[I. HELS PETES HANND I CANNMT. DNBSB. HE GOLT OF THE STAHHE LIKE. 2 FEETTAWAY]

It was odd, curled up against Dallon in the morning while the remaining members of Blue sat around and ate oatmeal together. It was the last box. Supplies were going to be sent in a week and a handful of days, but I'd started to doubt whether or not we'd survive until then, or if we'd have enough to get back on our feet after malnutrition took its toll on all of us.

"So, uh, I think we should keep looking." Pete whispered. Dark bags circled under his eyes, and every time he lifted his spoon, his hands shook. He was exhausted, and he'd barely gotten a few hours of sleep. I couldn't even begin to imagine his behavior if Patrick remained missing.

Tyler shot Dallon a worried glance, his gaze flickering down to me for a split second as well. "We're, uh, out of gas, actually. The Range Rover's useless."

"The spare tanks should have fuel?"

"Slashed open a few days ago. They're useless, in case you didn't know."

Pete let a sour expression cross his face for a moment. "We have almost two days worth of rations left, if they're really gone. It used to be none."

We wouldn't get supplies for at least another week. Someone had managed to contact John and insist he send them earlier, and bring more than we'd said previously. Living out in the middle of nowhere was bad enough on its own, but having to contact a museum miles away that's also far away from any civilization is worse. It was like we were in the perfect spot for anything and everything to go wrong.

"Don't we still have enough water?" I'd taken a first aid course a while back, and I vaguely remembered you could only go three days without water, but you could last three weeks without food. I'd also heard of people that lived for eight, even ten, without water though.

Tyler nodded, absence in his eyes. "Yeah. We have more than enough water. We have cases stacked on cases."

At least we wouldn't die before John arrived. "At least we won't dehydrate to death?"

Pete shrugged. For a split second, I watched a smile tug at his lips. "If we do happen to drink all the water, we can resort to collecting my tears. I downloaded some Disney movies a while back and I still cry every time I watch them."

"We'll never dehydr-"

"Wait — I forgot about the gas containers in my tent! Under my bed, I keep a couple emergency ones just in case," Dallon sat up, pointing over his shoulder with wild eyes, "I think I told Josh about them, but nobody else. I-I forgot about them until now."

It took me a moment. There were five of us, not six. "Wait, where's Josh?"

Pete looked around the circle, and immediately any trace of excitement fell. Ryan stared at the ground, and didn't even glance up when Tyler shot up to his feet and made a dash for Josh's tent.

After fifteen minutes of dead silence, we both assumed the worst.

"You don't think Josh is missing now too, do you?" I asked Dallon as Pete left to investigate, and Ryan had gotten up to search for the gas tanks.

He shrugged, and pressed his cheek to the top of my head. "I hate to say that he may be."

Pete's voice was still ringing in my ears. It really was all my fault. If I hadn't arrived, if I hadn't been so desperate to join the project, nobody would've gone missing. Everyone would be okay, the creature I kept seeing might not have even existed if I weren't around. Spencer would be fine, Patrick would be fine, Josh would've been able to help me get to the bottom of everything, seeing as he was the only one that noticed something was off kilter.

"This sucks."

"I know, Brendon, believe me." He squeezed my shoulder and sighed along with me. I could've fallen asleep right then and there — that was him. It wasn't the thing he'd written about that liked to take possession of his body every now and then, no, no.

For a moment, I felt safe.

__________

I had fallen asleep. He hadn't moved for what I only assumed to be hours, because the sun was halfway across the sky, and I was sweating. Also because Dallon had acquired a blanket somehow, and put it over me when it was probably cooler outside.

His hand was running up and down my arm slowly while he watched the horizon, humming to himself. I couldn't tell if it was him or not.

"What time is it?" He jumped at the sound of my voice, but he didn't move or tear his gaze away from whatever he was staring at so intently.

"It's just past noon, I think. You've been asleep for nearly five hours." I could hear the smile in his tone, the eerie calm that should've been wariness that half his team was missing in the middle of a desert. I would've cried at least sixteen times daily, and he barely seemed fazed.

Maybe it wasn't him anymore. Maybe I'd gotten so used to whatever it was, I couldn't tell the difference.

I peeled my cheek off his arm and squinted over to where he was looking. Ryan was out there, and Pete too, while Tyler sat on the ground, unmoving. "What's going on?" I asked, but I bit my tongue on the real question. Why wasn't he out there helping them? Something was obviously wrong, and he'd sat for five hours instead of slowly wiggling away to aid in a cause that actually mattered.

"They found a puddle in Josh's tent," he muttered lowly, "traced it all the way over there. They keep telling me it's all connected."

"Well, what'd they find?"

"Blood."

Immediately, a chill ran up my spine, and my whole body fell cold. He'd said it so nonchalantly, his tone almost terrified me more than what he was talking about. "Is it... is it old? Maybe he had a gnarly paper cut last night and just didn't tell anyone."

He shook his head. "No. They came out yelling about it ten minutes after you drifted off, and they followed the splotches on the ground all the way to the rings. It's recent, apparently."

Recent.

He'd brushed it off, like it hadn't even mattered that the worst reality had come true. Something was dead — we didn't even know what it was. It could've been the result of a wolf hunting down food; wolves were considerably common in Montana, so it wasn't out of the question.

But I glanced up, I glanced up and caught a glimpse of the bright red bandana around Dallon's neck. It was nothing out of the ordinary. The horribly blended concealer was still a shade too light, I could still tell he was trying to hide something.

I was holding on to his shirt when I realized what was wrong. Specks of red stained the material, spotting the pockets, and the hem of his jeans were so discolored, it looked like he'd walked through a shallow puddle of marinara sauce. Obviously, it wasn't marinara sauce, but I liked it better than the other scenario I faced.

Three people were missing. There was a pool of blood over by the rings. Dallon was acting funny. I was sure he was being possessed by some demon of some sorts. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong.

We had to investigate. Without Dallon.