Obey

Chapter 19: Wendigo? - Part 4

October 30th.

Whilst climbing a mansion staircase and balancing the breakfast sandwiches hidden in her giant sweatshirt's kangaroo pocket, Dee grumbled that she felt like a bootlegger. "Looks like Roscoe got to them." She gestured out a window to Seth and Rusty hugging near one of the big trucks, a familiar elderly driver seated at the wheel.

"Yeah, whatever"—Denzel's stomach growled—"Let's just get upstairs and eat. Freakin' starvin', man."

In Roscoe and Ashley's room...

"It's not a Wendigo," Ashley said, the first to pull her face from her greasy sandwich.

Monáe balked. "Huh?"

"Wendigos prefer colder climates like in Canada and New York." Green eyes found gray as Ashley looked to Roscoe. "He was researching all night"—she scowled at him—"with the lights on," she enunciated the last part.

Unbothered, Roscoe wiped his cheese-stained fingers on a napkin. "I now hypothesize that the cause of turmoil is an Ozark Howler."

"Sounds like a band," Hailey interjected.

Brandon asked if they could stay on task. "What's a Howler?"

"Ozark Howlers hail from the south and tend to live in the deep woods of the Ozarks." As Tina searched the web for more info, Roscoe further explained how the mysterious creature's territory extends from southern Missouri to northern Arkansas. "However, there have also been recorded sightings in Oklahoma and-"

"Crap"—Tina peeled herself from her phone—"Guess."

Brandon scoffed. "Texas."

Hailey started to collect everyone's trash. "Someone, please tell me there's a new plan. Tonight's Devil's Night, and I want to play."

"Stop pouting." Ashley handed over her scraps. "The Howler is generally passive, a simple harbinger of death."

"Nobody's ever called a grim reaper passive." Dee frowned.

"A grim rea- Rusty's wife!" Tina burst with realization.

Roscoe nodded. "Or his child." He began pointing out all the maladies Amitola had suffered since their arrival. "Unfortunately, there is no way to be sure."

"Hold up." Denzel burped. He looked around the room like his companions had completely lost it. "Why the hell is everyone just standin' 'round?! Y'all, that's the break! We gotta tell the missus and mister right away. We can save everyone!"

Lifting her shoulders, Dee stared at the floor and snapped, "Nobody wants to tell someone their kid's going to die, Denzel."

The color drained from his pimple-scarred face. "Seriously?" Forgetting about the food stuck in his braces, he looked around again. The others were selfishly avoiding eye contact. "What the hell happened to your spines?! Shit, it's worth a shot to let them all live!"

Slamming the door open, Denzel rushed from the room to deliver the news before it was too late...

...

"Denzel!" Monáe hurried to her unconscious friend splayed out in the woods near a stack of boulders. "Dude!" She crouched down, quickly noticing a giant knot at the side of his head and superficial scratches on his torso. "Denzel, come on!" The living dead abruptly awoke, jolting Monáe toward utter relief and tears while whacking his arm with a flurry of French curses. "We've spent twenty minutes looking for you! Are you okay?"

Half incoherent, Denzel replied, "Nah. Kiss it and make it better."

Monáe's concern quickly went flat. "So, you're fine." She backed away and hopped to her feet, crossing her arms as she asked what happened.