Cassandra and Heather had just exited the shower-house—wet towels in hand—when they heard what sounded like a low, feral growl from the dark thicket on their left.
<BR>
“What the hell was that?” Heather asked, inching a little closer to Cassandra.
<BR>
“I don’t know,” she gulped, straining to see into the darkness. “Cray said mountain lions typically didn’t come into the campgrounds, but let’s get going, just in case.”
<BR>
“It came from over there,” Heather said, pointing to the shadowy brush several yards away.
<BR>
“I know,” Cassandra whispered. “Hold your bag up, so you’re bigger. Cray said it makes you look more aggressive.”
<BR>
Both women lifted their totes up to their chests.
“Now what?”
<BR>
“Just back away, nice and slow,” Cassandra explained.
<BR>
Another growl rumbled from the darkness, louder and more distinct. Whatever it was, they or their bags didn’t intimidate it. The bushes shook, as though the thing crept even closer.
<BR>
Before Cassandra could stop her, Heather let out a terrified shriek, turned and fled.
<BR>
“Heather! Stop!”
<BR>
Rather than leap from its hiding spot as she’d expected it would, the thing in the brush darted along the outskirts, unsettling bushes and limbs as it followed Heather’s fleeing form. Cassandra quickly pulled her flashlight, mace, and the knife Cray had given her from her bag, tossed the useless tote to the ground, and started after her friend.
<BR>
All she could think about was Cray telling her that if a mountain lion attacked, she should fight back, aggressively. From the way the thing moved, she doubted it was a bear. It was too fast.
<BR>
Heather didn’t stand a chance on her own. Then again, the two of them together might not fare any better. She hated to admit it, but Graham would sure come in handy right now.
<BR>
Fumbling in the left front pocket of her jean shorts as she raced past empty campsites, Cassandra located her cell phone. At Cray’s suggestion, she’d programmed the ranger’s number on speed dial. They definitely needed help.
<BR>
Struggling to hold her flashlight, mace, and knife in one hand while she wrestled with her phone in the other, she lost her grip on the mace. It hit the ground somewhere to her left.
<BR>
“Shit!”
<BR>
Not wanting to take the time to find and retrieve it, she continued after Heather. Holding the phone up in front of her, she hit number <i>9</i> and <i>talk</i>. It rang twice, then connected.
<BR>
“Hello? Hello? I need help. I think my friend is being stalked by a—”
<BR>
An all-too-familiar jingle followed by a woman’s annoyingly calm voice interrupted her plea. “I’m sorry, but the PCS service you’re trying to reach is unavailable.”
<BR>
“No! No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
<BR>
Cassandra tried to call again only to receive the same distressing message. She didn’t know Graham’s number, or if he even had a cell phone. Stuffing the useless thing back in her pocket, she flicked on the flashlight and aimed it down the path in front of her. Heather was gone.
<BR>
Slowing her pace, she arced the flashlight’s beam from one side of the pathway to the other. Heather hadn’t been that far ahead, where did she go? A piece of white fabric at the opening of an overgrown trail caught her attention.
<BR>
It dangled from the slender digit of a gnarled limb, its billowing form taunting, teasing, as though daring her to follow. Her heart fell to her stomach. Heather’s shirt was white.
<BR>
She cautiously approached the trail, then leapt back from the opening at the sound of a hair-raising scream. <i>Heather!</i>
<BR>
Cassandra bordered on the verge of panic. <i>What do I do?</i>
<BR>
The closest occupied campsite was still several hundred feet away. Not that it mattered; the teenagers inhabiting it were probably drunk or high and would be of little help. The park ranger was unreachable—thanks to her inadequate cellular service—and the only weapon she had now was a paltry pocketknife.
<BR>
Realizing she was the only chance Heather had, Cassandra started down the trail. With the knife held out before her, she swept the narrow path and surrounding brush with her light, hoping the thing didn’t double back. The air seemed unusually quiet.
