“I need help.”
“It will be okay,” Tina soothed, stepping closer. “Just calm down.”
“I’m glad you both found me. Is there anyone else with you?”
“No,” Russ said. “It’s just us. Everyone else is up in the field. What’s wrong with you, Rhonda? You look like you’ve been exposed to radiation or something.”
“Russ,” Tina snapped, glaring at him.
“I need help,” Rhonda repeated.
“We’ll get you some help,” Russ promised. “Can you tell us where Sam is? Do you know?”
Rhonda smiled. “Sure. I can tell you where he is. He’s right behind you.”
“What?”
Russ turned in time to see Sam and a man he didn’t recognize step out from behind a tree. Both men were obviously suffering from whatever malady Rhonda had. The stranger was especially gaunt, almost skeletal. Their eyes were like Rhonda’s. Russ held up his hands as the man pointed a deer rifle at him. Sam clutched a machete. Russ recognized the weapon. It belonged to Cecil Smeltzer, one of the volunteers for the Ghost Walk. The old man had been using it to cut undergrowth earlier this morning, between nursing cups of coffee. Russ suddenly realized that he hadn’t seen the old veteran since shortly after the cop had left.
“Hello, Russ,” Sam said.
Russ struggled to keep the alarm out of his voice. “What the hell’s going on here?”
Behind him, Tina whimpered. Russ whipped around again. Tina cowered against a tree trunk, flanked by Rhonda and Cecil. But that wasn’t what had her terrified. It was the coyote that stood in front of her, legs spread, haunches rigid, teeth bared. A low growl emanated from its chest. It turned briefly and glanced at Russ. The beast’s eyes were black, just like those of the humans. Although it wasn’t emaciated like the others, some of its fur was missing.
“Russ,” Tina sobbed. “Do something.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Russ whispered.
“No,” Cecil said. “Not even close.”
The old man’s eyes were black, but physically, he was in much better shape than the others.
“Cecil,” Russ pleaded, “that’s a coyote.”
“Once. Now it is us. Soon, you will be, too.”
“Come with us,” Rhonda commanded. “If you scream or try to run, Rich will shoot you.”
The coyote backed away, allowing Tina to step forward. She stumbled away from the tree, swooning. Russ hurried to catch her. They sank to their knees on the forest floor.
“What’s this all about?” Russ demanded. “This is crazy!”
“We need your help,” Rhonda explained, her voice calm.
“Help? What kind of help?”
Sam ran his thumb along the machete’s edge, drawing a thin bead of blood. He smiled as the blade parted flesh.
“We need you to move some rocks,” he said. “That’s all.”
Blood dribbled down the blade. Russ was mesmerized by it.
“Now get up.” The stranger, Rich, motioned with the rifle. “Follow us. We don’t have far to go.”
Russ got up and pulled Tina to her feet.
“Or what?” he challenged.
“Or we’ll kill you right here. The roots of this forest have drank much blood over the years. Yours will just be the latest to feed them.”
Ken pulled alongside one of the storage trailers that were parked at the edge of the field. He left the truck on while he got out to open the trailer door. The engine idled choppily. Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson rumbled from the truck’s speakers, singing about a good-hearted woman in love with a good-timing man. Ken had been a metal-head when he was in school, but as he got older, he found himself gravitating more toward the country music of the seventies. Listening to it reminded him of when he’d been a kid. His father had always liked Willie and Waylon, along with the other outlaws, Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson.
The song drifted across the field and into the forest. If anyone heard it, there was no indication. There were other cars parked near the entrance to the Ghost Walk: Russ and Tina’s SUV, Tom’s Dodge Charger, Cecil’s old pickup truck, and Terry’s Jeep. Jorge’s truck was absent. Ken swore, wondering if Jorge had made it back with the bags of lime he’d sent him for that morning. But despite the vehicles, there were no signs of activity. The forest was silent.
Ken checked his watch. He had two more hours before the other volunteers arrived for the walk-through and staff meeting—and a shitload of things to do before then.
Grumbling to himself, he began unloading the costumes and masks, putting them inside the trailer. The interior was full of items for the Ghost Walk: gas generators, extension cords, lights, tools, spools of rope and wire, plastic sheeting, landscape fencing, dry erase boards and markers, propane bottles, and numerous other odds and ends. He cleared a space for the costume boxes and sat them down. Finished, he exited the trailer and locked the door behind him. Waylon was now asking, “Are you sure Hank done it this way?”
Ken started to hum along, but his song turned to a shout when a hand fell on his shoulder. He spun around,
