“So here’s what I think we can do,” says Alex. They’re grinning smugly at me and Dr. Stevens. “Since we got more than one hellhound, I think we got more than one gig’s worth of work—what do you think, Blake?”

Blake nods slowly, interested, but he also looks worried. “Budget’s kinda tight, Alex. I dunno if we can foot the bill for two hunters, no offense,” he says, reaching out a placating hand.

Alex has a rebuttal ready. “Yeah, but what happens to the budget if we only hire one of them, and they don’t round up both hounds before they start another fire? It only took us bout a week to handle this one, but you know that’s because we were lucky. And we about to head into drought season.” They raise their eyebrows. “We got to keep these things from setting more fires. The way I see it, we hire two hunters, they wrangle both dogs and they get it done in half the time—right?” They turn toward Dr. Stevens and me.

We exchange a glance, and I shrug a shoulder at her. I want to let her take the lead on this because I feel bad, like I’m homing in on her turf. I had no idea there was another hunter in Alabama outside of Birmingham. Christ, I’d thought I’d be done with this when I left Atlanta.

Dr. Stevens doesn’t hesitate, and when she speaks for us both, I’m glad she’s taking the reins. “Gig Hunter policy prohibits us from making promises on precise completion dates for contracts, given the unpredictable nature of the species we deal with. But,” she continues, when both Blake and Alex’s faces fall, “if we’re able to work together on this one, it certainly stands to reason we’ll get more done faster.”

I nod and smile at her, but she’s got eyes only for Blake, who’s still looking hesitant. I throw my two cents in, hoping it doesn’t cost me my part of the gig.

“Honestly, I don’t know if I could handle two hellhounds on my own,” I say. It’s not a total lie—I could probably do it, and Dr. Stevens probably could do it on her own, too, but it’d be twice as dangerous, and it’d take about four times as long.

Dr. Stevens eyes me, like she knows I’m not being completely honest but knows what I’m trying to do. She adds, “It’s certainly much safer for us if we work together. Most of the hellhound cases that have been documented so far involve solitary hounds—at least, if there is a paper documenting companion or pack behavior, I haven’t read it yet. And the less we know, the more dangerous the work is.” She looks at me for confirmation, and I nod.

Finally, Blake nods. “Well, I certainly want y’all to be safe—as safe as you can be, I reckon.” He pulls at his shirt a couple times, trying to fan himself with the khaki fabric. “Why don’t we work out the particulars in the office. Then me and Alex’ll let y’all have at it.”

Once we get the business end of things worked out, Alex takes me and Dr. Stevens down to the site of the fire. The air is hazy and smoky, and bits of ash are still floating about. I wish I’d thought to bring a mask like Dr. Stevens, who’s tucking the elastic from a surgical mask behind her ears. But I didn’t, so I just pull my shirt up over my nose and hope we won’t be too long.

Other than the haze, the forest looks perfectly normal up until we cross a wide, shallow creek. The moment we step onto the north bank of the creek, though, the forest is completely different. The floor here is charred and black, except for places where it’s coated in little pieces of white ash. Most of the pine trees we pass are still intact, though the bottom ten inches or so of bark are blackened.

Alex stops once we cross the creek, and Dr. Stevens and I follow suit. “We caught it before too long, so only bout an acre got burnt. We did a controlled burn back in March and thank god we did because otherwise the fuel load would’ve been much higher.” Dr. Stevens nods like she knows what they’re talking about, so I do, too.

“All right,” they continue, pulling a map out of their back pocket and unfolding it. It’s pretty big, so Alex hands one end to me and one end to Dr. Stevens and then stands in between us. “They found two ignition points, bout here and here,” they say, pointing first to the map, then gesturing out into the woods toward north-northwest and north-northeast. “The wind blew the two fires south, towards where we are now at the creek. They converged about here,” they say, and point to another spot on the map, “and became one big fire.”

“Where’d you find the chickens?” I ask. Alex and Blake had shown us three chicken skeletons that last night’s rangers had found while on patrol with absolutely no charring. I’d told them about what I’d seen at Hicks Chicken Farms, and we all pretty much figured they were Tate’s missing chickens.

“I’m not positive,” Alex says, “but I think it was right around here.” They point to a spot close to where the two fires converged.

“Might be worth it to check that out first, if the hounds carried them all the way over here to eat them. Might be close to where they’ve settled.” When Dr. Stevens doesn’t comment, I lean across Alex to peek at what she’s doing, but she’s no longer holding up her end of the map.

Instead, she’s kneeling on the ground a couple feet from the creek bed. She’s got her phone out and is focused on photographing something she’s found in the ash on the ground.

“Whatcha got?” I ask and start to walk toward her.

Before I can move too far, she holds up a hand and says, “Stop.”

“What is it?”

She points to the ground, careful not to disturb it, and says simply, “Prints.”

I squat down as well, careful not to disturb the round more than I already have. I can see them clearly now. A row of enormous paw prints heading west, parallel to the creek but giving it a fairly wide berth. Hellhounds aren’t too fond of water, after all.

And when I say “enormous,” I mean e-norm-ous. These prints have got to be bordering on five by five and a half inches, and the biggest wolf prints I’ve seen clock in at only four by four and a half. This hound’s got to be forty inches tall at the withers, at least.

“Chris?” comes a voice interrupting my calculations. “Hey, Chris?”

I turn back to Dr. Stevens, and now she’s pointing in another direction, a few feet further in from the creek. These prints aren’t in a straight line like the first set; they’re erratically patterned, like the dog in question was jumping around or chasing something or maybe just… playing. They’re also much, much smaller than the other set of prints—one and a half inches wide, maybe.

Dr. Stevens and I exchange a look, brows high. Neither of us can speak for a moment. A sharp shiver goes up my spine, like somebody just sauntered their way over my grave.

“What is it?” Alex asks, breaking Dr. Stevens and I out of our shared reverie.

Dr. Stevens answers before I can collect my thoughts enough to use words again.

“You don’t just have hellhounds,” she tells Alex. “You got pups.”