Chapter Four

Camping Grounds

"You sure we shouldn't check out the cabins first?" Matt asked Dirk as he climbed out of the car. He pulled on his bright orange baseball cap and glanced about the snow-carpeted camping grounds. There was nothing disturbing the morning peace-but them. Matt frowned, not at all reassured. "That was where it all happened-"

Dirk shook his blonde head and playfully pushed Ian out of his way, knocking his friend into the car. "Don't you think the cops are gonna be suspicious if they find us going through the cabins with guns?" He shook his head and gave Matt an incredulous look. "Anyway, don't you remember what Jamie said about the wolves near the camping grounds?"

"Don't remind me," Ian groaned, slamming his door shut. "I wish you two hadn't told me. It gave me nightmares man."

"You're such a wimp," Gary interjected.

"Yeah, don't tell me you didn't freak out," Ian argued. "I saw how you were watchin' Jesse when we picked Matt up. Didn't see you getting out of the car in any hurry."

Matt ignored their chatter and watched as Dirk unlocked the trunk and propped it open. His mind played on the horrific tale Jamie had spun for them yesterday afternoon when they'd been allowed a brief visit. He glanced about again. The snow-covered grounds were still silent. But the certainty that something was out there, waiting for them, didn't go away.

Dirk pulled out Matt's hockey bag and crouched next to it, waiting for the others to gather round.

"So how many did ya get?" Ian asked Matt, nudging his shoulder.

"Three," Matt answered, crossing his arms.

"Dude, there's four of us," Gary pointed out.

"I've got my dad's shotgun," Dirk explained with a grin on his upturned face. "Stole it last night. I don't any of these lame rifles."

"Sweet," Gary grinned, brushing his fringe from his eyes. "I wanna have a go."

Matt and Ian exchanged wary looks. Gary was always the one who got carried away and started showing off. In Matt's opinion, he wasn't really a person to be trusted with any weapon, let alone a shotgun. Matt could imagine Gary accidentally shooting himself-or one of them-without any difficulty.

"Dirk, you're dad's a cop," Ian pointed out hesitantly. "If you get caught with that-"

"I won't get caught. He's too busy trying to lock away our friend, remember?" Dirk unzipped the hockey bag, revealing the three Remington hunting rifles among Matt's elbow guards, gloves and knee pads. "And it's not like I don't know how to use it. He showed me himself."

"Not so you can go tramping about through the woods like a wannabe hero," Ian argued. "If the four of us get caught, we'll be joining Jamie down at the detachment you know. None of us have licenses to use these guns-"

"Would you shut up?" Gary asked, smacking Ian on the back of the head. "I thought you were all for proving Jamie's innocent."

"And blowing away some zombies," Dirk added. He pulled out one of the rifles and handed it to Gary, who stood closest to him.

"You got second thoughts about all this?" Matt asked Ian, noting his friend's troubled expression. It echoed the same sense of uneasiness that was inching it way along his spine. "It's okay if-"

"Wait a minute, no it's not!" Gary cried. "You can't wimp out now!"

"If he doesn't want to-" Matt began, but was abruptly interrupted by Dirk, who had pulled out the second rifle and was offering it to Ian.

The other boy kept his hands stuffed in the pockets of his red parka and made no move to accept the weapon. He deliberately avoided the other's gazes.

Matt wanted to say something. But when he opened his mouth to tell Dirk and Gary to be fair, he remembered how Jamie had looked when he'd told them about the wolves who had torn Casey apart not a hundred yards from here. His best friend had been so pale, with that dull, glass-eyed look on his face. There was no trace of Jamie's usual composure. Sitting hunched in the interview room, Jamie's voice cracked as he spoke.

"Her screams…that was the worst…Casey kept screaming for us to come back, that we couldn't leave her…but we couldn't. It sounds awful I know but we couldn't go back. We would have died too…"

"Fine, stay with the car," Dirk snapped. Matt found the rifle being shoved into his hands and watched as Dirk stood and stormed off to retrieve the shotgun from the trunk. Gary shook his head and bent to pick up a box of ammo.

