Chapter 3
chapter
three
DAISY
I’ll never admit to anyone, not even Marissa, that I am scared as shit to be out from behind my screen. I’ve been out “in the field” before, but that meant green rooms at concerts or sitting poolside at an A-list celeb’s house. This is, to say the least, very different.
Nervous isn’t the word for it. Not “a little outside my comfort zone.” I am fully, deeply unsettled in a way that makes my stomach feel too tight and my skin too aware of itself. Because for the first time in a very long time, I’m not walking into a room where I already know who I am.
Usually, I arrive as Daisy Bennett. Podcast host. Media personality.
The woman with the right questions, the controlled lighting, and the producer in her ear, making sure everything stays polished.
I know how to command a room. I know how to make people talk.
I know how to stay in control of the narrative even when things go sideways.
But right now?
Right now, I’m standing in the middle of the high desert with a dying phone battery, a suitcase covered in dust, and an Uber receipt so expensive it briefly made me consider hitchhiking the final twenty miles out of spite.
Of course I bonded with the driver, a sweet older man named Mike. He had a daughter my age and looked increasingly concerned the farther we got from civilization.
“You sure this is right?” he asked for the fourth time as we bounced down a dirt road surrounded by bare desert and absolutely nothing else.
“No clue,” I admitted.
That did not help. Once my destination came into view, Mike asked if he could text me from his phone so we’d have each other’s numbers, practically begging me to check in to make sure I was alive.
Now his taillights disappear in the distance, abandoning me beside an abandoned, weathered gas station that looks like it hasn’t changed since the ‘80s because the gas price is $1.20.
I stare at the empty road.
Then down at the text Maya sent me three hours ago.
Maya
Sorry, Daisy! Running behind! Wait by the gas station. Don’t wander!
Which feels like concerning advice to give a woman alone in the desert. Luckily, Marissa and I had had enough video calls and back-and-forth emails with Maya to know I could trust her. And luckily, Maya knows I don’t have the Daisy persona turned on all the time, so I’m hoping I can just be myself.
Wind sweeps across the open landscape, warm and dry against my skin. The sun hangs low enough to turn the distant cliffs molten orange, shadows stretching long across the dirt.
It’s beautiful.
In a vaguely apocalyptic way.
It’s not what I expected for a Bigfoot expedition. But then again, most of what I knew comes from what’s on Netflix. Not reality.
I adjust the strap of my bag and pull my phone back out, automatically opening my recording app.
Professional instinct.
“If my body is discovered out here,” I say into the mic, “I’d just like the record to show that I died for journalism. Which feels unfair considering most of my career has been spent asking celebrities if they text their exes.”
I stop recording.
Replay it.
Still funny.
Good. At least I’m functioning.
Headlights appear in the distance a few minutes later, kicking up dust as something large rounds the bend in the road.
Very large.
The vehicle I remember from the image Marissa showed me emerges, looking less like an RV and more like a conspiracy theory with tires. I’m struck by the sheer size of it.
Matte dark exterior. Reinforced roof racks.
Satellite equipment is mounted on top beside what looks alarmingly like military-grade storage containers.
The side reads STRANGE TERRAIN DIVISION in bold lettering that somehow manages to look both serious and deeply homemade.
Behind it, a 4Runner’s being towed with a black and orange dirt bike strapped to the back of it.
I blink.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I whisper.
The beast rolls to a stop in front of me with a dramatic hiss of brakes.
Silence.
Then the driver’s-side door of the RV flies open, and a woman jumps out of the vehicle. I recognize her instantly. Instead of cowboy boots today, though, it’s Crocs with a pink cowboy hat.
She’s all sun-warmed skin and wild blonde waves, moving toward me with enough energy to power a small city. Her cropped shirt reads, “World’s Best Cat Mom” even though I’m nearly positive there’s no cat in that RV.
“You made it!” she says, like we’re old friends reuniting after war.
Before I can answer, she grabs my shoulders.
“You’re shorter than I expected,” she says—surprising coming from someone a good four inches shorter than I am.
“…thank you?” I’m so caught off guard that I forget to put on the Daisy Bennett charm.
“No, it’s a fun surprise,” she says quickly. “You just have tall girl energy.”
I stare at her, and she grins.
“Taylor,” she says, pointing at herself. “Transport specialist. Happy to have you here!”
“You’d be happy to have anyone here,” calls a disembodied male voice from inside the RV.
“That might be true,” Taylor yells back.
