Back on the road, it takes them a bit longer to reach their next destination. Redpine isn’t largely populated, but outside the small cluster of homes and businesses, there’s a large swathe of farmland, occasionally interrupted by small patches of forested areas. Caspar finds himself relaxing as the RV follows the gently winding road. The canopy of trees is now bathed in the full glory of the morning sun, creating a kaleidoscope effect of dancing light on one side while the sorghum fields shimmer like a golden sea on the other.

Now the mood in the RV seems lighter. Caspar glances at Malakai. He again seems entranced by the window, watching the scenery pass by. 

Maybe he didn’t get to enjoy the view as a passenger often? Caspar remembers it being one of the few perks of growing up on the road. Either way, Malakai seems fine now.

Or, more likely… Malakai probably hasn’t thought much of Caspar’s eccentricities in the first place. After all, it seems he has a few of his own to worry about. 

Caspar allows himself a small smile. Heh. Biblical MILF. What the fuck.

As they approach the outskirts of the town, Caspar spots a few clustered farmhouses.

“We should start there, the one with the red barn.”

The gravel crunches under the RV’s tires as they pull up to the farmhouse. Caspar observes that already, their presence has been noted. A woman in her forties, dressed in a knee-length skirt and a gray button-up top, stands on the porch. She sets down a watering can as she stares.

Caspar and Malakai exit the van, waving amicably as they approach.

“Morning,” she grunts, “can I help you?”

Caspar clears his throat. “Yes, we’re, uh, we’re here about some trouble we heard you’re having with your livestock?”

The woman blinks in surprise. “You from the government?”

Caspar chokes. Shit, should they be from the government? That would give them more credibility, right? Or wait, aren’t most of these people in the boonies fiercely independent? Do they distrust governmental interference? “No, um, actually—we’re with, uh—”

Malakai steps in. “We’re from the Redpine Environmental Protection Coalition. We’re a charity group focused on protecting wildlife and helping farmers maintain a healthy balance with nature.”

The woman raises an eyebrow. She picks up her watering can and starts to tend to her hanging baskets of succulents. “You have some trouble for us?”

“No, not at all. We’re here to help.”

“Yeah?”

Caspar steps into the conversation. “We were hoping you could tell us more about what's been happening?”

The woman sighs. She takes a look at the sun, already beating down on the three of them. “Would’ya like to come inside?”

“Yes, please.”

The woman turns away. She heads in, opening the screened in door wide for Caspar and Malakai. Inside, the living room of the farmhouse is quaint, if a bit run down. It consists of a faded manilla-colored couch, a reclining chair, a fat-backed TV, and a scuffed coffee table. Caspar sits on the worn couch, hand nervously tracing the floral pattern. This farmhouse was clearly used as a home for decades, if not generations. The concept is foreign to him. 

“PAUL,” she hollers, “WE GOT COMPANY!”

She turns to Caspar. “You boys take a seat. You want something to drink?”

“No thank you.”

She nods, leaving the room for a moment and placing down a plate on the table. “Have some biscuits at least.”

Caspar eyes up the fluffy white biscuits. They look good, but he’s made a habit of avoiding food from strangers. “Thank you, but we just ate.”

She huffs, sitting down just as a portly graying man enters from the kitchen.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

“The Redpine Environmental folks. They think they can help with the pests.”

“I already got it handled. I don’t need any help.”

The woman scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Is that why we lost a calf last night? Damnnit, Paul, your friend ain’t coming. We can’t wait any longer.”

Caspar interjects. “It's best to deal with it as soon as possible. Whatever is attacking your herd will only grow bolder as it adjusts to human settlements as a source of food.”

Paul scowls, looking the newcomers up and down. The searching gaze pauses on Caspar’s face. He feels himself grow nervous as the man studies him. Did he do something to tip them off?

Paul squeezes his wife’s shoulder. “Why don’t you let me handle this Kathrine? Someone needs to feed the dogs.”

