He touched the deer’s side, apparently dissolving whatever barrier had been holding her down. She thrashed a few times, but all her legs were bound together, so she wasn’t going anywhere.

“She knows you,” Zion said. “See if you can get through to her.”

Calling the deer “Justine” and asking her to change back didn’t do anything. Telling her that her husband and children missed her didn’t have any effect, either. Saying that we were there to help her wasn’t any better.

We were all just gathered there, wracking our brains, when we heard a strange noise. Something like a laugh, but weird.

Williams drew the shotgun and turned to face the direction we’d come from. Graham turned the other way. Looking perplexed, Zion drew her gun and faced out as well. I stayed down with the deer, out of the line of fire.

“There,” Graham said, pointing at a tree about a hundred yards east. I could see something dark and hunched clinging to the trunk.

“Green man,” Williams said.

“Son of a bitch,” Zion swore, bring her gun around. “Why do I always get the FUBAR assignments?”

Suddenly the hair all over my body stood up. There was a flash and a deafening roar. The tree the green man was on exploded into burning splinters.

My god, had that been lightning? Out of a blue sky? I looked up and saw the leading edge of a massive, anvil-shaped storm cloud thousands of feet above us. It must have been moving really fast — it hadn’t been visible a few minutes earlier.

Zion started shooting. The green man was skittering toward us on the ground, unharmed. It ran on two legs, but strangely hunched forward. Its movement had a spastic, random quality that turned my stomach. Lightning struck twice more. Each time the thing leapt and contorted itself out of harm’s way.

I could finally see why it was called a green man — it looked dull black most of the time, but when the light caught its skin just right, it flashed brilliant green. The effect was like a hummingbird’s gorget.

Zion came up empty and started reloading. Williams, who’d held back, started firing the shotgun. The green man evaded, twisting and moving bonelessly. Williams switched to his pistol.

The thing was really close. A huge, protuberant mouth full of small, sharp teeth took up half its face. A thick gray tongue hung out, bobbing to the side of its head. Its nose was almost non-existent — just nostril slits. It was laughing, its eyes gleeful and insane.

Williams got off one last shot. The thing jerked to the side, then screeched and fell. Trying to dodge the bullet, it had stepped in a leg-hold trap. I processed the metallic clang a few seconds after the fact.

A big-game trap? Set out in the middle of a field on public land? What were the odds?