A second later, a guy with light chestnut hair and a camera steps down beside her. He’s wearing black jeans, Vans, and the expression of a man permanently amused by everyone around him.
“Jax,” he says. “I document the bad decisions. Like the one you’re making right now.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
"Ooh, good one," Taylor says with a playful roll of her eyes.
“So, you’re Daisy,” he mutters, studying me openly. “Huh.”
“Huh?” I repeat.
“You look expensive.”
I laugh despite myself. “That’s fair.”
Another woman emerges, tucking her dark hair behind her ear as she glances down at the tablet she’s holding, then lifts her eyes to mine. “Hi, Daisy! Sorry we’re late,” she says, her composed demeanor in direct contrast to the chaos surrounding her.
Thank God. A normal person.
“I’m Maya,” she says, hand extended, and I shake it.
“You’re real,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her mouth twitches. “Allegedly.”
I like her.
And then, another figure steps out of the RV.
Tall.
That’s my first thought.
Tall in a way that feels unreasonable in real life, ducking instinctively beneath the doorway before straightening to his full height.
His dark hair curls slightly from the heat under his Strange Terrain Division hat.
Pale skin, which shouldn’t work but somehow does.
Hiking pants. Long sleeves. A ridiculous amount of sunscreen visible on the bridge of his nose, where his glasses sit.
For a split second, I expect them to transition to sunglasses and send a silent prayer that he’s not that nerdy. But they stay clear.
He looks like an outdoorsman crossed with a sleep-deprived graduate student.
It’s oddly attractive.
The kind of attractive that sneaks up on you because it’s hidden beneath earnestness and oddball energy.
He spots me and smiles.
Open. Friendly. Genuine. Like I’m not a complete stranger invading his life.
“Hi,” he says, jogging down the steps toward me. “Daisy, right? I’m Miles Adler.”
His handshake is warm, and surprisingly calloused.
“I know,” I say.
His eyebrows lift slightly.
Right. Weird response.
“You’re the Bigfoot guy,” I clarify.
“That’s not our official title,” he says immediately.
“In fact, we’re a multidisciplinary field research team specializing in unexplained environmental and biological phenomena.
That includes Bigfoot, but also missing time cases, light and environmental anomalies, cryptids, portals, extraterrestrial reports, really anything interdimensional… ”
I blink, then blurt out, “You know your team name is STD, right?”
“We make fun of him for that all the time,” Taylor snorts.
“I didn’t think about it at the time. And we already had hats made when Jax pointed it out!” Miles explains, smiling as he defends himself.
“I feel like it’s fitting,” Taylor shrugs, still laughing. “You can’t get rid of us.” She winks.
“Do you know how many emails I've had to send with 'STD' in the signature?” Maya chimes in, a soft laugh escaping her as Miles elbows her.
He turns back to me, still smiling and unbothered. “Anyways, sorry again about timing. We lost service for a while, and then Taylor decided she needed gas station gummy worms even though we already had gummy worms.”
“The texture is different,” Taylor argues.
“It’s the exact same brand.”
“I’m as texturally sensitive as I am energetically.”
Miles sighs like this is an exhausting but familiar conversation. “Anyway. Welcome to the middle of nowhere.”
“Yeah…” I look past him toward the endless desert. There are more trees, hills, and mountains than I expected. “It really is, huh?”
There’s an awkward beat where I expect him to get weird about me being there.
Defensive. Territorial. Something.
Instead, he nods once, then grabs one of my bags before I can stop him.
“We’ve got a short drive before camp,” he says. “You hungry? We have protein bars and approximately nine hundred electrolyte packets because Jax thinks dehydration is death.”
“I did almost die once,” Jax says.
“You got dizzy standing up.”
“Same thing.”
Miles looks back at me again, open and relaxed in a way that makes me uneasy. No one wears their heart on their sleeve like that.
“Fair warning,” he says, “things are a little chaotic right now.”
“A little?” Maya mutters.
“Right now?” Taylor snorts.
“I’m trying to ease her in.”
I lag behind them as we walk toward the RV, taking in their dynamic—the ease between them.
It’s immediately obvious how close they all are. Not performative close. Not social media close. The kind of closeness built from shared exhaustion and inside jokes and years spent together in confined spaces.
For reasons I don’t entirely understand, it throws me off balance.
I step inside the RV and look around.
The interior looks like NASA had a baby with LL Bean.
To my horror, I blurt out, “Oh, God,” and course-correct in the nick of time with a podcast-approved laugh. Dazzle them, even when you’re offending them. “This is… a little more intense than I pictured.”