I joined Ryder, my boots crunching on the frost-covered ground. The fence post beside him leaned at a bad angle, its wire busted and stretched. The ground told the rest of the story.
Boot prints were stamped deep into the dirt, the first few spaced in a steady, normal stride leading toward the trees. But then the pattern shifted. The steps bunched closer together, the toes dragging hard enough to carve lines through the soil. Long scuffs scraped through the heel marks, and a dark brown smear streaked alongside the prints—as if something heavy had been bleeding as he pulled it behind him.
“He hit three posts down the line,” Jett added, pointing with the popsicle stick toward where the fence sagged in a tired bow. “There’s hair stuck to the barbs farther down. I’m guessing one of his victi