"I-I can't," Ian tried to explain to Gary, but his friend wasn't listening. He stuffed the ammo into his jacket's pockets and followed Dirk, leaving only Matt to face pale-faced Ian, whose guilty expression only made Matt feel uneasier. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the tree-line for any movement.

There was nothing but trees and snow.

"It's not that I don't want to help Jamie out," Ian explained, the desperation in his reedy voice echoing the tiny voice inside of Matt that screamed GET OUT! NOW! RUN AWAY! JAMIE'S RIGHT, THERE'S SOMETHING BAD IN THOSE WOODS…DO YOU REALLY WANT TO FACE IT?

"I know man," Matt replied in a tight voice, feeling terrible when his friend's face fell. "Just stay with the car. Make sure nothing happens to it, okay?"

Ian nodded mutely. His eyes widened when Matt bent down and picked up the remaining rifle and shoved it unceremoniously into Ian's hands. The other boy tried to hand it back to him, but Matt shook his head and took a step back.

"Keep it. There's…" He struggled to find the words to articulate exactly how he felt. He was frightened, but that wasn't something one guy just tells another. He wanted to warn Ian, make certain he'd just stay in the car, not try anything brave to prove himself. But if he said any of that, then wouldn't Ian have a fit and probably set out to do just that?

"You changed your mind?" Dirk called from the car, pulling out his father's shotgun and loading it with a familiarity that Matt hadn't suspected he'd possessed.

Ian swallowed, but bravely shook his head. "I'll stick with the car," he said, much to Matt's relief.

Dirk and Gary sniggered, but Matt tried to give Ian a reassuring smile-and failed.

"We won't be that long," he said, feeling like a sissy but unable to crush the part of him that felt sorry for Ian and even wanted to join him in wimping out. "Just read that book you got from the library."

Ian nodded and smiled thinly, the rifle cradled awkwardly in his arms. Matt picked up his hockey bag and dumped it into the trunk, grabbing a box of ammunition before Dirk slammed it shut on his fingers.

"Just don't sulk if we come back with all the proof we need to clear Jamie," Gary called as the three of them began to trek through the snow towards the treeline.

"And don't piss yourself if the wolves come for ya," Dirk added snidely, and together he and Gary began to howl, their voices echoing through the empty space.

"Screw you," Ian called after them. Matt laughed when he realised that Ian was giving them the finger.

"What a bitch," Dirk muttered, his venomous words losing their edge when spoken through a cloud of frosted air.

"Leave him alone," Matt admonished, feeling like his mother for berating Dirk. "We should be paying attention anyway. Don't want any of these things sneaking up on us…right?"

Dirk threw Matt a sour look, but must have conceded that he had a point because he shut up and started watching their surroundings as they climbed over the low wooden barrier that marked the beginning of the Far Eastern Trail, a tourist attraction in summer and a killer trek in winter, even on a clear day like today. The three crunched through the snow in companionable silence, the rifles held reassuringly in their hands.

The quiet gave Matt time to consider something that had happened to him when he was a kid. It had been playing on his mind since coming out here, like it did whenever his dad dragged him out into the National Forest to go hunting.

When Matt had been much younger-before the new Public School had been built, so Matt guessed he would have been about six or seven-the Grace Lake elementary school teachers took their students up into the National Park, for a 'nature day', so the students could learn about the environment and wilderness safety from the park rangers. There were puppets involved-the sort put together with felt and a hot glue gun-and worksheets, and stickers with a cartoon representation of Old Ben ("Old Ben Wants YOU to Be Bear-y Nice to Bears!") that found their way on every surface possible. But what Matt remembered the most was the hike every class had gone on, xeroxed worksheets in hand as the children were led in small chatting groups into the National Forest.

It hadn't been this trail, but the one on the other side of the lake, up near the ranger station and the tourist's centre. Tame, really, and perfectly safe considering the immediate grounds weren't densely packed with trees or frequented by local wildlife. It was supposed to be a prime example of local wilderness, where the schoolchildren could observe insects, plants and animals and scrawl their observations onto the worksheets. There shouldn't have been any problems. But all the same, Matt had somehow managed to get himself separated from the others.

