The tranquil atmosphere shattered as Mark and Ethan sprinted back toward the campsite, the echoes of the scream still ringing in their ears. Their hearts pounded in their chests, a mix of fear and adrenaline fueling their every step. When they reached their friends, the sight that greeted them was chilling—everyone was frozen in shock, their faces pale and eyes wide with terror.
Jessica was clinging to Ryan, her knuckles white as she gripped his shirt. Her body trembled with fear, her mind flashing back to the horrors they had faced just a month ago. The scream, so sudden and filled with panic, had dragged those memories to the surface, leaving her paralyzed. Ryan, though trying to keep calm, had his arms protectively wrapped around her, his eyes scanning the surroundings, searching for any sign of danger.
Ethan dropped to his knees beside Jessica, his heart aching at the sight of his friends so terrified. "Jessica, it's okay," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "We’re here. You’re safe."
Mark, on the other hand, was already moving. He sprinted to his truck, the only thought in his mind being the need to protect his friends. He yanked open the door and reached under the seat, grabbing the Remington shotgun he had loaded the night before. The cold metal felt reassuring in his hands, a tangible sense of security in the midst of chaos.
He rushed back to the group, the shotgun held at the ready, his eyes scanning the tree line and the water’s edge for any sign of movement. "Is everyone okay?" he asked, his voice steady, though his mind raced.
The group slowly nodded, still shaken but beginning to regain their composure. Mark turned his gaze to Ethan, his expression softening slightly as their eyes met. He gave a small nod, a silent reassurance that they would get through this together, just as they had before.
---
Meanwhile, back at the shack, Stan was glued to the window, his eyes never leaving the lake. The steady beeping of the tracker grew more frantic, indicating the creature’s proximity. His heart sank as the realization hit him—it was too close, too near the shore where families and children were enjoying the day, unaware of the lurking danger.
A sudden, high-pitched voice cut through the air, and Stan’s blood ran cold. A little boy, no more than six or seven, stood by the water’s edge, his small hands cupped around his mouth as he called out, "Dad! Where are you?"
Stan’s heart ached as he watched the boy, his innocent face filled with worry. The old man knew all too well what had likely happened to the boy’s father, and the thought tore at his already wounded soul. His one good eye scanned the lake, desperately searching for any sign of the man, but all he saw was the calm, deceptive surface of the water.
The boy’s mother, visibly pregnant, soon appeared, her steps hurried and her voice tinged with panic as she called for her husband. "David? Where are you?" she shouted, her hands instinctively resting on her swollen belly as if to protect the unborn life within her.
Stan’s throat tightened as he watched them, his hand unconsciously tightening around the tracker. The beeping was incessant now, the signal clear—"it" was here, and it had already claimed its first victim. The old man’s heart broke for the family, knowing that the father was gone, lost to the monster he had spent his life battling. But there was nothing he could do now except watch, helpless, as the tragedy unfolded before him.
---
Out on the lake, the four people Stan had called were closing in on the creature. Their boat cut through the water, the tension palpable as they followed the tracker’s signal. The group consisted of a rough-and-tumble bunch, each with years of experience in dealing with dangerous situations. The leader, a grizzled man with a stern expression named Cole, held the wheel steady, his eyes sharp and focused. Beside him was a woman named Mia, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail, her hands steady as she loaded a harpoon gun.
