For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The forest seemed even quieter now.
The notebook remained in Marcus's hand while the last words lingered in his mind.
They're here.
Not "it."
Not "something."
They.
Plural.
Whoever or whatever attacked the caravan wasn't alone.
That matched the tracks.
Hundreds of tracks.
Hundreds of signs.
Hundreds of questions.
Marcus looked toward the radio.
"Predator, send the feed to my tablet."
"Copy."
A few seconds later, a video feed appeared on the rugged military tablet carried by one of the communications personnel.
Marcus immediately walked toward him.
The rest of the squad followed.
Tomas.
Rolf.
Several infantrymen.
Everyone wanted answers.
The drone footage stabilized.
The camera looked down from several thousand feet above the forest.
At first, all Marcus saw was trees.
Endless trees.
Then the operator zoomed out.
The picture changed.
A visible trail cut through the forest.
Not a road.
Not a river.
A trail.
