say gruffly, looking away. “Put your shirt back on.”

Hank mutters something under his breath, pulling his layers back on with quick, irritated movements. “What the hell’s gotten into you, boss? You think I’m one of them skinwalkers from the old stories or something?”

I wince at his choice of words and almost tell him that we’re not supposed to speak of them out loud, that we need to pay respect to the creatures from local lore. But I don’t answer, the idea hitting uncomfortably close to the legends about the hungry ones—how they can seem completely normal while being something else underneath, how they can appear unchanged until the moment they turn.

But Hank looks fine. Maybe I am losing it. Everyone is certainly looking at me like I am, save for Aubrey, though she’s barely looking at me at all.

“Well, anyway,” Hank continues, buttoning his shirt, “I’m sorry for the scare. But I’m fine. Ready to hit the trail whenever y’all are.”

“We were just discussing that,” Cole says, still eyeing me warily. “Red and I think we should head back to the ranch. After the scare you gave us, seems like the smart play.”

Hank frowns, glancing around the room. “Go back? Why? Weather’s cleared up nice. Perfect day for riding. And we’re already halfway to Benson Hut, aren’t we?”

Red stares at him in disbelief. “You serious? After what happened?”

“Nothing happened to me except I got drunk and passed out in the shithouse,” Hank says with a laugh. “Embarrassing, sure, but hardly a reason to abandon the mission.”

“Yeah, but,” Eli begins. “You weren’t having a fun time the ride up here.”

He’s right. Hank was paranoid and spooked the entire journey.

“Well, I’m having a good time now. What does the boss say?” Hank looks to me expectantly.

I study him carefully, still uneasy despite the lack of physical evidence that anything’s wrong. But I can’t justify my suspicions, not without sounding as crazy as I just acted.

“I think we should continue to Benson Hut,” Aubrey says, breaking her silence. She meets my eyes across the room, a clear message in her gaze: we need to keep going .

“The lady wants to go on,” Hank says with a shrug. “And she’s the one paying the bills, right boss? What’s the verdict?”

All eyes turn to me, waiting for my decision. The practical choice would be to return to the ranch now that Hank is alright, get everyone to safety, come back better prepared if Aubrey still insists on continuing the search. But Aubrey’s right—we need answers. Need to understand what happened to Lainey and Adam three years ago. She’s the reason we’re all here.

“We’ll continue to Benson Hut,” I decide, ignoring Red’s muttered curse. “It’s a day’s ride. We can make it before dark if we leave soon, set up safely inside for the night. Re-evaluate our options in the morning.”

“You can’t be serious,” Red protests.

“Actually, I think Jensen’s right,” Cole interrupts, surprising us all. “Weather’s good. Trail should be passable with the fresh snow. And now that Hank’s back…why not push on?”

Red looks between Cole and Hank, disbelief evident on his face. “Have you both lost your minds? We should be heading back to civilization, not deeper into these godforsaken mountains.”

“Mountain lion,” Hank repeats with certainty. “Must’ve dragged a deer off into the woods. That’s the only explanation there is. It’s just nature, boy. Nothing to worry about.”

I’m not convinced, but without evidence to the contrary, I have to accept his explanation.

For now.

“It’s settled then,” I say with finality. “Red, you’re free to go back to the ranch, but the rest of us, we pack up and head out in twenty minutes. Eli, help me check the horses and Angus. The rest of you get the gear together.”

As the group disperses to their tasks, Eli follows me outside to the lean-to. Once we’re alone, he speaks in a low, urgent tone.

“You don’t believe that outhouse story any more than I do.”

I shake my head, watching the cabin through the lean-to’s open door. “No. We checked there. Multiple times. And that blood was fresh, Eli.”

“So what’s going on? How is he completely unharmed?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “And maybe he is telling the truth. But I’d feel foolish if I weren’t a little paranoid. Keep an eye on him today. Don’t let him be alone with anyone if you can help it.”

“You think he’s…become one of them?” Eli asks carefully.

The possibility makes my gut twist. I’ve heard the stories passed down through my family’s generations, about how the hunger can spread, how those taken by it can appear normal until the moment they turn. But I’ve never seen it happen, never witnessed a transformation firsthand. Only dealt with them in their final, feral state.

