Crossing Julip Road, he was relieved to see his first animal of the day, a white-tailed deer. The doe paced in the road and snorted. At first he was alarmed, but then realized sometimes does act nervous and downright bizarre to distract predators who sought their fawns. It’s a tactic he’d seen before, both out west and in the Northwoods. Just in case she was protecting fawns, he moved on, away from the road and towards the Black.

Goldie’s ferns came up to his waist, sliming his jeans. The scent of sweet gale soothed him. He dodged several of the mud pits and perched halfway down the stream bank. The plastic milk jugs glugged as they took water.

Matt hoisted the clear jugs into the daylight, admiring the “creek wash” (as his father had called it) that swirled in the jugs. Now this was bottled water.

Upon returning to Julip Road, his heart sank. The pacing deer now lay still on her side. Quietly, he set the jugs on the gravel and jogged over to the animal. As he got to within ten feet, his chest tightened, as if a thick rope was squeezing him by around his shoulders. He gasped for air and went to clutch his throat but couldn’t move his arms. What the hell, he thought. Jesus Christ what the fucking hell. He kicked his legs wildly and tried to move his arms, but they were blocked by powerful muscle. He screamed, but what emerged from his lips was nothing more than a windless grunt.

When he looked down at his arms, they weren’t there. All he could see were his hands. He splayed and wriggled his fingers, then tried to free himself once more, but it was pointless.

A disorienting pressure squeezed his throat and he gasped. Little white and black specks polluted his vision and his thoughts seemed far away. He lurched forward, and before his body hit the ground something squeezed his torso—something BIG. The stench of rotten deer meat hit him, and he heard rough, agitated breathing. Something whipped the air above him again and again, but he could not see the agitator.

As he struggled, every part of his body was poked and prodded, as if twenty thousand dull needles had all found a spot on his skin. Something squeezed him again, causing his bones to creak. He’d never felt such pain, never. He tried desperately to associate it with wrestling, or bad fights, or falling from a tree, but it wasn’t close to any of those things. He was being constricted by something alive, could feel the thing’s pulse in his nerves. Through his cloudy vision he glimpsed his weird, armless hands. They were swollen and red, the oxygen supply lessening.