Once again, Eunice noticed her father’s age. Despite being forty-seven, he kept himself together. Waking up before dawn, he ran two miles before work. After lunch, he did a forty-minute workout. Before going to sleep, he hit a punching bag for thirty minutes while watching television. Proving his strength, he carried her deer for half a mile, appearing to not even break a sweat. Still, Achilles was a man, everyone had their proverbial heel. Once they reached the camp, her father collapsed as if released from carrying the weight of the world. He downed two water bottles, lying on the ground for half an hour before attempting to get up. There was a time he carried a kill with ease. Back then, he’d drop the carcass in the truck and pump himself up for a jog, regardless of how long the trek.

Sitting with his coat open, his shirt clung to his sweaty frame. When he wore his hunting gear, he had the appearance of a larger, bulkier man. As soon as he shed it, he had the appearance of an after shot for a weight-loss advertisement. However, he had signs of fattening up here and there in his later years. The worst place was around his waist. “It’s extra muscle,” he always insisted. They both knew better. The old gray mare wasn’t what he used to be. Age was the bane of all mighty men.

“So,” she asked as they came out of Junior's Joint. Her father hobbled alongside her, breathing heavily. Even after an hour, he hadn’t regained his usual chipper demeanor. Thick lines of time crisscrossed around his face. Looking at her food, she peeled back the wrapping, snapping off a bite of the savory burger. Junior’s was a small burger place just outside of the forest. Tourists found it a strange place for burgers, but locals knew it was right where it belonged. The woods were two hours from the old town; it took another to reach the big city. Those that lived closer to the wildest parts of nature needed a taste of town without traveling too far. “When are we going on our next hunt?”

She hoped that would bring out that youthful excitement. It used to. His work kept him busy. Being a contractor with ten employees was stressful for him. It made her heart hurt for him sometimes. She could see it in his eyes. The old man wanted nothing more than to run away from the daily grind and escape to the forest, where nature’s call beckoned him. In ways, Eunice believed her father was born in the wrong time period. He belonged in the wild west on the mainland, living off the land with a six-gun at his side. Her father loved westerns so much that he decked out his den with nineteenth-century memorabilia; it made sense that he’d fit in with that time period.

To her surprise, he made no attempt to answer her question. He stood with a cup of coffee steaming in one hand and an untouched burger in the other. For a long time, he stared above the diner's entrance. Nailed into the wood was a dried-up bone. Junior, the second man to bear the name and own the diner, claimed it was a lucky charm. "Just like lamb's blood in Moses's day, that will protect me and mine from whatever darkness slouches from the sea." She knew his explanation by heart. The aging man had to fill in a new tourist every time she stopped by. However, she struggled to recall the story behind the bone. As for the danger he hoped to avoid, that was anyone's guess.

At last, her father took a long, deep breath. “Chambers, there’s something I need to tell you,” he started. Eunice felt her heart stop. He never referred to her by their last name. His eyes refused to meet hers. A thick tension pulled his voice taut. The way his brow furrowed made it clear he wanted to talk about anything else, yet the conversation was inevitable. "When I was your age," he began. A short rendition of Tom Petty’s Won’t Back Down sang from her father’s phone, demanding his attention. For a long second, he made no sudden movements, choosing to stare into space. His tongue ran over his lips as he considered the importance of what he needed to say. With great reluctance, he sighed, placing his burger on the truck’s hood as he reached for the phone. “Hold that thought.”

How many of their conversations were cut short by that irritating device? Eunice wished it was easy enough for him to ignore it, just throw the phone into the backseat of the truck until sunset and his vacation ended. His work wouldn’t allow that. Too many men relied on him. If he went awol, how many would spend the day spinning their wheels waiting for his callback? In her childhood, Eunice learned to accept that her father’s phone stole his immediate attention once it cried out. Taking another bite of her burger, she leaned against the truck, wondering what the call was about. She didn’t wait long.

His coffee cup hit the ground, exploding to break the silence. “Jean,” he breathed, skin turning pale. “What...Ray. No, no, I’ll be there. Stay put. Have you called...what? No, don’t let anyone in.” When he hung up, a weak breath slipped through his tightening lips. Knees trembling, he slammed his hand against the hood of the truck to steady himself. He appeared ten years older, losing what little youth his face still held. “Dad,” Eunice whispered, fearful of what left her father so unhinged.

"We have to go," he ordered. In the blink of an eye, he was behind the wheel, revving the idling engine. "Hurry," he shouted at his dazed daughter.

Eunice hoped in, closing the door before her father pushed the pedal to the floor. His uneaten burger knocked against the windshield and scattered to the wind as they left it behind. The old truck raced away from the diner, making a beeline toward town. He stared at the road, leaving his daughter in tense, silent apprehension. She knew what her father was like when he drove. He loved telling stories, laughing, and singing his favorite songs off-key. His silence unsettled her.

