Chapter 29 Ellie
ELLIE
The thing emerges from the tree line at dusk, and I'm already in position.
No one suggested I wait inside. No one pulled me aside for a final plea about staying safe. The conversation ended hours ago when I looked Caleb in the eye and said, "I'm doing this." He nodded once, handed me the radio, and walked away to brief the pack.
Now I stand in the clearing where it all began—where the first disappearance happened more than a century ago, where the pattern started. My laptop sits open on a fallen log, screen glowing, cursor blinking in an empty document. The bait that isn't really bait anymore.
"Movement, northwest quadrant." Rowan's voice sounds through the radio clipped to my jacket.
I don't respond. Protocol says radio silence from here forward unless I'm calling for extraction. The plan is simple enough: let it get close, keep it focused on me, trust the pack to do the rest.
Simple. Not easy.
The first shadow detaches itself from the darkness between the trees, and my heart hammers against my ribs. It moves wrong—too fluid, joints bending in directions that make my eyes water. Behind it, two more shapes emerge.
Three. Not four. Small mercy.
"Well," I say aloud, voice carrying across the clearing. "Took you long enough."
The lead creature pauses, head tilting. Up close, it's worse than I imagined. Human-shaped but stretched, like someone grabbed a person by the head and feet and pulled until the proportions went all wrong. Its eyes reflect the laptop screen, twin points of hungry light.
"You're here for me, right? The nosy journalist who wouldn't leave well enough alone?" I take a deliberate step closer to the laptop, drawing its attention to the screen. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not running."
It speaks, and the sound scrapes against my skull. "You... see... too much."
"Occupational hazard." My hands shake, but my voice stays steady. "Though I have to say, your intimidation technique needs work. The whole 'lurking in the shadows' thing is very last century."
The creature moves closer. Twenty feet. Fifteen.
Fear floods my system—adrenaline making everything sharp and bright and immediate. Every instinct I've ever had screams at me to run, to hide, to make myself small and invisible and safe.
I plant my feet and hold my ground.
"You know what your problem is?" I continue, backing toward the laptop but slowly, controlled. "You rely on people being afraid. On them disappearing when things get difficult."
Ten feet. Close enough to see the wrongness of its face, the way its mouth stretches too wide.
"But I'm done disappearing."
It lunges.
I dive sideways, rolling behind the fallen log as quickly as my pudgy legs can propel me.
Which is way faster than I would have imagined. I guess being potentially shredded by a zombie werewolf can motivate even the most plus of the plus sized.
Claws rake the air where my head was. The laptop crashes to the ground, screen flickering but staying lit.
"Now would be good!" I shout into the radio.
The forest explodes into motion.
The howl cuts through the night air like broken glass as the three mutant wolves scatter. I don't flinch anymore—three days of preparation have worn the edge off supernatural terror, replaced it with something steadier.
Focus.
"Movement on the north ridge." Caleb's voice calls on the radio, calm as if he's reporting a traffic violation. "Two figures. Maybe three."
I adjust my position behind the log, pulling over the laptop to balance on my knees. The screen glows blue-white in the darkness, displaying the pattern I've been tracking for weeks. "Consistent with the 1987 incident. They'll circle counterclockwise, test the perimeter before committing."
"Copy that." No question in his tone. No second-guessing my analysis. Just acceptance and action. "Rowan, shift east. Mara, hold your position."
The trust hits me sideways—not the desperate, clinging kind that demands proof, but the steady sort built from shared honesty. He doesn't ask if I'm sure. I don't ask if he believes me.
"Contact." Mara's voice, sharp with adrenaline. "They're faster than expected."
I scan my notes, cross-referencing behavior patterns. "The moon phase. It's two days past full—they're operating at peak strength but losing patience. They'll rush the center instead of wearing us down."
Caleb's response comes without hesitation. "All units, adjust for aggressive approach. Ellie, how long do we have?"
"Minutes. Maybe less." I save the file, close the laptop. The bait phase is ending; now I become part of the solution instead of the problem. "The 1987 report mentioned disorientation when their attack pattern was disrupted. If we break their formation…"
"They'll scatter or consolidate." Caleb finishes the thought. "Either way, we control the engagement."
Something crashes through the underbrush twenty yards to my left. I don't run. Running is what it expects, what it's evolved to trigger and chase. Instead, I stand slowly, deliberately, making myself visible in the clearing.
