Macbeth, River, and Ink were all in my head. My senses—human and therefore dulled—confused them and put them at a handicap for fully understanding what was going on, but I trusted that they’d get used to it. I knew the way into the woods as well as the Rabid who lived there did. I’d seen it through his eyes, and even though the glance had been fleeting, I’d discovered that the knowledge behind it stuck in a way that made me feel closer to my prey than I’d ever wanted to be. For better or worse, I knew where to find the Rabid. The only difficulty was staying downwind and keeping to the upper ground. My Glock ate into my back, a solid reminder that from this point forward, we were playing for keeps.
As silently as I could, I moved toward Wilson’s cabin, my path twisting enough that if he di
