“The weather is an unpredictable beast. One day the sun caresses your skin, and the next a storm tears your world apart. I figure in time we’ll be naming storm cells after psychopaths.”
—David Kane
Prologue
Late Thursday Night
Wind battered the small tent and howled through the trees, peppering the sloping sides with pine needles. The tent bucked so hard it could’ve blown away in a split second—but it wasn’t the weather that had dragged June Harris from sleep, it was the thud and desperate cry. Had she been dreaming? She opened her eyes wide and stared at the tent flap, its zipper glistening in the moonlight as the wind slapped it against the opening. The intermittent view of the campfire, its ashes twirling into the night, came and went with each gust. She reached out to wake her husband, only to find his sleeping bag empty. “Payton, are you out there?”
Nothing.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled in alarm. Something was terribly wrong. If he’d needed to go outside, he’d have zipped up the tent. Heart thundering, she scrambled out of her sleeping bag, dragged on her boots and coat, and then crawled to the entrance. The wind whipped her hair across her eyes and buffeted her hood, but she hadn’t mistaken the crunch, crunch, crunch of boots over dead leaves. She shrank back as a tall shape moved out of the darkness wearing a long, flapping dark slicker. A stream of moonlight glistened on something in his hand. In blind panic, she backed inside and searched around for the flashlight. Gasping with relief when her hand closed around the familiar shape, she flicked it on and, heart hammering against her ribs, moved the beam over the trees. The figure had vanished but as she scanned the perimeter of the campsite, she made out someone sitting against a tree wearing a familiar red jacket. “Payton, is that you?”
Nothing.
“Payton?”
Straightening, she ran across the clearing and gasped in disbelief as the flashlight moved over her husband’s face, frozen in a glassy stare of horror, and then to the arrow piercing his forehead. Shocked, she stumbled to a halt, not believing her eyes. The wind lifted Payton’s hair and flipped open his jacket. Pine needles showered her hood like raindrops and prickled her exposed flesh. A twig cracked behind her, and she spun around, moving her flashlight in all directions, but only dark shadows filled the clearing. Heart thundering, she took a few steps closer to Payton, hoping to see a sign of life, a flicker of an eyelid, something. The smell of gasoline bit into her nostrils and as she moved closer, she could see the fluid dripping from Payton’s inert body. With trembling fingers, she touched his ice-cold cheek and peered into unseeing eyes. Her stomach cramped as realization slammed into her. Payton was dead, and his killer was coming back for her.
Indecision froze her to the spot and, terrified, she let out a sob. Alone and lost, she had no idea what to do. June stared into the darkness; the forest vast and foreboding offered no escape. She ran back to the tent to call for help. On hands and knees, she ran her palms over every inch of the floor searching the ground for her phone, flinging bedding in all directions, but it was nowhere to be found. Panic had her by the throat. She had to get away, and scanned the campsite, spilling the flashlight beam over the entire area before venturing across the clearing. The embers in the fire glowed as she passed and a curl of smoke rose up and blew toward her. She’d closed her eyes against the ashes brushing her face when the crunch, crunch, crunch of leaves came again. Heart thundering, she spun around and gaped in horror at the dark figure emerging from the shadows. She took a step back as her flashlight picked out a man in black. His long coat flapped in the wind and a crossbow dangled from one gloved hand. Terrified, she stared at him, trying to make out his features, but something was covering his face.
“You looking for someone?” His deep voice seemed to penetrate the wind.
June raised her voice. “I need help. Someone’s shot my husband.”
“You planning on starting a forest fire?” He ignored her pleas and kicked dirt over the glowing embers.
June, waved a hand behind her. “No—my husband. Didn’t you hear me? He’s been shot.”
“I heard you just fine.” The stranger’s eyes glistened in the moonlight like liquid pools with no expression, dark and deep as if the balaclava covered the face of a ghoul. “He’s dead, so of no interest to me. What’s your name?”
Taking a step backward, June glanced between the man and the body of her husband. “June Harris.”
“You’ll make a fine addition to my collection, June Harris.” His voice seemed to echo across the space between them like a whisper from a grave.
The stranger chilled June to the bone. The way he tipped his head to look at her through the gaping eye sockets in the balaclava was like talking to a skull. “Collection?” She darted her gaze in all directions, looking for a way to escape. “What do you mean by that? What collection? You’re not making any sense.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” His cold, bottomless stare never left her face.
The impending danger radiating from him grasped her by the throat and she gaped at him, unable to move. As if in slow motion, the stranger raised a crossbow and aimed it at her. She flinched, but her attention had fixed on the bolt pointing right at her. She held up her hands, defenseless. “Don’t shoot me.”
“Now that wouldn’t be fun.” A chuckle came from deep in his chest as he took a step closer. “Run.”
One
Friday
Lungs bursting from lack of oxygen, June ran through the forest again, screaming until her voice became a raspy croak. He’d kept her tied up all day and held meaningless conversation with her as if they were friends. He’d waited until nightfall to play his sick games with her again. He was the hunter and she his prey. As his footsteps pounded behind her, she scrambled under a bush; the smell of damp soil and scat crawled up her nose. Heart pounding, she’d tried to control her gasping breath but the slow crunch, crunch of his deliberate footsteps stopped close by. He’d hunted her down with ease. She peered through the
branches to see his outline, a dark shadow above her.
“That was too easy, June Harris.” His amused chuckle sent shivers down her spine. “It’s dark, surely you can offer me more sport than that? Get up and try again. Run up the trail, you’ll be able to see your way in the moonlight. I’ll count to twenty.”
Exhausted and with her heart threatening to burst through her chest, she crawled out from under the bushes and ran, tripping and falling into the pine needles. When he laughed at her, his complete lack of empathy terrified her. She stood on trembling legs and faced him. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. You have my word. Just let me go. I can’t run another step.”
“Nope. You don’t get to decide your fate.” Shadows hid his eyes, but he motioned her on with the crossbow. “Last chance. Head toward the mountain. If you reach the fork in the trail, I’ll let you go, now run.” He laughed at her. “Scream all you like, there’s no one here to help you and you’ll attract the bears. Won’t that be fun?”
Terrified, June ran, dragging her aching legs up the steep slope. Branches lashed her cheeks and dead bushes caught in her clothes. With each gasping breath, the cold air seemed to be tearing holes in her lungs. Ahead, the mountain loomed out of the moonlight, not far now. She could just make out the fork in the trail ahead where the trees separated. Something hit her hard and searing hot pain sliced through her calf muscle. Crying out in agony, she fell face down in the dirt and then he was on her. As she desperately tried to crawl away, he watched her as if enjoying her pain before grabbing her by the feet and dragging her away from the main trail and along an animal path. The rough ground tore into her back. Rocks and dead twigs piled up beneath her, cutting deep. “Please stop. You’re hurting me.”