Fairlake, West Virginia

August 14th, 2004

"I'd die before I let you take me out on a date," Dylan Ray smiled up at Deputy Mike, who was sitting on the corner of her desk.

"Ain't that a bit harsh, Miss Ray?" Mike tried his best to look wounded but Dylan wasn't biting.

"I know that I'm new here, but you'll learn that I'm a proud woman, deputy. I'd die before I let a man take that pride away from me, which is precisely what would happen if I showed you the color of my underwear."

"It's pink, ain't it? You don't even have to tell me, I already know." Mike tipped his hat and slid off the wooden surface, sipping at his tall coffee as he strode across the Sheriff's Station. Dylan was about to get back to her communication log when she noticed Mike's abrupt stop. He stared agape outside the window. Dylan, alarmed by Mike's reaction, got up to see what could have possibly shut Michael D. Wade up.

Chris Flynn and Jessie Burlingame drove into the small town in their stolen, blood-splattered tow truck. Main Street took them directly to the Sheriff Station.

Jessie hopped out of the passenger side and went around the old truck to Chris and helped him down. His calf was still bleeding from the shotgun blast he took at the hillbillies' car graveyard. Before the shellshocked, ragged pair made it to the door of the police station, two officers came out, immediately taking their arms and leading them inside.

Jessie looked at the woman who assisted her, read her nametag as A. LANE. The stocky male cop that acted as Chris' crutch was M. WADE. Inside the station, a pot-bellied sheriff and a young blond were at a water cooler, startled expressions on their faces.

Jessie had the sudden, insane urge to laugh out loud.

These fuckers don't know the first thing about being 'startled.'

Dylan saw the man first. Tall, dark and covered in blood, his severe features seemed accentuated by the crimson sheen on his face. He looked at her with angry blue eyes. Ally came in with a beautiful brunette, dressed in a filthy tank top and mud-splattered jeans. Her doe eyes were wide and swimming with shock, but she managed to follow Lane's instructions well enough.

"Jesus Mary," Sheriff Carver exclaimed as he looked at the two. "What the hell happened?"

"We were attacked in the woods," Chris grunted as he took the first chair he could. He elevated his right leg and set it on Lane's desk. Gingerly pulling up the crusty hem of his pantleg, Dylan saw that his calf was wrapped tightly by a belt, and the flesh beneath it looked purple and raw. Jessie grabbed Chris' shoulder.

"They killed my friends," she said, her large brown eyes distant. "There were four of them."

"And they got a cop too," Chris added, peeling away the soaked gauze from the meat of his raw calf. "Someone who heard our radio call from the watchtower."

"That was you?" Dylan asked, heading over to the communications array. "We picked up that message last night and sent out Hicks to investigate. He hasn't reported back in yet, Sheriff."

"Ally, take their statements." Carver had fire in his eyes and Deputy Lane moved quickly, grabbing a notepad from her breast pocket. "I want to know every detail about what they saw up there." Carver turned to the radio console. "Mike, call an ambulance, will ya? Dylan, give Solomon a call. We need him to find Hicks."

"Yes, Sheriff." Dylan Ray said as she picked up the landline.

"Oh, and Dylan, ring your father too. He knows those woods better'n anybody."

"Yes, Sheriff." Dylan's hands were trembling as she made the call to Solomon's patroller.

Please God, don't let it be the Mountain Men.