“I don’t know what to think,” I say honestly, with a heavy sigh that makes Jeopardy glance at me sideways. “He looks the same. Acts pretty much the same. But I can’t shake the feeling something happened to him out there.”

“Something bad,” Eli agrees grimly. “Then again, we don’t know how things are transmitted, do we? Maybe they don’t even need to be bitten for it to spread. Maybe Hank just ate something wrong. Hell, he might not even know.”

Shit. Didn’t even think of that. Guess I’ve seen too many zombie movies.

But the blood seems like too much of a coincidence.

“Like I said,” I say to him, “we’ll need to watch him close, just in case.”

The horses are restless in the lean-to, snorting and shifting nervously. Jeopardy, usually calm in all conditions, pins his ears back when I reach for his bridle.

“They sense something’s wrong,” Eli murmurs, calming his own mount with gentle words and a firm hand. “So there’s that.”

“Or they’re just on edge from the storm and Hank going missing,” I suggest, trying to convince myself as much as Eli. “Picking up on our own energy. Let’s just focus on getting to Benson Hut safely. One step at a time.”

We finish preparing the horses in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. By the time we lead them to the cabin, the others have packed the gear and are waiting on the porch. Hank seems cheerful, even eager to get going—as if nothing unusual had happened at all. Must be nice.

Red and Cole are still giving me strange looks, no doubt wondering about my bizarre demand to see Hank’s bare chest. Can’t blame them. It was an odd move, driven by suspicion and the lingering dread from last night’s search.

Aubrey stands apart from the group, her expression closed and careful. When I approach with Duke, she takes the reins without meeting my eyes, mounting with practiced ease that belies her novice status. The events of the past few days have changed her, hardened something soft in her expression, not that she was ever that soft to begin with.

Unless she was gasping my name, eyes rolling back in her head.

Fucking her by the fire seems like eons ago, something I’m sure will never happen again. She despises me now.

“How are you holding up?” I ask quietly as she settles into the saddle.

“Fine,” she replies stiffly, adjusting her grip on the reins.

“Aubrey,” I begin, then stop, unsure how to bridge the chasm of hurt and betrayal between us, unsure how to get us back to the way we were. “About Hank?—”

“Let’s just get to Benson Hut,” she cuts me off.

Her tone brooks no argument. I nod, accepting the dismissal, and move to mount Jeopardy. Whatever happened to Hank, whatever explains the blood trail we found, we’ll have to deal with it later. Right now, our priority is reaching Benson Hut before dark.

We set out under a sky so blue it makes me wish I had sunglasses, the snow-covered landscape stretching toward the horizon like a blank page. The horses move carefully through the fresh powder, steam rising from their nostrils in the crisp air.

I take point, with Eli behind me, then Aubrey, Cole, Hank, and Red bringing up the rear with the pack mule. Behind me, I hear snippets of conversation—Cole asking Hank about his night in the outhouse, Red complaining about the change of plans, Eli occasionally offering a comment about the terrain ahead or some soundbite about history that makes Red scoff.

Aubrey remains silent, and when I glance back she’s focused on the trail. The weight of last night’s revelations hangs between us, unspoken but heavy as the snow on the pine branches overhead.

The trail to Benson Hut follows a natural valley that cuts between peaks, rising gradually toward a saddle that marks the entrance to the next watershed. Under normal circumstances, it would be an easy day’s ride. But nothing about these circumstances is normal, the snowpack higher than it should be this time of year.

As we climb, the sun beating down on the snow creates a diamond-bright glare that necessitates squinting. I find myself constantly checking our surroundings. Every shadow between trees, every rocky outcrop—potential hiding places for things that might be watching us.

Following us.

Behind me, Hank laughs at something Cole says, the sound carrying clearly in the crisp mountain air. It’s the same laugh he’s always had, the same voice, the same mannerisms. And yet I can’t shake the feeling that something happened last night. Something that left a trail of blood in the snow, something that explains why we couldn’t find him despite searching everywhere.

I hope to god I’m wrong.