Like a withered tree swept away by the storm, utterly unstoppable and overwhelming.

On the other side.

Not long after Dean left the cabin, the eight tense people inside heard gunshots echoing from the edge of the forest.

“They’re firing at Dean—he’s done for!” Lang gripped his hiking stick so tightly his knuckles whitened, staring at the cabin door, sweat beading across his brow.

“Shut up! Don’t curse my brother.” Rust rolled up his sleeves and shoved Lang with an annoyed scowl. “He’s never let us down. He’ll be back triumphant!”

“Quiet!” Gretchen, crouched by the window, peeked outside with trembling, pale lips. “Everyone, gather all the empty beer cans from last night. Rust, get the alcohol stove and kerosene lamp from your bag.”

“Brittany, Jenny—take out your cotton undershirts and cut them into strips with a knife.”

Gretchen glanced back, a flash of panic crossing her face, but as she turned, she steadied herself and barked out orders in a firm, commanding voice. “We’ll prepare a few surprise gifts. If those bastards dare come in, they’ll regret it!”

“Pour the ‘fuel’ into the beer cans—one for each. Girls, you handle the wicks—make them deep enough to soak in the fuel.”

With a leader to rally around, everyone sprang into action.

But they had barely managed to make two “special drink cans” when—

Bang!

A shotgun blast exploded through the door, splintering wood and sending debris flying. The heavy force slammed the door into the wall with a thunderous crash. Moonlight bled through the new holes in the door.

Amidst swirling dust, Gretchen gritted her teeth and fired back toward the entrance with her M1911A1.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots. Silence outside. Baker, holding a beer can, seemed to snap, yelling as he rushed to the door and flung the can outside. A trail of fire arced through the air and landed on the ground, igniting a blaze among the fallen leaves, casting light over the night—and the hulking shadow of a figure.

Baker slowly raised his hands at the doorway.

A Manchester M1891 rifle slid in from the side, the muzzle pressed to Baker’s chest. A thick, powerful arm yanked him forward, using him as a hostage and shield.

“Kids, when you shoot, aim for people. And good students shouldn’t play with fire,” Owen, bundled in a parka and looking like an oversized barrel, kept his gun trained on his human shield’s neck as he edged carefully inside. The warm, friendly smile from the night before had twisted into a cold, mocking sneer.

The remaining seven huddled around Gretchen, their nerves stretched taut.

“Let Baker go!” Rust shouted, trying to sound brave, brandishing a beer can as if to throw it.

“You clearly don’t get it. If you don’t want your friend’s head to explode, douse the fire—yes, you, girl, toss over the gun too. I’ll count to three. Move quick, or my friends get angry.”

The two other hunters entered, one on either side of Owen, their AR-15 and shotguns aimed at the group of terrified young people clutching beer cans and hiking sticks.

Three hunters and eight students faced off in the cramped cabin, the students trembling despite themselves.

Tension crackled in the air.

The fat man slowly drew out a word, squinting as he tightened his grip on the trigger.

“Three.”

“Two—”

Thud.

The M1911A1 clattered to the floor.

Gretchen’s face was ashen as she raised her hands; she couldn’t stand by while her friends were threatened.

“Good girl. Well done. Now stand still—no one wants to hurt anybody, we’re just here for some fun. I promise, when this is over, you’ll all get home safe.”

Owen licked his parched lips, open hunger in his eyes.

The other two hunters grinned, cruel and mocking as they uncoiled ropes, especially the previously silent Tom, whose predatory gaze swept over the girls as his calloused hand deliberately brushed against soft, feminine skin.

“Don’t touch me!” Ashley whimpered, burying her face in her boyfriend’s shoulder.

But that cold, brutal hand seized her delicate chin, forcing her tear-stained face upward.

Tom’s rasping voice was tinged with a twisted tenderness. “You know, little lamb, every time I hear a woman cry, I think of my cheating ex. Cry any more, and I might just kill you again.”

Ashley shuddered violently, her face going white, silencing her sobs as she froze in terror.

“Don’t touch her!”

Lang, seeing his girlfriend humiliated, bellowed, only to be doubled over by a fist the size of a ham slamming into his gut, curling him up like a boiled shrimp, tears and snot streaming down his reddened cheeks.

“Kid, you should’ve spent more time at the gym before playing hero,” remarked the scar-faced man, a jagged line stretching across his nose and half his face.

“Don’t touch them! Don’t touch my friends!” Gretchen finally burst out, shaking with rage. “You’re committing a crime, you know! Our friends will notice we’re missing and call the police—you’ll all be caught, none of you will get away. Kidnapping and coercion are felonies, you’ll spend twenty or thirty years in prison!”

“Good girl, sharp instincts, but you’re a terrible liar.” Owen’s hairy hand patted Gretchen’s pretty cheek. “I live in Sacramento, and I’ve never heard of a Lewis High. What classmates could you possibly have?”

A flush of shame crossed Gretchen’s face, and she stammered, unable to speak.