Alone for what was probably only twenty minutes but felt like endless hours to Matt, he'd done exactly as his xeroxed worksheet stated in bold print under BE SAFE! He had clumsily read the page, but mainly rememberedwhat it saidfrom earlier, during the Old Ben sketch with the puppets.

If you find yourself lost, don't move. Call for a teacher, or a parent. Wait for help to find you.

He didn't move. He called for his teacher, Miss Dunstan, until his voice went scratchy and his throat got sore. He waited.

But no one came.

It was easy for a little kid to imagine being lost in the forest forever. Even as a little boy, Matt doubted being bear-y nice would stop animals from hurting him. Matt cried, thoroughly convinced he'd never see his family, friends or pets again. It had been terribly lonely and frightening to just sit and wait, shouting for his teacher. His childish imagination played out all kinds of horrible things that could happen while he wsa alone-a bear could find him, or a wolf, or maybe he'd just be lost out here forever…

Before the ranger came to find him, Matt had been calling for his parents tearfully, promising to be good if they came to get him.

Thinking on it, Matt likened the same sense to what he was feeling now. It was an entirely different situation-seventeen-year-old Matt was carrying his dad's Remington for a start-but it felt the same. Vulnerable. Frightened of the unknown creatures that lurked beyond the tree line. Unsure of ever returning to civilisation.

He glanced at Dirk and Gary. Do they feel like this too? He wondered. Then he felt foolish. Dirk certainly had no reservations-the other boy's swagger left no room for uncertainty-and Gary would follow Dirk's lead like he had back at the car. There'd be no confessions of fear on this trip. Not unless Matt wanted to find himself laughed at and mocked like poor Ian.

"Hey-d'ya see that?" Gary suddenly asked, stopping on the edge of the path and pointing into the trees.

"See what?" Dirk demanded, hefting the shotgun up. "There's nothin' out there."

"Over there-see that tree? No dumbass, that one." He pointed towards a rocky outcrop a dozen feet away, where a stunted and twisted tree struck out in the densely forested surrounds. Matt followed his line of sight, but Dirk seemed to be having trouble.

"What? It's a tree." Dirk snorted and slapped a hand on Gary's shoulder. "You're imagining things."

"What'd you see?" Matt asked, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking. A crunch behind him made him swivel abruptly, scanning for movement. There was nothing among the trees and undergrowth.

Matt sighed, adjusting his hold on the rifle. It no longer felt so reassuring. He felt like he had as a kid.

"There was something over there. It looked like a deer, but…." Gary broke off, his features twisting with confusion.

"Let's check it out," Dirk suggested, his mouth twisting into a leer. "Maybe we can blow away Bambi so Gary doesn't have nightmares."

"Hey, shut up man," Gary retorted. "You didn't see it. It looked like something from an abattoir."

"Jamie said they were wolves, not fuckin' deer," Dirk argued heatedly. "I'm not screwin' around 'cos you got spooked by some whitetail."

Matt kept his mouth shut, but squinted towards the twisted tree and the shadowed rocks. Could there have been something watching us? He asked himself.

"Forget it. We should keep going 'til we hit the river," Dirk said, continuing down the track without them. "We'll be bound to find traces of the wolves down there. Jamie said they had to run across the ford to get back to their cabin."

"I saw something over there," Gary insisted, following. "No shit man."

"Whatever," Dirk replied.

Matt followed after a moment too. He only went two steps before the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. His grip involuntarily tightened on the rifle and for a second, he thought he heard undergrowth snapping in the distance. The teenager paused, straining to isolate the sound from Dirk and Gary's banter and heavy steps through the snow.

"Hey, you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" Dirk asked without turning or stopping.

A loud crack sounded off to their right.

Dirk and Gary stopped dead in their tracks.

"That," Matt replied flatly, nodding his head to the right.

"I told you," Gary added, his cheeks beginning to get flushed.

The sound began to grow louder, the rustling closer. All three teenagers brought their rifles up, ready to shoot anything that emerged. Matt tried not to let his sense of unease distract him, but it was hard. He thought of Jamie, and what would happen to him, and for a terrible second, wanted more than anything to just take off. Let Dirk and Gary bag the wolves and prove Jamie's story.

