Dark cirrus clouds drifted lazily across the night sky beneath the Worm Moon of late March, occasionally parting to let moonlight spill down into the leafless forest below, where a winding dirt lane snaked through the endless timber.
When the formations closed up, blocking the moon from spying on the world below, shadows crept from the dense forest, plunging the road back into darkness.
Moments later, light returned to the path, this time crossing horizontally along the twisting road. A low rumble soon followed the beams, signaling the arrival of a black cargo van, slowly navigating the narrow lane with bright headlights piercing through the encroaching gloom. The vehicle stopped by the roadside, its engine and headlights shutting off seconds later. The lingering silence was broken only by the faint clicks and ticks of the cooling motor.
A minute later, the driver's side door swung open. A military-style black boot struck the ground, crunching dirt and stones beneath it, its twin following soon after. As the door shut with a muffled thud, a man clad in a black military uniform moved to the other side and slid open the panel. Reaching inside, he extracted a large camouflage duffel bag and unzipped it.
Pulling a small LED flashlight from his breast pocket, he flicked it on, clamped it between his teeth, and assembled his equipment with quick efficiency, clearly having done this task countless times before. One by one, he placed each item beside the bag: industrial zip ties, GPS trackers, a small black case, a pistol, and a spare magazine. Finally, he pulled out a second weapon, one with an unusual design—a larger barrel with a CO2 cylinder attached, resembling a modified tranquilizer gun.
As he finished, a sudden, strange noise burst from the dark woods, startling him. The sound—a crackling, snapping noise akin to an electrical current surging through a Jacob's ladder—was accompanied by a sudden flash of bright violet light among the bare trees, about fifty yards in.
The flash was intense and blinding, dissipating nearly as quickly as it appeared, leaving dancing afterimages in the darkness. Transferring the flashlight to his gloved hand, he killed the light, turned toward the disturbance, and picked up his pistol. For a full minute, he remained perfectly still, listening for any further sounds that might indicate trouble, his breath forming small puffs of vapor in the frigid air.
When nothing further happened, he set the weapon down and retrieved a pair of night-vision goggles from a box nestled under the front passenger seat. After putting them on, he waited for his eyes to adapt to the screen's brightness, the familiar green-tinted world materializing before him. Satisfied he could see clearly now, he picked up his sidearm and flashlight and silently closed the panel door.
With careful caution, he moved toward the edge of the woods, scanning the surroundings and listening again for signs of trouble. After ensuring the coast was clear, he crept forward, stepping over branches and fallen debris. The melting snow softened the ground, and the decomposing leaves helped muffle his movements. Within minutes, he reached the spot where he suspected the disturbance had started.
Peering intently, he scoured the jagged brush line that ran beside a steep incline leading down to a trickling stream below. The sound of running water provided a gentle backdrop to his search. It wasn't long before he saw something unexpected.
Among the thicket, moaning and barely conscious, lay a young woman. He pulled off his goggles, retrieved his flashlight, and gave her a quick once-over. She appeared pale, likely due to the cold, and her golden blonde hair was strewn over her body, concealing much of her form. She wore a ripped, white, frilly shirt, a loose bow tie, and a tattered, red, retro umbrella dress. Her shoes and socks were missing, leaving her bare feet scratched and scraped from the rough terrain.
His head snapped up as he urgently scanned every direction, looking for any sign of an approaching figure—whether a friend, enemy, or predator on the hunt. He also noted no sign of what had caused the electrical spike and surmised that a nearby power transformer must have blown.
Sensing no immediate threat, he turned back to the girl in the brush and knelt beside her. It would take some effort to free her from the tangles she'd fallen into. Swiftly, he worked to pull the branches away, snapping them as necessary, the sharp cracks echoing in the still air. Once he'd cleared enough limbs and foliage, he stopped to get a better look at her.
Her pale, alabaster-shaded face was covered with cuts, scrapes, and bruises. The most prominent was a dark purple bump on the left side of her forehead. Similar wounds and contusions marred much of her exposed skin, but none appeared life-threatening. Carefully, he checked for broken bones and found no apparent fractures, despite her disheveled appearance.
Throughout the process of breaking the brush apart and examining her injuries, the young woman moaned and occasionally shifted at his touch, but she didn't wake up. Attempting to rouse her from her state, he whispered near her ear, "Can you hear me?"
No answer. Either her injuries were more severe than they appeared, or she had been drugged. Sighing deeply, he looked beyond the thicket into the forest beyond. Somewhere out there were two men, holding two young girls captive for a tidy ransom. He knew these kinds of men; money was only half of what they wanted. His eyes narrowed while his lips tightened with seething rage. He needed to find them before they did something to the kids.
This turn of events wasn't what he'd expected, but this woman needed his help just as much, and she was right here. The only choice was to get her back to the van and take her to a hospital as quickly as possible. Then he could race back out here and hopefully pick up the trail again.
Shifting one knee outward and planting his other foot next to her head, he gently slid his arms under her and lifted her out of the thicket. As he did, she gasped sharply, but her eyes didn't open. With some maneuvering, he was soon on his feet and started back toward the vehicle, moving with some haste to try to cut down the delay this would cause.
He only took a few steps when he felt her shift in his arms, drawing his attention.
Wide black eyes stared up at his, their gaze locked for a split second before she struggled against him. In a hoarse voice, she demanded, "Let go of me!"
In an attempt to calm her down, he opted for a whimsical reply, "If you insist. Would you prefer that I drop you or should I set you down gently?"
The question was unexpected and infused with such tenderness and a touch of humor that it caught her off guard. She stopped moving, her expression perplexed. "What?"
"You're not my prisoner, miss, but you are injured." His voice remained calm and reassuring. "I don't know how bad, but if I set you down, you might collapse. I have medical supplies in my van, and I can drive you to the hospital after I clean you up. If you'll permit me?"
"I…" Her voice cracked as she darted her eyes about. "What happened to me?"
"I don't know," he kept his voice gentle, but he was as confused as she was. "I found you in the brush, but I didn't see any signs of anyone else. Do you remember how you wound up out here?"
"No…" she answered quietly, but there was barely controlled panic threading through her words.
Seeing in her eyes a warning that she was about to lose control completely, he hastily switched back to the previous question. "It's okay. We'll figure that out later. Now, do you want me to set you down, or are you okay with me carrying you?"
His misdirection worked. "You promise you won't hurt me?"
"You have my word. I just want to help get you home."
"Who are you?"
"My name's Angel, miss." A gentle smile crossed his face. "What's yours?"
"My name?" The question rekindled the same fear that had started to rise in her eyes as she realized she couldn't answer him. "I…I don't know! Why don't I know my name?"
"Shhhh, it's okay." He lifted her closer to his chest and felt her tremble against him. "Let's get you cleaned up and some water. I'm sure it'll come back to you soon." Giving her a gentle, reassuring squeeze, he suggested, "Hold on tight."
Gripping his shoulders for support, she bit her bottom lip. "Okay."
As he eased over the torn brush and began the trek back to the van, neither he nor she was aware that a long, slender tail with a heart-shaped birthmark embedded in a spade-shaped tip extended from her tailbone. It swished along the ground briefly before shimmering out of existence, leaving no trace in the moonlit forest.