Kathrine gets up. With one last look at them all, she turns and leaves through the front door. As soon as it shuts with a resounding click, Paul sighs and slumps into the lazyboy. He looks up, eyes narrowed. “You Delilah’s boy?” 

Caspar’s eyes go wide for a moment. His tongue is stuck. When his voice finally comes out, it sounds a bit strained. “Yes! You know my mom?”

Paul narrows his eyes, the bridge of his nose wrinkling. Caspar tries to discern what the expression could indicate. Is he mad? 

“Did Delilah not send you?” Paul asks.

“No. I found her RV empty. We ended up here because we figured she might be on this hunt with my uncle Duncan.”

Paul sighs, rubbing his eyes. “She’s missing? She was supposed to be here two days ago.”

“Seems like it.”

“Tell me she didn’t go after that God-forsaken coven?”

Caspar scratches his neck nervously. “No. She didn’t. I got to it before her.”

Paul's eyes dart to the bandage on Caspar’s neck. “You went after the vampires?”

“Yes, I—”

There’s a click of a gun. Caspar tenses as he realizes Paul is pointing a revolver straight at him. 

He puts his hands up. “I’m fine! I wasn’t turned!”

Paul motions to the biscuits on the table. “Have a bite, both of you.”

Malakai leans forward, grabbing them both a biscuit. “Got any jam?”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

They both take a hearty bite, chewing, and swallowing. Ordinarily, Caspar would enjoy the light fluffy texture and warm buttery goodness, but a gun is a great appetite suppressant. Thankfully, it lowers as Paul watches them both finish. “Sorry about that. You can never be too careful.”

“So you’re a hunter, then?” Malakai asks.

“No. God, no. I got out of that shit a long time ago. I used to hunt with your mother and father, Caspar. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were barely old enough to walk when we met.”

“So you called my mom about the vampires and whatever is eating your livestock?” Caspar asks.

“No, I told her about the pests, I was hoping she’d ignore the vamps.”

“Why? They were growing by the day, I counted fifty at least. Someone needed to take them out…”

Paul’s face twists in confusion. “What? No…with the disappearances, they couldn’t have had more than four members.”

Malakai leans back in his seat. “They were still killing people.”

“Killing outsiders and bums, while also keeping bigger threats away. Why do you think I moved here? Shit. Now this town is just as vulnerable as anywhere.”

“You knew they were killing people and kept them around for years because they were your pest control? You must have other hunter friends, you could’ve told them—”  

“I won’t have you judge me, boy. You’ll understand if you ever try to leave this bloody business. I have a home, a wife, kids, grandkids, all because I was able to find somewhere I wasn’t constantly on some damn hunt.”

Caspar’s stomach drops. Is this what it means to be an ex-hunter? So there really is no escape, is there? “So it’s worth sacrificing lives?”

“You giving them beds to sleep in? Feeding them? Giving them medical care? They’re already being ignored. The only thing I did was live my life and protect my family. I’m not obligated to help anyone else.”

“Why ask my mom for help then? She’s not obligated to help you, yet she was on her damn way here. Fuck, she gives me such shit for wanting to go to college, but she’ll help you?”

Paul stands, a snarl on his face. Caspar gets up too, but flinches as his neck flares in pain. He falls back into his seat, holding his wound. 

Paul huffs, disdain in his eyes. “I paid my dues, kid. You’re quitting before you even start.”

Shame makes Caspar ball his hands into fists. 

He’s been a good son, hasn’t he? Every time his mom’s gone on some wild goose chase, he’s put his failing attempts at normalcy aside to help her. Why is it so wrong he wants out?

As if to answer, a haunting memory surfaces. His mother’s voice echoes in his mind: ‘If you’d left and never come back, that would’ve been better. But you keep crawling back, again and again. Don’t lie and say it’s for me, honey. It’s because you can’t do anything else.” 

Caspar doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s right. She’s always right. He loves his mom, but would he have come back if he’d actually been doing well?

