The forest hushed completely—no wind, no birds. Nothing but the faint rush of blood in her ears.
She grabbed the mic.
“Dispatch, this is Unit Three. I’m out on Seventy-Three near mile marker twelve?—”
Static exploded from the speaker—then cut out.
The dashboard lights flickered and died.
Radio dead.
Mic dead.
“Maybe some idiot spotlighting deer,” she muttered…
She stayed seated a second too long. Hand on the door.
Every instinct said wait.
Duty won.
The cruiser door groaned as she stepped out.
Frozen mud cracked under her weight. The chill knifed through her uniform as she reached for her flashlight.
Nights like this made her miss drunk college kids—anything noisy and dumb instead of quiet and wrong.
She’d never liked the dark woods.Not since?—
“Do your job,”she whispered.
For a second, she was back on the range with her dad. Fourteen. Too stubborn for gloves. Determined to hold steady.
Each breath puffed white.
Her beam cut through the brush, skimming a crushed beer can half-buried in the dirt.
“Hello?” she called.
No answer.
Only wind.
A shape. Tall. Still. Watching.
She looked again?—
And it was gone.
Scout’s laugh flickered through her mind—quick and warm—the way it cut through the dark.
For half a second, she almost smiled.
The world went hollow—no radio, no engine hum—just her pulse pounding in the silence.
Something moved at the edge of her light—too tall, too close?—
Deputy Scout Wilson