"What's going on?" she asked, hesitant to hear the answer.

"It's Raymond," he replied in a hollow voice. She caught herself from crying out in surprise. Raymond was an old friend of the family. He was a few years older than her father, but the pair were closer than brothers. She couldn’t recall how many stories her father had involving him. They backpacked in the mountains where they climbed up a tree to escape a bear. Raymond tricked her father into racing in a demolition derby to raise college tuition. When she was a baby, the pair skydived; her father had to help Raymond open his parachute as they plummeted to earth. They stayed close when Raymond went to the mainland for work where it was no doubt the man had many fun adventures that left his best friend envious.

“Is he okay?”

“No,” he stammered. “Someone broke into their house. Jean didn’t see anything. She was in the bedroom, but whoever it was stabbed Ray.”

Eunice felt her stomach churn. “Are the cops there yet?”

“No one’s answering Jean’s call. Ambulance, cops, firefighters. She can’t get in touch with anyone.”

After that nugget of information, they fell back into silence. Eunice didn’t touch the rest of her burger, letting it go cold in the wrapper. How could she eat when her father’s best friend was bleeding to death? Poor Jeannie, she thought. Raymond’s little wife was excitable under the best circumstances. She couldn’t imagine the panic and terror that was melting the pitiful woman’s sanity.

They drove for the better part of twenty minutes. Raymond’s house wasn’t far. He had little interest in living any closer to town. “Too many rules,” he always said. His home sat on five acres off the main road. As soon as they saw it, Eunice’s father tore off-road. The pair bounced up and down as they bumped and jumped over the dips and rises of the property. They dropped by before going on their hunting trip. Eunice had looked forward to their next visit. Now, she wished she was anywhere else.

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The truck's brakes squealed as he slammed them to a stop. Daybreak shouldn’t have been far off, yet dark clouds hung in the sky. Opening the side glove compartment, he grabbed his .358 Smith and Wesson. “Not as good as Harry’s magnum,” he always joked, “but it will get the job done.” As he retrieved his weapon, there was no smile on his face. “Stay alert. We don’t know if Ray's attacker is around."

She nodded. Raymond's house was a grey double-wide trailer, hitch and tires still attached. Some panels were split or fallen off years ago. A few black roof tiles were missing. Concrete steps lead to the front door while the remains of rotted wooden steps laid in a pile off to the side. For what it was worth, Raymond kept the yard well-trimmed. His wife always talked about building their dream home, though after nineteen years of marriage, it was a mystery if that dream would be made real. Staring at the familiar property, Eunice held an unsettling wariness toward it.

"Stay here," her father ordered as he climbed out of the truck.

"No," she answered, jumping out after him. No matter what, she refused to let him face this nightmare alone. He didn’t bother arguing with her. Time wasn’t on his side. She grabbed her rifle from the truck bed. “I’ll cover you.” Under normal circumstances, she might’ve felt like the new partner in a buddy cop film. As things stood, all she wanted was for her father to get through this alive.

Tightening his lips, he nodded. “Hang back and watch the front door. If I don’t open it in sixty seconds, come after me. Shoot anything that moves.” He didn’t have to tell her twice.

Crouching beside the truck for cover, she kept her rifle level with the trailer as her father raced around the back. She started counting. One, two, three. Eunice kept her breathing deep and steady. Her finger rested beside the trigger. If anyone she didn’t know came out, she'd shoot on sight. Seven, eight, nine. It wasn't deer she faced. Raymond was stabbed. A dangerous man was at large. She couldn’t afford to miss or show mercy.

Her father disappeared around the trailer's corner. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Her heart pounded in her ears, growing louder every second. Gulping, Eunice hoped that she'd hear a gunshot should one fire. She felt her lips miming out a wordless prayer. Sixteen, seventeen. The suspense was getting to her. After her mother died, her father was all she had. If something happened to him here...

Muscles tensing, she readied to charge after him regardless of his order. Maybe someone already had him. They might not wait the full sixty seconds for her to come to his rescue. Twenty-two, twenty-three. Eunice refused to let her father’s blood stain her hands. Leaping to her feet, she advanced toward the trailer and her father flung the door open.

He did it in twenty-six seconds, but there was no time for celebration. Blood covered his arms, legs, and torso, yet no shots were fired. Waving his bloody arm, he beckoned his daughter to the door before darting back inside. Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, she cut out over the trimmed grass. Her eyes whipped around, seeking any unseen foe that might've escaped her father’s watchful gaze. She made it inside without a hitch.