Malakai’s eyes go cold as he stands. “You really want to be hurling insults when we’re here to fix your problems for you?”

Paul stares. When Malakai isn’t cowed, he sits with arms crossed. “Fine. if you’re done with the dramatics, let's get into it.”

“Can you tell us what’s been happening?”

“As my wife said, we’ve had multiple animals die on us. At first it was just a few chickens and turkeys, so I wrote it up to foxes and strays. We got us some guard dogs and trained them up.”

“Taking a wild guess here, they didn’t help much.”

Paul shakes his head. “We had three Great Pyrenees. Giant dogs, incredibly loyal and protective of their flocks. One morning we woke up to one dead, two of them cowering in the barn. Outside, we found three dead steers. We had to rehome the other two. They refused to go out at night after that.”

“Damn. Anything else?”

“We heard strange things in the woods. First it was animal sounds…roosters crowing at midnight, whinnying when the horses were already stabled. That kind of thing. I didn’t think much of it until I started to hear more. People camp around here. There's a few farms that also function as a bed-and-breakfasts, so occasionally we’ll get sounds from a bonfire or party. One night though, I heard my wife’s voice in the early morning calling out from the woods.”

“Fuck. What did it say?”

“Here doggies! Here! Come eat!” 

“I’m guessing your wife wasn’t outside.”

“She was in bed.”

Malakai groans. “Fuck. This is sounding a helluva lot like fleshgaits. Shit!”

“I’m praying not, but that was also my first thought. They’re killing the livestock for food and trying to lure out a new host.”

Caspar’s eyes flick to his boots. He pets the coat of his flannel. “I’m not so convinced.”

“If you think it’s something else, I’m open to hearing it.”

Caspar closes his eyes. Multiple culprits flash by in his mind. One stands out as the most obvious though: “Chupacabra.”

“Chupacabra? This far north? Plus, they’re solitary. There's no way a single Chupacabra would be able to eat that many animals in this timeframe.”

“They’re not so different from normal animals. When their habitat is destroyed, they get desperate and start moving closer to human settlements and away from their normal hunting grounds. It would also explain the sudden attacks on livestock. They’re desperate and searching for easy prey.”

“Okay, but that still doesn’t explain how it’s killing so many animals,” Malakai says.

“Most males are solitary. They’re the bigger ones most hunters worry about. But the females move in packs, especially when they’re brooding a clutch. It makes sense—they mimic human voices, but they don’t really comprehend what’s being said.” 

“Wait, have you seen a female?”

Caspar nods. “They’re actually not that aggressive if you leave the pups alone. The males are the ones who are territorial. Usually the pack has one they keep around as their sperm bank but he hangs back while they hunt.”

“So you think they’re not an actual threat?”

“I would say yes if it wasn’t for the campers. These Chupacabras have‌ become, uh, you know, like problem bears.”

“Uh…problem bears?”

“Bears are also giant, carnivorous, murder machines, but we don’t consider them a real threat until they become desperate and start associating people with food. You know. Problem bears. And since these Chupacabras are showing interest in people now…”

“Problem Chupacabras. You think an attack is inevitable.”

“This far north with none of their native prey species? Definitely.”

Paul grunts as he stands. “Well, you have my permission to stay here as long as you need to get rid of them, whatever they are.”

“Fine. We’ll start looking around and setting up traps..”

“Fine by me, but make sure you’re keeping clear of our neighbors, the Kinsley’s.”

“Why?”

“They’re the real antagonistic type. The kind to call the police over a kid crossing the fence for a ball or shoot a man on their property without permission. Always been that way.”

“Hillbillies,” Malakai snorts. 

They conclude their Caspar sighs as they exit, heading for the van. His footsteps carry him fast, away from the source of his frustration. He can’t afford to be emotional. Emotional hunters slip up. 

The last thing he wants is to end up in the maw of some beast because he couldn’t control himself.