<BR>
“Heather, where are you?” she called softly, listening intently for any further indication of her friend’s whereabouts.
<BR>
Branches snagged her sweatshirt and towel-dried hair, but she didn’t care. Heather needed help, and from the sound of her scream, she needed it fast. With only a flashlight and a few sparse snatches of moonbeams along the dirt trail to light her way, she jogged almost blindly through the stifling forest.
<BR>
She wasn’t too sure how far back Heather might be, but surely she couldn’t have been more than a hundred yards or so. The scream had sounded close. “Where are you?” she repeated, then stopped, fearing her pounding feet might mask a response.
<BR>
A whimpering to her left caught her ear. “Heather?” Her voice shook as she recognized a growing sense of fear.
<BR>
Trying to quell her panic at the realization of her own peril, she took a deep breath and stepped off the trail into the brush. Carefully spreading branches apart with the end of her knife to afford her deeper passage, she disappeared into the undergrowth. A tearing sound caused her to pause.
<BR>
<i>What the heck was that?</i> It almost sounded like ripping fabric.
<BR>
<i>Or…flesh</i>, she concluded, feeling a chill grip her innards as alarm hit her full force.
<BR>
Instinct suggested her life was in danger. She couldn’t help Heather if she were dead herself. Perhaps finding some help was a better course of action.
<BR>
She started to retrace her steps. Another spine-straightening suggestion of ripping followed by a moan of pain broke the dark stillness around her. A moist gurgle pursued its wake.
<BR>
Cassandra froze. Heather would be dead before she returned. What if it wasn’t a mountain lion. What if it was a werewolf? She couldn’t just leave her.
<BR>
“Please…” Heather’s voice murmured through the stillness.
<BR>
<i>Oh, for God’s sake, you’ve been listening to Graham’s ridiculous chatter for too long.</i>
<BR>
Cassandra started forward once again, disregarding the noise she made as she picked her way through the thick brush. Cray had said to yell and be aggressive. If it were a cougar, perhaps the clatter would scare it away.
<BR>
<i>Besides, there’s no such thing as—</i>
<BR>
Catching her foot on an exposed tree root, she tumbled forward, bursting through the other side of the bush in a clamorous rustle of leaves and snapping branches to land painfully on her hands and knees on the outskirts of a small clearing. Stunned by the fall, she leaned back on her haunches and wiped the remnants of dirt and twigs from her palms.
<BR>
Her flashlight rolled away, coming to rest several feet beyond her reach. Despite a hard knock on the ground, it remained lit, though its beam was dull. And her knife had disappeared somewhere within a mound of leaves on her left.
<BR>
When she finally glanced around her dim surroundings, she realized that she’d just happened onto the scene of something akin to a horror film. Cassandra opened her mouth to scream, but terror choked the sound from her throat. All her psychological profiling of lycanthropes fizzled away like water subjected to flame, for the shadowed creature before her—a strange mix of man and dog—couldn’t be anything human.
<BR>
<i>Werewolves…</i>
<BR>
This couldn’t be happening. Bears and mountain lions were like house pets compared to the monstrosity before her. As though to add a little more excitement to the situation, her flashlight chose that moment to flicker and go out, leaving the moon as her only source of light.
<BR>
The reddish brown pelt covering the creature’s back bristled, standing on end like the fur of a startled cat. Pausing over its feast of woman flesh, it turned toward her, a menacing growl rumbling deep within its thick, corded throat. And despite the night around them, its glowing red eyes pierced the darkness, fierce and bright, like the taillights of a braking car.
<BR>
Cassandra gulped hard when the creature riveted its cold-blooded stare on her. It took a step toward her, kicking the latent flashlight back toward her. Its beam snapped on, strong and steady, fully illuminating the tiny clearing and its inhabitants with chilling clarity.
<BR>
The beast clenched and unclenched its dagger like claws, readying for a second kill. Then its lower jaw dropped open, revealing a mouthful of razor sharp teeth, and issued an ominous snarl. Cassandra felt the blood drain from her face.

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