“Where’s Dean?” Rust demanded. “What have you done with my friend?”

“The Asian kid? Don’t worry, our buddy’s just giving him a little butt surgery,” Scarface said, exchanging a laugh with Tom. “He’ll be sent back happy as a clam in half an hour.”

“Go to hell, you freak!”

“Enough. Let’s pick our lucky winners,” Owen said, folding his arms as his gaze hunted over the eight, finally settling on the tall, stunning Gretchen, then glancing at Abby beside her.

“Your face might not be much, but those lips could tempt an angel. Come on, you two.”

He reached out, grabbing the two girls by their arms.

“Let go of Abby!” Gretchen snarled, struggling desperately, but the iron grip was impossible to break.

Abby stood numb in the cold, staring blankly into the dark forest, confusion and despair etched across her acne-scarred face.

“Look how scared she is. Why don’t you set an example and let Uncle show you some love first?” Owen grinned, pointing his rifle at Abby. “Or maybe I just put her out of her misery?”

Gretchen’s face twisted in anguish as she stepped closer to him.

“Be good, now. Gentle hands—you wouldn’t want your friends inside to lose an arm or a leg,” Owen said, stretching his arms and tilting his head back in anticipation.

Resigned, Gretchen sighed and knelt half a meter before him, but she noticed his guard dropping.

A glint of blue flashed in her eyes. In a split second, she lashed out, landing a vicious kick straight into the bearded man’s groin.

“Oh—!” he howled in agony, his beady eyes bulging as he instinctively doubled over.

Gretchen immediately reached her bound hands for the AR-15 slung over his shoulder, managing to knock it to the ground.

But the man, gritting his teeth, clasped his large hands together and seized Gretchen’s neck, leaning forward and pinning her to the earth.

Fists and feet thudded into flesh as they grappled like wild beasts, the AR-15 skidding to a stop at Abby’s feet.

Gretchen twisted her head to her friend, screaming hoarsely, “Abby, grab the gun! Grab the gun!”

Abby snapped out of her trance, glancing at the rifle at her feet, then at Gretchen’s reddening, contorted face as she was choked.

If I don’t fight back, I’ll die!

I’ll die!

The frigid night wind carried the devil’s whisper into her mind.

Terror overwhelmed Abby, but survival instinct finally surged. With a shriek, she abandoned her friend and fled into the shadowed forest.

“Hah!” The bearded man, regaining his strength, backhanded Gretchen, knocking her to the ground.

A bloody welt instantly bloomed on Gretchen’s beautiful face. Her mind buzzed as she stared in disbelief at her friend’s retreating figure, burning tears pouring from her nose.

“Abandoned little wildcat, just wait—I’ll be right back to play with you,” Owen said, limping over to pick up the AR-15. He raised it, spotting Abby’s shape through the night vision scope as she dashed for the woods. He squeezed the trigger.

Click!

Shit, jammed?

That thought flashed through Owen’s mind just as a shadow shot out from the trees, streaking toward him like an arrow.

He had no time to react. The black shape was upon him, lashing out with a whip-kick.

Crack!

Momentum, power, and relentless training combined—a precise blow shattered his vulnerable spot.

Blood sprayed, staining Owen’s trousers.

A pain beyond words erupted from his very soul. His face twisted in agony, mouth gaping, but before he could scream—

Thud!

A knife-hand struck his windpipe.

Attacked above and below.

Owen’s hulking form crumpled silently like a felled mountain.

The shadow spun behind him, driving a hard elbow into the back of his skull.

In the space of a single breath, three vital points shattered.

The fat man collapsed, utterly unconscious.

Still reeling from despair, Gretchen’s blurred gaze focused on a familiar face, nodding gently at her.

The shadow raced for the cabin.

The two hunters, alerted by the commotion, reached the door, guns half raised.

The shadow flung a flash of silver from afar.

Shing—

The air screamed.

The phantom blade swept in a sharp arc across both hunters’ wrists.

Skin split. Pain and blood mingled with their screams.

Both men froze in shock.

The shadow closed in.

Tom, left hand gripping the shotgun, tried to counterattack, but pain slowed him. Too slow.

The figure twisted, darting catlike to his side, and drove a powerful uppercut into his chin.

Tom’s jaws snapped shut, tongue bitten, mouth filling with blood. His mind buzzed as he collapsed, only to be struck again at the back of the head and knocked out cold.

The second hunter managed to pull the trigger, but something jammed the guard—he couldn’t fire.

A pair of strong, agile hands closed on him—one gripping his palm, the other twisting his wrist downward. A sharp crack and searing pain made him hunch his neck and lower his head.

Crack!

Dean’s right fist, fingers bent just so, hammered into his temple. Blood vessels burst in his eye as he collapsed silently, limp as a rag.

Less than three seconds. The fight was over.

Dean wiped sweat from his brow as the night wind stirred.

Rust and the others, bound hand and foot, finally crawled to the doorway—only to see their supposedly dead friend standing there, unharmed, binding up the two hunters sprawled like broken sacks at his feet.