Author's Note: Thanks AWP for the feedback! As for the enemy, I won't give too much away just yet, but don't worry; you'll all be getting accustomed to them very soon. Once again, final warning to canon guys who don't like sci-fi. Next chapter, we're going all in.

This is in case I don't come back. If I'm not back by tomorrow, get this to the Mayor as soon as you can. Too much shit has been going on up here just for coincidence. Ever since the damn kids blew up the lodge on the mountain, and those shady government guys have been coming through here day and night, it's been getting worse by the day. Livestock going missing is one thing, but six hikers in a week is another. And there's enough reports about the lights and suspicious persons around the woods these days; if it continues any longer, we'll all be out the door. So if things go south, you release everything in the archives, including Wells and Caroll. People need to know what's out there. And if the bureaucrats don't do shit about it, burn the damn forest down. All of it.

Here's to hoping it's just wolves.

Note found on the desk of Deputy Niles Fisher, 12 May 2015, signed Sheriff Annie Cline, Blackwood County Police Department.

To Sam's eternal dismay, they arrived at derelict bus station, welded onto the base of the mountain like an unwanted tumor, well past nightfall.

She was not alone in her protests of advancing up the mountain until daybreak, but Stig would not be deterred.

'Closest town is on the far side of the mountain,' he said, detaching the key from it's socket with an audible 'click', 'which would take all night to circumvent. It's either that, or we backpedal down the mountain road to the last motel we passed. And that's too far for my liking.'

'And my liking would be to keep my head,' Sam hissed in the same tone, 'we don't even have any fire.'

They had appraised Stig nearer to the mountain as to what lay ahead, but despite passing through several towns, Stig had adamantly refused to halt and purchase the jerry cans of gasoline his passengers had desired, stating it would be 'suspicious' if six teenagers turned up requesting enough fuel to commit the arson of the century. His excuse had been a vague one as always, indicating that he would put in a requisition order for such upon their arrival at the desolate location, but it did little to put the six at ease. Somehow, it was far worse this time, returning in the knowledge of what awaited them in the darkness. Certainly, every memory of Mount Washington was enough to send a shiver up the spine: each time they had walked in the darkness, or frolicked within the lodge, unaware of what lay beyond those wooden walls. To think that death may have come so easily each time provided no ease upon the mind, yet it never occurred to them that they had been happier in the past, ignorant and in a world of bliss, where the largest problem was either a letter attached at the bottom of a test, or the opposite gender.

Thankfully, although perhaps disconcertingly, Stig was not foolhardy enough to send the company marching up the mountain unarmed, with the word 'prey' stenciled into each of their backs, as he waved them over to the back of the van. After collecting their personal belongings from the boot however, he bade them to stay, as he leant into the opening, tinkering with some indistinguishable object near the point where the rearmost met the storage compartment, before he tore aside the fabric that had lined the floor.

It was essentially a small arms locker, stowed where a spare tyre might usually be placed, and more than a few of those present could not help but wonder how on earth such had come to be in Stig's possession, particularly considering the fact they had already been stopped and searched at the Canadian border. True, border security had not deigned to rip apart the entire car, but it was a safe bet that the two guard dogs present would have been able to detect anything untoward in the battered van.

On the other hand, it was hardly a substantial arsenal to hunt a Wendigo. A pair of hunting rifles, that seemed to be missing their barrels, a trio of pistols, and a single AR-15, though it was stripped down to the barest of skeletons, lacking a sight, a foregrip and any visible ammunition.

'This job isn't an office one,' was the only answer Stig provided to the glances he got, before he began distributing the equipment. To the despair of those who knew the mountain's perils all too well, they soon learnt that the AR-15 present was in fact non functional, for it was devoid of both ammunition, and a working firing pin; a detail Stig had blamed on a local gun supplier who would not be receiving any more business from his wallet.

'Is this-' Sam paused, eying the locker with no small degree of scrutiny, 'legal?'

'Hundred percent,' Stig replied. Then, seeing she was entirely unconvinced, he decided to spoil that assertion with a wry grin. 'Depending on the state. Now, to the numbskulls with something hanging between their legs; who can I trust to put a bullet where it needs to go?'

He might as well have struck a bell, for as Jessica had noticed all too well, the combination of men and guns cannot be trusted to produce any result requiring the usage of a brain. And with two rifles, and three men present, not one was willing to be left with a pistol, or worse, nothing. There was something emasculating about that prospect that refused to allow honor to lie down without a fight.

'Shotgun,' Mike called immediately. Simultaneously, Chris and Matt repeated the phrase at vehement volumes. Stig, on the other hand, looked as if he had just watched a monkey walk on stage, perform the opera, before urinating on the conductor. After a haphazard attempt to explain the game to the impatient man, the youths grudgingly resorted to reason, though such was not to say it was of any logic.