Dirk's voice dragged him from his guilty thoughts.

"Wait 'til you've got a good shot," Dirk warned them. "We shouldn't waste ammo."

"Sure Mom," Gary sniped. "You wanna take the shot for me too?"

The undergrowth nearby stirred. Gary shot first. Like Matt had suspected, the boy was overeager to shoot and his aim went wide. A low hanging tree branch sent a shower of powdery snow falling on them, making all three take a few steps back.

"Could you suck any harder?" Dirk demanded to know, giving Gary a hard cork on the bicep. "What did I just freakin' tell you man?"

The undergrowth rustled again. Obviously something heavy out there, Matt judged, trying to calm himself and prepare to shoot. Dirk and Gary's arguing threatened to distract him, but he focused solely on the approaching sound.

The delicately built deer emerged from the thick winter foliage, startling Dirk and Gary and making both swear and jump back a step. Matt breathed a sigh of relief and lowered the rifle, throwing a thin grin over at Dirk, who had started to laugh nervously.

"Nothin' but 'tail," Matt said weakly.

"Reckon I could pop Bambi from here?" Gary asked casually, bringing the rifle's scope to eye-level.

"Don't be a dumb shit," Dirk said.

Matt was about to add his objection when the undergrowth began to crack and snap again, but this time stirring more violently. The deer was about to leap away when a tall, four-legged shape burst suddenly from the foliage, knocking the startled doe midstride and sending her skidding into the path, knocking Matt off his feet.

Forced to drop the rifle to bring up his arms to defend his face from the whitetail's kicking, bucking legs, Matt rolled away, snow blinding him momentarily.

There was a loud BOOM, followed by a series of smaller rifle cracks. But amid the fire, there was something else, another sound Matt couldn't identify. It was a screech that sounded clogged up, like a little kid with a phlegm-filled nose screaming at the tops ofits lungs. Matt could hear Dirk and Gary's excited shouts as he and the doe scrambled for their feet. Scared of being either kicked in the face or shot by one of his friends, the teenager fought to crawl away.

Wiping snow from his eyes while searched half-blind for his rifle, Matt was almost deafened by the shotgun's second BOOM. It the aftermath, he heard Dirk ask Gary "What the fuck is that?" in a voice he'd never heard his friend use before-slightly awed but mostly confused, neither traits Dirk was known for-before Gary shot the rifle in answer.

Beside Matt, the doe finally got to her feet, but staggered away only a handful of feet before collapsing again.

"What the fuck was that?" Dirk repeated.

Matt's vision finally cleared-and he saw the blood-stained snow about his hands and knees first.

Following the trail of blood and clumps of gross, dark matter that steamed in the morning light, Matt saw the doe, kicking, twitching and cut open on the path not five feet away.

He opened his mouth indignantly to ask his friends why they'd felt the need to shoot the deer when he realised that her injuries weren't caused by either shotgun or rifle.

Matt picked up his rifle and turned to stand-then couldn't find the strength.

Lying amongst the leaf matter and undergrowth was another whitetail.

This one was a stag. Or at least, the remains of what Matt thought might have been a stag.

For one thing, the stag no longer had a pelt. Instead, it's exposed, decayed muscles and tendons were coated with encrusted yellow mucus and patches of dried blood. The smell was bad-Gary had to cover his mouth when he began to approach the stag, and from where Matt was kneeling, he could smell it too. It was curious mix of rot and shit that seemed to hang in the clear morning air about them.

It was antlers that caught Matt's fascination. They shared absolutely no resemblance to the ones he'd seen mounted throughout the town, adorning riverstone fireplaces and musty old studies. These antlers had no natural grace. They jutted out cruelly, thicker and more brutal than any real stag could possess, the ends curving sharply in a manner that promised pain. From this angle, the snatches of torn flesh caught on that thorned set of antlers were visible.

But what got to Matt the most wasn't the skinned appearance, or the smell, or the antlers.

It was the teeth exposed by the stag's open mouth, more a snarl than the frozen shock Matt had seen on dead deer before.

