The Bodies Left Behind

of callbacks. And I’m auditioning for the touring company of Wicked. ”
    Brynn listened attentively as the young woman told her about some parts she was pursuing. Brynn’s opinion, though, was that she was a dilettante. It sounded like she jumped from medium to medium, hoping to find one she was talented at. Or one that was easier than others. She wasn’t surprised to learn that Michelle also tried her hand at writing plays, but had recently decided that independent films were the way to go. And was thinking of getting a job in L.A. to meet people in the movie industry.
    They were walking uphill now and, breathless, fell silent as they slogged their way over another quarter mile.
    She’d thought they’d have come across the Joliet Trail by now. It couldn’t be that far away. But with all this dense brush, she had no realistic sense of how fast they were traveling. Like treading through water; a lot of effort didn’t lead to a long distance covered.
    After fifteen minutes they paused in a clearing surrounded by briars to take another compass reading. The lighter flared and Brynn saw they were on track. “Okay, shut it out.”
    According to the routine they’d fallen into, they now sat for a moment or two, eyes squeezed shut to help them adjust to the dark.
    A snap sounded behind them.
    Loud.
    Michelle gasped.
    Both women tensed, rising to a crouch from their knees. Brynn slipped the compass away and grabbed the spear.
    Another snap and a rustle of footsteps.
    Brynn squinted until her cheek screamed in pain. But she couldn’t see anything.
    Was it the killers?
    “What? Do you—?”
    “Shhh.”
    Something was moving, circling them. Then stopped. Moved again.
    Snap  . . .
    Then it vanished.
    A moment later, from their right, came another snap, a shuffle of leaves. They spun suddenly in that direction. Brynn could vaguely make out a shadowy form, rocking back and forth.
    It wasn’t the men. In fact it wasn’t a human. Brynn observed that it was an animal, about the size of a German shepherd.
    Brynn believed it was staring at them with shoulders tensed and hackles high.
    Michelle gasped and gripped Brynn’s arm.
    Was it a mountain lion? The last one in Wisconsin had reportedly been shot a hundred years ago. But every year there were supposed sightings. You’d see coyotes from time to time. They were timid, but rabid ones, their minds melting, had strolled right into tents and attacked campers. Lynx weren’t unheard of either.
    But this seemed too big for that. She decided it was a gray wolf, which were being reintroduced into the state. She didn’t know if they’d attack humans but the eerie, probing face—almost human—was unsettling.
    Had Michelle and Brynn come close to the creature’s lair? Were there pups to be protected? A crazed mother was the worst of enemies, Keith, an avid hunter, had told her.
    A flash of anger burned within her. They didn’t need another enemy tonight. She gripped the spear firmly and stood up. She strode forward, between Michelle and the creature.
    “What’re you doing? Don’t leave me.”
    Brynn thought: Don’t hesitate. Keep going.
    The animal’s head cocked and its eyes caught light from the lopped-off moon.
    Brynn kept walking, moving faster, hunched over.
    Still staring their way, the animal backed up then turned and receded into the night. Brynn stopped and returned to the young woman, who was staring at her. “Jesus,” Michelle said.
    “It’s okay.”
    But it wasn’t the animal she was referring to. “Are you all right?” she asked uncertainly.
    “Me?” the deputy asked. “Sure. Why?”
    “You were . . . you were making this noise. I thought you couldn’t breathe or something.”
    “Noise?”
    “Like, growling. It was scary.”
    “Growling?” Brynn was aware of breathing hard, teeth set tightly together. She wasn’t aware that she’d made a noise.
    Queen of the Jungle . . .
    She gave an awkward laugh and they continued on. Their route led them into a ravine, the rocks and trees along the side ensnared with vines, and the floor covered with patches of poison ivy and vinca. Boggy pools too, surrounded by mushrooms and fungus. They pushed through it all, exhausted, and struggled up the other side, using saplings and sandstone outcroppings for hand and footholds.
    At the top they stumbled onto a trail.
    It wasn’t wide—about four feet—and was overgrownfrom disuse during the winter months but it was heaven compared with what