'Sam,' Chris implored, 'you saw my shooting; you know I can slot 'em where we need them.'

'Yeah right,' Mike laughed, 'probably two feet away.'

'I got chased by a Wendigo man,' Chris returned, 'that was some snap second shit.'

'And I nearly got killed by a dozen! But I'm still here,' Mike maintained with a proud air, 'cause I know how to keep calm under pressure.'

'Yes, you were certainly calm when I found you,' Sam put in, deflating that Mike's ego as quickly as it had arisen, as she made a fairly decent impersonation of Mike's terror, 'Sam! Save me!'

'I had it under control.'

'Look Mike,' Matt interceded, 'I'm sure you're a good shot, but if we organised things, had a real contest; I'd beat you right back down.'

'Why don't we try?'

'Are they always like this?'

Ashley was a little surprised to find Stig's face barely inches away from her shoulder. There was the same impatience there, but something else resided in that face, she thought to herself. Humor?

'Depends,' she answered carefully, aware that Chris was caught in the mix, 'Mike and Matt haven't always been friends.'

'Aw, ain't that sweet,' Stig cooed; a most discomforting tone for Ashley's ears, 'looking out for Christopher, aren't we?'

'I think they'll make a nice couple,' Jessica added, to Ashley's horror.

'No one said we were going out or anything!'

'Of course not,' Stig replied, unfazed, 'he's just spent the last few months trying to get you out.'

'He-wait, what?'

'They never even let him get close enough to let you know, did they?' He mused to himself, no longer a participant in their conversation. 'Miserable bastards, the lot of them.'

'Common, Ash,' Jessica prodded her, 'you two have had a crush on each other for God knows how long.'

'Life's too short, Ashley,' Sam put in, falling beside them, having exhausted diplomatic options with the trio of egotistical gunslingers in the distance, 'just go for it.'

'You would have thought nearly getting killed beside one another would jolt something into action,' Stig sighed, before he flicked away another spent cigarette, 'Are you lot done yet?'

'No,' Matt replied indignantly, before he realised who he was speaking to.

'Then I'll settle it for you. Mike, Chris, get your arses over here.'

They obeyed, only to have the two rifles in question thrown into their chests.

'Point the barrel at what you want dead.'

'Are you kidding me?'

'Aw, are we upset somebody didn't get the big boy's guns? Well, update time, Matt, I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!'

Matt took the hint. In truth, they all knew the weapons were as useful as a snowball when it would come to the Wendigo. There was not a shotgun in sight, and even those had failed to halt one of the rampaging monstrosities. No, the fight had been for the purpose of prestige, ego inflation, and self worth. And after breaking up with Emily, Matt's self confidence had certainly taken a beating. And Mike had offered an old adversary.

But there was something in Stig's tone that advised him against pursuing that course of action any further, and grudgingly, he accepted the pistol.

Sam on the other hand, did not.

'I'm not exactly a soldier,' she protested, but Stig gave her a look that advised her to shut her mouth in a hurry. Truth be told, Sam had to admit, it was probably the safest option. Jessica, although she had improved a long way since their last visit to the mountain, still encountered a degree of trouble with coordinating even the most basic of motor functions since the shock of the incident had set in, and refused to depart, while Ashley's jumpy nature, coupled with her days in solitude, was an accident waiting to happen.

At least in Sam's case, the chances of the gun killing someone of their own party was substantially reduced, though it was not to say their chances of reaching the lodge alive were improved as a result.

'You do know I'm a pacifist, right?'

'Well,' Stig replied solemnly, 'perhaps now would not be the best time to be informing me of such.'

'Yeah right,' Mike snorted, as he made his way to the edge of the road, testing the sights of the weapon as he went, 'that really came across when you came charging at a Wendigo with a spade. I don't think I ever said thanks for that, by the way.'

'It was nothing.'

'Aside from my life. Thank you.'

There was not much Sam could respond with, as Mike made off down the beaten track, with Jessica trailing him like a shadow. And as she went, Sam could not help but notice a strange glance come across Stig's face, as he strapped the final pistol to the side of his leg.

She would blame it on sleep deprivation later on, but for that fleeting second, she could have sworn she found the slightest trace of admiration in those cold eyes.

The gate was still broken. Of course, with the closure of the property and the police investigation, no one had been contracted to repair a gate in the middle of the wilderness. For a moment, Stig had proposed finding an alternate path through the undergrowth, that circumvented the stone wall, but he was quickly taken aback when he found Mike swing the rifle onto his back, alongside the small backpack he had packed for the journey, and promptly charge at the wall, scaling it in short order.

Matt, not looking to be outdone, quickly followed suite. Chris, on the other hand, bereft of the competitive spirit that seemed to dominate his two peers, adopted a far more cautioned approach. On the far side of the gate, there was the odd shout of encouragement, and a little work on Mike's part to clear the brambles that obstructed the landing from the right wall quickly allowed a second stream of intruders to scale the obstruction in little time, until only Stig and Sam were left on the wrong side.

