An advanced warning from the author: to all you canon fans, be advised that this story entails far more than just the supernatural. Oh, we are diving into warfare, science fiction and all other manners of madness here, and I am aware that that may not be everybody's cup of tea, hence the warning, but if you don't mind a healthy does of welding another layer to the world of horror, then by all means, strap in for the ride, and let me know what you think. Set following the 'everyone survives' ending, but with different events have shaped the world since dawn broke.

'Zero contacts front. Advancing to structure.'

'This is Rearguard, no contacts. We're clear.'

'Shade Three, Shade Three, drop back; you're advancing past the line.'

'Shade Three copies, holding position.'

'Overwatch, be advised, no movement on the ground. Overwatch, acknowledge. Damnit, Vars, get me runner. Put us back in contact with the Hunters.'

'Be advised, Viper One, we have reached the target. No hostiles. Acknowledge.'

'Understood, Shade One, you have authorisation to proceed. Clear the structure.'

'Acknowledged.'

'Viper, be advised, motion contact, three hundred meters from CP. Bearing 087.

'Get me eyes, Rearguard.'

'Understood. Probably a bear.'

'Moving too fast for a bear, Rearguard.'

'Wolf?'

'Negative, Viper. No visual as of yet.'

'Viper, this is Shade. There's something out here.'

'Identify?'

'Something, right there. Irinus, can you-'

/Recording malfunction: Heavy static and interference. Possible screams and gunfire./

'Shade, respond? Damnit, Vars, get a response team out there-'

'Rearguard to Viper, be advised, multiple contacts! Back to the line! Open fire, open fire!'

'This is Viper to all teams, to arms! We are under attack! May He watch over us all-'

/Recording terminated: Critical damage to audio receptors./

Damaged audio log recovered from Blackwood Pines, by [REDACTED], one day after loss of contact. Seven assets unaccounted for. Three survivors.

Three months had passed since the destruction of the the Washingtons' property atop Blackwood Mountain, and progress was still to be seen. In fact, Mike thought as he screwed his eyes shut once again, it had probably written him off as a lost hope, and bounded away in search of more promising applicants.

It was only the touch of sunlight upon his eyelids that finally allowed him to awaken after another hideous night; too many times had he woken up screaming to find a silhouette in his face, seeing a corpse, peering into his terrified soul, before realising it was only a curtain at an odd angle, and the strain had eventually become too much. It was only when the sunlight warmed his skin that he knew he could open his eyes in the knowledge he would not find death immediately beyond his sight, and he uneasily shambled out of the bed, running his hand over the nearby end table in an attempt to find the clock as it chimed for the third time.

He managed to do so, with perhaps too much zeal, as he knocked the abusive timekeeper off it's perch.

Mike left it where it lay.

He found Jessica in the living room, as usual. Of all those who had emerged from the woods that evening, she had certainly improved the most, if only because none other had been reduced to a catatonic state following the affair. It had taken nearly a week to coax the memories of wandering in the dark from her mouth, and even then it was mostly incoherent. She had not reacted at the name of her hunters, for 'Wendigo' had as much impact to her ears as an exotic vegetable one might have uncovered at the fruit stand one Saturday afternoon. The moment to distinguish them by such a name had long passed, and on the rare occasions one were to speak to her of the nightmare, she would only address those dark creatures as 'them'.

She seemed to sense his approach, and shuffled across the couch ever so slightly so as to allow Mike the space on the couch to fall upon after another failed night to find rest, though she did not turn her head to confirm it was indeed her boyfriend.

'Morning, Jess,' Mike sighed, as he allowed his legs to collapse from underneath him.

She murmured a sleepy reply, as both closed their eyes once more. Rest never came naturally anymore, and to finding such came in the form of half conscious naps; the brief moment of awareness before the sub-conscience is allowed to take over once more. It might as well have been classified as an exercise; the act of walking that fine line between blissful awakeness, and the deep, black pool of scarred memory.

It did nothing to improve their health, and both spent their days gaunt eyed from lack of true rest, but neither did it destroy them entirely.

And thus it was considered greater than the alternative.

Almost without thought, Jessica allowed herself to slide along the rearmost support of the couch, until her head lay nestled upon Mike's shoulder.

He did not reject her presence, as they lay there in the morning sun, their woes all but forgotten, for the present moment.

