“After years of hunting with his father and uncles, like Tommy, Ben’s eye was trained to look for signs of his prey. A footprint, a broken branch, a tuft of hair. Or a scrap of red cotton, no more than an inch square. “Over here,” he called Tommy. “You see that?” Tommy squinted, but after a few seconds he saw what Kortlang was talking about. Once you got off the trail the undergrowth was pretty thick, but there was no mistaking the outline of a footprint. They painstakingly picked their way thro...ugh the brush and followed a half dozen more footsteps before the trail petered out again. Tommy’s neck tightened with frustration as he scanned the area and saw nothing. He held up his thermal imager and turned it in a slow circle, keeping it low to the ground in case it picked up on anything in the underbrush. He hit on a red blob but knew immediately it was too small to be human. They bushwhacked several more yards, cursing as branches snagged on their skin and clothes. Tommy lifted the sensor, his eyes flying open as it revealed essentially a wall of red somewhere directly in front of him.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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