'I can give you a boost if you want,' Sam suggested.

'Gonna add in an old man comment, too, are we Sammy?'

For a man in his mid forties, there was a spry youth in the manner Stig tackled the wall with the same vehemence demonstrated by those under his charge, and soon, he was back on the ground, well before Sam had even reached the summit of the short peak.

'Show off,' she sighed, a grin contort across her face, when Stig's hand snapped up like a lighting bolt, outstretched with the unmistakable signal to halt.

'What is it?' Chris asked, clearly unnerved by the sudden change in the man's attitude, for the smiles and contests were all but forgotten in Stig's grey eyes.

'We're not alone.'

Those words alone were enough for paranoia to set in. Immediately, Mike's rifle had appeared in his hands, and he jerked it from shadow to shadow, entirely uncertain of which direction in fact played host to a predator. Chris followed him a moment later, and Matt's arms were locked rigid in an iron brace, prepared to withstand the recoil of the pistol in his hands. Even Sam, so usually calm and collected, was unable to halt her hand from straying to her side, where she had holstered the pistol in a convenient pocket at her hip, and without a word exchanged, the group seemed to grow indiscriminately smaller, as it's members huddled together, perhaps of the mind that their hunter might recognise the unsaid law of safety in numbers, and abide to the theory without thought.

But Stig's next command would leave them all confounded.

'Drop the guns. Now.'

If he had been expecting compliance, he was deeply disappointed. If anything, the instruction had convinced Mike and Chris that the weapons they held offered some true defense against whatever horror dwelt within the night, and they clung to them for life.

So he did the only thing he could.

Sam was still looking at the man in disbelief when he unlimbered the holster on his side. It hit the ground with a soft crunch, as it sank through the uncleared snow, and for a moment, she shied away from the discarded firearm, as if the concussion it had endured might have been sufficient to induce it to belch it's wrath.

But the safety held, and no fire lit up the night, as Stig stepped before Mike and Chris, obstructing their rifles and forcing them to divert the barrels to the ground, lest a nervous hand place a bullet in his back.

Then he held his hands into the air.

'Drop them,' he whispered, shooting them a glance over his shoulder, 'now.'

It took a moment for Mike to take charge.

'This is a horrible idea,' he cursed, before he fumbled with the rifle's sling, succeeded in removing it from his shoulder, and quickly deposited it upon the snow, before he echoed Stig's gesture.

Chris and Sam followed in short order, with a silent prayer upon their lips begging God that Stig knew what he was doing. Somehow, it seemed doubtful that a Wendigo would recognised the universal gesture of surrender, so the only outcome any of them could afford to vest their hope in lay in the vague possibility that maybe, someone else was out there. Someone whose mind had yet to be corrupted by the malignant spirits that called the mountain their home.

'Quitavre!' A voice shattered the silence, yet it was not pronounced at a shout. Rather, it was a well enunciated whisper; one that cleared the intervening space with the full diction of it's initial delivery.

'Venator!' Stig returned at a similar tone, 'Natus, Viriditus.'

'Signum?'

'Septimus Filius Fenris.'

For a moment, there was no reply. Then something moved in the shadows.

It could only be described as a titan, Sam thought to herself. Even at a distance, he seemed too tall to be a man, if it were not for the fact that it stood erect upon its hind legs. Towering over even Stig, who outmatched Mike by an inch or two in height, Sam estimated the their watcher to easily measure at least seven feet, if not more.

And he was a big one. His limbs seemed to equal the the width of the trees around him, although perhaps that was due to the fact she was unable to distinguish where the man ended, and where the cloak began, as the distinctive cloth, torn and ripped in more than a few places, flittered in the wind at his back, as he emerged from the shadows.

Upon his head rested some form of helmet, although it unnerved all who looked upon it, for it fully encased it's master's head, leaving no inkling of the being that lay concealed beneath. And where one might have expected an eye, a screen of maroon filled a thin slit; of the same hue one might find in a clotted scab, leaking only the slightest traces of the unnatural light to it's darkened surroundings.

But most prominently, he had a weapon slung across his arms. A heavy set carbine, by the fact it's barrel seemed dwarfed by the hand it lay connected to yet he was still able to hold it comfortably at hip level.

And of course, there was the slight problem that the said firearm was aimed squarely at her chest.

Stig made a conciliatory gesture, while blabbering in a language she could scarcely understand, but if she were to hazard a guess, she would have presumed that he was attempting to explain their non-hostile intentions.

And that was when she saw it. The matted black plates of alloyed steel, draped over the dark fatigues worn by the sentry.

Right before it emitted a short burst of what could have only been described as laughter, and clasped Stig's hand in a friendly embrace.

Her heart sank.

He was one of them.