Darrell kept driving. Ours was the only car on the road at that hour. As the sun got above the trees, we had to squint at the brightness. Norm’s trailer was almost an hour outside town, which sounds like a lot, but it really isn’t in Black Wolf County. The dirt road that led to where the trailer was parked ran along the border of the national forest land. Skiers, day hikers, fishermen, and photographers all parked along here and followed the trails through hundreds of square miles of woods, rivers, and lakes. I’d done it myself dozens of times. It was in this same stretch of woods where we’d gone camping when I was ten, and I’d come face-to-face with the beast.

We followed the dirt road for another eight or nine miles. The plows didn’t come this way often, so we skidded through rutted snow. Darrell knew where he was going. He parked before the trailer was visible, so as not to advertise our arrival. He angled the car so that no one could escape around us. We both got out and hiked between the trees in the morning stillness, and ahead of us, we saw Norm’s Airstream.

Just as Norm had said, a car was parked outside the trailer door. It was a yellow Cadillac with California plates.

“What the hell?” Darrell murmured.

We peered in the car windows, but we didn’t see anything to give us a clue about who owned it. There was a Rand McNally road atlas on the passenger seat.

I walked completely around the Airstream, which was familiar to me. The campsite was the same; the trees were the same. Norm hadn’t moved the trailer in six years. I felt a little queasy, remembering the blood inside that had turned the white walls red. I put my ear to the metal exterior and listened, but I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t know if that meant the trailer was empty, or if the owner of the Cadillac was asleep.

I made it back to Darrell and shook my head. “Nothing.”

He took the lead on the way to the trailer door. His hand was near his gun, close enough that he could unholster it quickly if needed. His other fingers curled into a fist, and he pounded on the door.

“Black Wolf County Sheriff! Open up!”

When there was no response, he repeated the warning. This time, we saw the Airstream shudder and heard heavy footsteps. Darrell and I waited cautiously on either side of the door, and finally, it opened outward.

A pudgy giant of a man in a velvet bathrobe smiled when he saw us.

“Hello, Deputy Curtis,” Ben Malloy said to Darrell in a booming voice. “I figured I’d see you around here sooner or later. Looks like it’s time for us to go Ursulina hunting again!”

*