(Mostly) Human Resources

Prologue

His backpack beat a bruising rhythm against his spine in time with his footfalls. His joints burned with every step, but fear kept him moving. Pain was nothing—so long as the beast didn’t catch him.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, matched only by the bone-shaking pace of the beast crashing through the forest behind him. Its strides were steady, relentless, shredding the thicket, unencumbered by ivy or the thorny branches scoring its skin.

Dense clouds dulled the moon’s pale glow, but just enough light slipped through to catch a glimmer of water between the trees. Mill Creek cut across the path ahead, and he tumbled in, ankle-deep, the cold soaking his shoes. On the far bank, he hauled himself up the muddy incline, breath ragged.

He looked back.

The beast loomed at the water’s edge, moonlight glinting off sharp, ivory bone and black, hollow eyes. He scrambled back, losing his footing. Panic seized him, choking the air from his lungs. An arm reached out—moss and bone and decaying flesh.

He screamed, and only the forest answered.