"Showtime." I key the radio once, then clip it to my belt.
The creature emerges from the tree line like a nightmare given form—too tall, joints bent at wrong angles, eyes that reflect light like broken mirrors. Behind it, its companions materialize from shadow.
"Well." I work hard at keeping my voice from shaking. "You're uglier than the witness reports suggested."
It pauses, head tilting with predatory curiosity. Good. Confusion means hesitation, and hesitation means time.
"Documentation was incomplete." I take a careful step backward, not fleeing but repositioning. "Nineteenth-century accounts focused on the violence, missed the intelligence. You're not just hunting—you're studying."
The lead creature takes a step forward. Its comrades fan out, but slowly. They're listening.
"That's why the cycles. That's why the patterns." Another step back, drawing them further into the clearing. "You're not randomly feeding. You're learning how we respond to fear."
Caleb appears at the forest edge, silent as smoke. No dramatic entrance, no challenge roared across the clearing. Just presence, steady and sure.
The creature looks at him, then back at me. Divided attention. Exactly what we planned.
"The problem with studying humans," I continue, voice carrying across the space between us, "is that we're remarkably good at adapting. Especially when we stop fighting each other and start working together."
The attack comes fast—but not faster than we're ready for.
The silence after the howling stops feels louder than the chaos that preceded it.
I sit on the sheriff station's front steps, laptop balanced on my knees, documenting everything while the details remain sharp. My arm throbs where fresh claw marks shine, but the pain keeps me focused. Keeps me present.
"You're really writing all of this down?"
Thomas Reed approaches cautiously, his librarian's cardigan torn at the shoulder. Behind him, a cluster of townspeople mill around the street, voices carrying fragments I catch and transcribe.
"—saw it with my own eyes—"
"—bigger than any wolf should be—"
"—Sheriff Hart, he just changed right there in front of—"
"Every word." I don't look up from the screen. "The whole story. No more buried files or missing records."
Thomas settles beside me on the step. "People are scared."
"Good. They should be." I save the document, then meet his gaze. "Fear means they're paying attention. Means they can't pretend this didn't happen."
Across the street, Mara Hale emerges from the clinic, blood on her scrubs. She spots us and crosses over, exhaustion etched in every line of her face.
"How many injured?" I ask.
"Seven. Could have been worse." She glances at my laptop. "You're documenting this."
"Someone has to."
"The pack won't like it."
"The pack doesn't get to decide anymore." I close the laptop and stand, wincing as my arm protests. "Secrecy is what made this possible. What let those things hunt here for decades without consequence."
Mara studies me with tired eyes. "You understand what you're doing? What this means for all of us?"
"I understand that silence never protected anyone. It just made the truth someone else's problem." I tuck the laptop under my good arm. "Where's Caleb?"
"Coordinating cleanup. Making sure nothing dangerous was left behind." Thomas points toward the forest edge where figures move through the trees with flashlights. "He's been out there since dawn."
The morning light reveals what darkness had hidden. Gouges in tree bark. Patches of disturbed earth. A section of Main Street where asphalt buckled under forces that shouldn't exist in any official report.
"This can't be explained away," I mutter.
"No," Mara agrees quietly. "It can't."
A pickup truck rumbles down the street, slowing as the driver stares at the damaged pavement. I recognize him—Pete from the hardware store. He parks, gets out, walks over to run his fingers along the cracks.
"What the hell happened here?" He looks between us, confusion and fear warring in his expression.
Thomas opens his mouth, probably to deflect or minimize, but I speak first.
"The truth happened. Finally."
Pete's gaze sharpens. "What truth?"
"The kind that's been buried under decades of missing files and convenient accidents." I shift the laptop to my other arm. "The kind that explains why people disappear in these woods and why the official reports never quite add up."
"Ellie." Mara's voice carries a warning.
"No more warnings." I turn to Pete directly. "You want answers? Read tomorrow's story. All of it."
Pete nods slowly, still staring at the damaged street. "About damn time someone told us what's really going on in this town."
As he walks away, Mara shakes her head. "You're forcing a reckoning."
"Moonhaven was always going to face this choice—accountability or amnesia." I watch more residents emerge from their homes, drawn by the visible damage they can't ignore. "I'm just making sure accountability wins."
The truth is irreversible now. Written, witnessed, spreading through conversations that can't be unspoken.