They weren't the flat teeth of an animal that eats plant life. Something had happened to them. Changed them. The teeth that Matt stared at were now sharp and long.

Fangs covered in grimy blood.

Unable to cope, Matt leaned over and puked up his breakfast.

"Jamie's right," Dirk said, trying to ignore Matt's noises. "That animal's been infected by something. I'd say the wolves got to him before we did."

"Did you see how that thing jumped out?" Gary asked, using his brain for once and cautiously keeping his distance. "It gutted her like...like..."

"A pig," Dirk finished soberly. "Think we could get it back to the car? If we've got this as proof-"

The thought of dragging the stag carcass back to the camping ground made Matt's stomach convulse painfully.

"Would you shut up?" Dirk complained down to Matt. "You're making me feel sick worse than that does."

"I'll tell ya one thing," Gary said, an adrenaline-fuelled grin on his face as he reloaded the hunting rifle with bullets he produced from his pocket. "He sure ain't Bambi."

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Back at the car, Ian was comfortable and safe.

That was, for the moment at least.

When Dirk and the others had left, he'd climbed into the car. Still feeling creeped out by the silent campground, Ian had slapped all of the locks down. That had gone a small way to helping him feel safe.

The joint and the flask of whiskey he'd nicked from his parent's liquor cabinet had gone all the way.

Smoke clouding around him and whiskey warming his belly, Ian lounged casually in the passenger seat, a battered Stephen King novel in his hands as he read with reddened eyes. Every now and then he'd get that weird feeling again-the one that tried to scream that something was watching him-but after the joint and half a flask, he was beginning to think Dirk and Gary had it right. He was a paranoid little bitch. But at least he wasn't a bitch freezing it's ass off in the snow, Ian reasoned with a half-smirk on his face, bitterly remembering Dirk and Gary's earlier teasing.

He turned the next page, sloshing another mouthful of whiskey down his throat. It was only when he couldn't concentrate that Ian belatedly realised that he had to take a leak.

Ian threw the novel down and picked up the rifle. The cool air that greeted him outside was refreshing after being cooped up in the stuffy, smoke-filled car. He spied a nearby tree that would do and trudged off toward it, the rifle held tucked under his arm.

Whistling low under his breath while he unzipped and started tracing his name into the snow-it didn't take long being three letters- he leaned back on his heels and admired his work. He was concentrating hard-the others would rag on him for months if they came back to find he'd pissed himself-and so didn't hear the light tread of ruined paws in the nearby snow.

He smelt it first.

And then the low, guttural growl off to his right caught his attention. Ian's head snapped up soon enough to register that a strange, skinned animal was launching at him, but not fast enough to react. He barely had time to let go before fetid jaws snapped at his neck, not even realising that a hot stream of urine was soaking into his jeans as he was thrown onto his back.

Ian screamed, partly fear, mostly pain, and attempted pitifully to batter at the rotten creature, his hands slapping against slick but spongy flesh. It was futile. The animal tore savagely at Ian's throat. In a detached, bewildered part of his mind, a litany started up.

It's not real I fell asleep in the car and now I'm having a nightmare it's not real I fell asleep and…

A thick tearing sound filled Ian's ears, instantly followed by a searing, blinding agony. He coughed, choked and found that he was unable to scream or breathe.

The frenzied animal paused for a brief moment-long enough for Ian to notice with pain-sharpened clarity that it was his blood that coloured the animal's gore-filled mouth-and growled, lifting torn lips to reveal blackened gums and canines stained pink with blood.

"Wuh-" he began, his eyes widening as he recognised the creature. Blood choked him, a weird-and painful-bubbling in his throat distorting the word.

Then the infected wolf lunged forward again. Excruciating pain cut off any of Ian's struggles.

But before the agony could entirely overwhelm him, Ian realised that somewhere, off in the distance, he could hear gunshots ringing out hauntingly over the lupine snarls.

And a chorus of low, ominous howls picking up in response.

Note: Nah, haven't abandoned it, just trying to fix chapters I wrote ages ago. Thanks again for reviewing!