Nothing looked any different as far as she could tell. The same ugly yellowing wallpaper clung to the living room walls. A large television rested on a stack of old books in one corner. The grey couch still smelled of cat urine. Their old tattered carpet needed replacing two years ago. Jeannie’s beauty magazines were scattered around in no particular order. If there was a struggle, this room was left alone.

Venturing further, she jumped in alarm as she almost tripped behind the leather recliner. Hiding in plain view, a dark-haired woman's head laid buried in her kneecaps. Old dried blood caked her bare arms and hands while fresh oozed down her legs from the long claw marks below the knees. Her fingers dug deep into her skin. She rocked back and forth as frantic gasps wrecked her body.

"Jeannie," Eunice whispered, dropping beside the husk of a woman. Jean's bloodshot and tear-stained eyes gazed out on a world she didn’t see. Whether she couldn’t or wouldn't was a mystery. "It's me. Eunice."

Her head never raised nor did her eyes turn Eunice's way. She continued staring into an invisible void, unaware of the world around her. “The dragon,” Jean whispered. "So many heads. He's coming. Woe to the heathen. Our day of judgment has come."

She couldn’t make heads or tails of her babbling. A trembling began rattling the girl’s body. Fear, she recognized. Seeing Jeannie’s state and the blood running down her legs was almost too much. Drawing a deep breath, she struggled to regain her composure. Eunice couldn’t fall apart now. The enemy could still be nearby. Besides, her father needed help with Raymond. "Just sit tight," she said as she continued into the kitchen. The sight stopped her cold. It was a mess. Two chairs were overturned. Scattered food laid cold on the table, flies buzzing around the feast. The metal kitchen door was kicked in; its handle hung by a few screws. Broken glass plates were strewn in every direction. All the while, the faint noise of Bud’s early morning report rambled on. Who did this?

Her foot slid upon her next step. Congealing blood squished under her feet. Laying on her side was a maimed yellow tabby. Blood matted the underbelly that was once so pretty. "Poor Sammy," she whispered, throat choking up. She loved that obnoxious little creature. Again, she found herself asking, Who did this?

What awaited her was the worst sight of all. When she caught a glimpse, Eunice felt her knees go weak. She hated being treated like a little girl. As a child, she always tried to act older than she was to varying results. Still, there were many times she felt a childish nature try to take over. In this moment, she wanted to run and hide in her room. She'd wait until the nightmarish image was a forgotten delusion of a wild imagination. However, she forced herself to stay, reigning in the little girl's nature. She would not run.

Beyond the kitchen table, her father knelt beside his friend. Raymond was a handsome man, in the windblown, sunburnt sense. Somehow, he maintained better shape than men half his age. Still, it didn't save him from having a cruel dagger buried deep into his guts. Stab wounds riddled his body, each staining his beach shirt and pants red. A long gash ripped from his eyebrow to lip, marring his face.

Clasping his friend’s bloodied hand, her father stared at her as she entered, large tears welling. She understood why he beckoned her inside. In spite of her weakness, Eunice drew closer to be with her father during Raymond's final moments. The man's half-shut eyes were losing their spark. His trembling lips didn't stop moving. “The dragon,” he muttered, repeating his wife’s nonsensical rambling. “Ten heads. Sacrifice.” For a solitary second, his eyes widened. A terrible quake shook the man’s dying body. His hands raised to shield himself from an invisible enemy. Gasping his last breath, he wailed, “Lotan.”

The word fell just as the greedy darkness once the sun’s light has vanished from the land. A breathless cry caught in Eunice’s throat. Lotan. The same name spoken by the old hermit in the cave story. What would make it Raymond’s last word? As the last syllable passed his lips, a coughing fit ripped through his throat. A gasping choke followed as his hands dropped to the ground. A silence stifled the room which only Bud’s distant voice broke.

Neither Eunice nor her father spoke. His head hung low, shoulders trembling from wordless sorrow. She made no attempts to comfort him as tears rolled down her cheeks. After all she saw, she didn’t have the strength for overwhelming grief. The best she could do was voice a silent sob. After what felt like an eternity, her father rose to his feet, holstering his gun. “Take care of Jean,” he ordered, walking out the backdoor. “I’m going to bury Ray.”

Choking out what little she could, she asked, “What are we going to do?”

His slumping shoulders squared up for the task they must face. When he spoke, his voice had a faint strength, the kind that men of action must summon in times of great distress. “Once I lay my friend to rest, we’re gonna find whoever did this and put a bullet between his eyes.”

Little did they know that the wheels of malevolent machination were already spinning and no man could stop them. The fog had rolled in and the hour of despair was fast approaching. As a wise woman once said, “Lo, it is at the threshold. Cry out thy lamentation, all that must bear witness.”