one
" black water ridge "
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"TURN RIGHT!"
I quickly slam on my brakes and jerk my wheel at the late directions.
"Finch!" I shout back at him as I make the turn just in time.
"Sorry!" He laughs and looks back down at the map laid out in front of him.
"You're gonna get us killed before we even get there!"
"You're the one behind the wheel!" He shouts, throwing his hands in the air. "Maybe if you let me drive," he mumbles under his breath.
"What was that?!" I shout back, even though I heard loud and clear what he said.
"Nothing!"
"Get your own car, then you can drive."
He dramatically sighs and leans his head against the car window.
"You'll get one in Stanford when you get an actual job," I respond.
"I should have a Rolls-Royce at this point," he mutters, then gives me directions to make another turn right.
"The hell is a Rolls-Royce?" I ask, turning my wheel more gentle this time.
"This is why I'm going to Stanford and you're not," Finch replies, rubbing his head in agony.
"Shut up," I respond with a laugh.
I continue driving with Finch in my passenger seat giving me directions. The place we're heading to, Black Water Ridge, is basically in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing there on the map, just woods. It's mainly used as a campsite for locals. Anaya and Raymond sent us here because they think something's out there. This past April, two hikers went missing in Black Water Ridge and were never found. In 1982, eight different people all disappeared there in the same year. Same thing in 1959, and in 1936. Every 23 years it seems to happen. Authorities say it's grizzly bear attacks. In 1959, one camper survived the attack. He barely crawled out of the woods alive. Anaya was able to get some info on him and hear what he saw happened, and it sure as hell doesn't sound like a bear attack. It sounds like something Finch and I need to take down.
We make our way deeper and deeper into the woods. Trees surround us on all sides. From this point on it's a straight dirt road to our destination. I'm just happy we're here in the daytime, maybe we can take this thing out in time before the sun goes down so we won't be stranded in the middle of the woods in the dark. As we turn a slight curve, I see a small clearing ahead with some cars parked.
"What the hell?" I mutter, slowing down as we get closer. There's three cars and a motorcycle stopped. I put my car into park. Before I get out, I reach into my glove compartment to get our pistols out. The two of us step out onto the dirt with our guns at our side. I look around for a moment. Nothing. No signs of anyone. Just silence.
"More campers?" I ask, moving forward towards the pickup truck to look in the windows. Finch goes up beside the navy blue motorcycle, "you think somebody's coming out camping with this?" He crouches down to get a better look at it. "Cool color," he says with a smile.
"If not campers, then what?" I respond, moving over to the impala now to get a look inside.
"I don't know. Just means more dead bodies," Finch says quietly.
"Finch," I say, scolding him. More dead bodies is the last thing we need right now. I sigh and lean against the hood of my Ford Escape. I look back and forth between the cars. Finch is right, these don't give off the kind of people to go camping in the middle of nowhere. Maybe they're out here hunting like we are. I guess we'll find out soon enough. I'm about to go open the trunk to get our supplies out, but I catch sight of the license plate on the impala.
