DAVE
Blood and Thunder
Lexington waits somewhere beyond this Kentucky darkness that swallows the highway whole, my truck leading a convoy that looks more like funeral procession than support caravan. In my rearview mirror, headlights follow in formation—Cheryl's sedan, Uncle Hiro's ancient pickup, Eddie's windowless white van that was more rust than van. My pack, driving into danger because they refuse to let me face it alone.
Kat sits in the passenger seat, her presence filling the cab with energy that makes the air itself feel charged. She's been quiet since we left Howling Pines, studying a manila folder that contains intelligence on tonight's opponents.
"Colton likes to open with psychological warfare," she says without looking up. "Tries to get inside your head before the first pu
