Page 173 of Overcast

I let my curiosity get the best of me, and I’m walking, letting the limited streams of the moon guide me through the narrow trail.

It doesn’t take long for me to get to the bunker, but I dare not open the door. I’m afraid of what I might find inside. Of what they’ve already done to Bianca and the man Marty said he still had within his possession.

The smell of a campfire fills my nostrils when a soft breeze brushes against my face and I move again, looking for any sort of light source. My ears are on high alert as the trail disappears into random brush, bushes and fallen limbs from trees, casting an eerie vibe on all sides of me.

I’m hearing things. There’s no one out here.

Except my feet keep striding forward, just a few more yards, and I’ll turn around. Each step, another one I have to take back and make sure it’s not in some random boobie trap or hole that Marty’s crazy-ass built for intruders.

The hue of orange appears through the random plant life as I take a shift to my right, urging me on.

I carefully get closer, the brightness of the campfire I smelt earlier becomes more real. A mumbling of voices comes into play now, and I’ve descended on something I don’t think I’m supposed to see.

I should turn back, go back to Mills because he’s probably outside looking for me in the backyard by now. I know my several moments of peace and quiet are now over, but I keep treading towards the private encounter that is within the secret of the night.

Until I hear a branch snap behind me, followed by a low growl of what intones as an animal.

My body locks up, pivoting quickly to see what’s there when something furry takes a threatening step in my direction.

I turn and run, fully aware that it’s going to catch me. That I don’t stand a chance. A scream already ripped from my lips as I try to zig and zag to lose it. My chest burns from the needy intakes of air that I need to breathe. My only hope is the murmuring of voices that I heard somewhere in the woods.

I form another scream, almost getting it released from my throat when I’m snatched up by my bicep and spun to the side. A black figure stands in front of me—well, a chest—as I quickly raise my chin.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” The male voice drips peril and anger as it shakes me for a quick answer. His words register, then his tone, and I knit my brows.

“Bishop?”

I hear his harsh scoff before he barks out, “Lass es.”

“Wh—” He hauls on my frame then, guiding me through the masses of the woods when we reach the edge of another clearing, displaying the fire that I smelt earlier.

What is he doing, a witch ritual, or something?

I scan the area, finding items placed near the flames when I quickly wish he was really doing some witchcraft or some religious thing. Because the scene in front of me is so much worse.

Bianca’s body is tied to a thick pole, her front glistening from the light of the fire giving away blood all over her shirt. Her eyes have already fallen on me, wide and fearful, as she jerks at her restraints. A cloth is tightly bound between her lips, so I can’t make out what she’s trying to say, but I’m sure it’s pleas to get her free.

Things I was only just asking for weeks ago.

The beast that just chased me moments ago shows up in front of her, a large German Shepherd thats fur is peppered in blood. He completely ignored me and went to his next target.

“Sitz,” Bishop snaps at my side before releasing me like an unwanted doll.

The animal sits faithfully, staring at its prisoner as I watch Bishop stride towards a black bag on the ground.

Marty’s bag.

My focus takes in the rest of the space, only welcomed by the three of us and the dog.

“Where’s Marty?” I ask—more like mutter—as I step backward. Bishop has always made me a little unsteady with his stoic demeanor and the personality of a brick wall.

I’d have a better conversation with a dandelion than I would him, and that’s fine, I just wish he wouldn’t be so cryptically quiet. Especially in the middle of the night surrounded by woods and the perfect layout for a horror film.

Except I found the killer and the victim, so what does that make me?

Bishop squats down, rummaging through the duffle and silently dismissing me by not answering. Bianca makes a strangled moan-like sound, gaining my focus as she continues to stare at me, making me feel guilty by just standing here and doing nothing.

She’s here because she almost murdered Reagan. I’m not a part of this.

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