Casting an anxious glance towards the wooden doorframe, Sam's eyes never ceased to move, as she realigned the papers laid before her on the desk, flipping through the pages at a speed with which she would have absorbed nothing, if she had not already trudged through each and every one at least a dozen times in the past evening alone.

'He should be here soon.'

'I hope he is,' replied her companion, to her eternal despair, 'for his own sake.'

She only spared him the most abrupt of glances. Daniel McAuliffe, self professed criminal lawyer, had about as much charisma of a dog that had been shot, buried, and then exhumed for a morbid museum's display.

Although she had been told otherwise of his capacity in the courtroom, outside of it, he was probably the last person she would trust with her defense.

Or rather, Mike's, as a trio of knocks announced his presence beyond the oaken barrier.

'Ah, Michael Munroe,' McAuliffe said, 'we were just wondering when you would be arriving.'

'Mike, Jesus,' Sam gasped, rising from her seat, 'do you know what time it is? Your summons is in less than an hour. You don't think-'

'Thanks for the concern, Sam,' Mike sighed, 'but you don't think it's a little late to be hoping for a reprieve?'

'He's right, Samantha,' McAuliffe said, rustling his own deck of papers, 'right now, your innocence is hardly the issue. Formalities aside, it's just a matter of how bad they're going to sic the dogs on you.'

If anyone had expected the troubles of Blackwood Pines to have remained with the cursed mountain, they were to be proven sorely wrong. Having survived an evening of being hunted by the horrors of the night, law and order had been the last item on anyone's agenda when the Rangers of Blackwood County brought the survivors into the station to confirm each of their own tales. Subsequently, everything had spilled out; how they had destroyed the lodge and a derelict sanitorium in one night of madness, as well as the slight matter of nearly agreeing to shoot one of their number on the fears of infection.

So it should have been expected, although no one foresaw such in so near a future, that barely a week later, Mike would receive a summons for the aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder of his ex-girlfriend.

It had not been helped by the fact Emily's father had amassed quite a fortune that was quickly dedicated to Mike's near extinction in the eyes of the law, had he not been able to get a hold of Josh's old contacts through Chris, namely, Daniel McAuliffe, who had managed to bail Josh out of his old antics, at least until a year ago.

But a few drunk disturbances of the peace is hardly comparable to attempted murder, and along with Mike's damning confession, it had not taken long to destroy Mike's credibility in front of the judge, although McAuliffe had not backed down without a fight, and against his own better judgement, had played the 'exceptional circumstances' card in front of a skeptical court who believed any mention of 'evil spirits' warranted a trip to an asylum.

And with Emily's own testimony to support that, the session had ended inconclusively, if only to be delayed for a second assembly that could clarify the events that led up to the supposed attack.

Mike was not the only one to fall under the axe; Ashley's name had also appeared on the papers, but ironically enough, she herself was already serving a protracted period of time in the cooler. After being debriefed by the Rangers, the survivors had received an innocuous visit from a number of darkly clothed individuals, who had demanded their oaths of confidentiality on the topic. Ashley of course, as a writer who had seen too much to remain silent for long, had broken that promise as soon as she had managed to return home. It was certainly a well intentioned warning for anyone foolish enough to attempt to call Blackwood Pines their home, but the government would not have any of it. Two days later, she was arrested on charges of drunk driving; a ridiculous notion for one who knew her, considering her poor reaction to any tonic, as well as her lack of access to a four wheeled vehicle, but the authorities had deemed it otherwise. Three months later, and they had still found even more jumped-up charges to guarantee her silence, much to Chris' dismay, as he worked daily with his own lawyer to collect enough evidence to supercede an order that had clearly come from too high up the chain of command for a pair of teenagers to combat.

And then there was the property charges. Understandably, the Washingtons had finally had enough with the disappearance of their last child in the presence of the same group of teenagers that were clearly a bad influence in the eyes of a skeptic. And a mountain resort home was not easily disposed of.

So Sam's bravery had become her bane, and their days were now spent traversing from courtroom to courtroom, defending one another as the wolves descended upon the scent of blood in the air.

And her warning! She had given the police a chance to ensure no others died, and the result was two officers who would never see the light of day again, written off as a means to appease whatever false lead a band of marauding teenagers had placed for the keepers of law and order. Now that they were gone, the sheriff's department was not exactly willing to admit they had failed to take a threat seriously, so the blame was once again shoveled onto Sam's doorstep, for 'a vague and grave underestimation of the risk involved in the suggested operation.'

Perhaps, she wondered more than once, it might have been better if they had never survived the night.