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Somewhere outside of Grantville, 1635
The night was dark. A storm was brewing in the clouds hovering over the forest. Soon, the heavens would break, and the rain would pour down in waves. Red knew that time was short. She and Ray had to move quickly or everything would be over before it ever fully began.
They, all of the members of the Monster Society, had tracked the Sasquatch to these woods. The beast had already defeated John and dragged him, kicking and screaming, away in the shadows. Her brother, Van, had vanished as well. Whether the beast had taken him too or he had left them of his own choosing, there was no way to know. One minute, he was with them, the next . . . gone.
Red mourned the loss of her crossbow. Without it, she felt naked and vulnerable. In her desperate attempt to save John from the clutches of the giant beast, the thing had knocked it from her hands. Before she could recover it, Ray grabbed her, insisting they flee before the beast returned.
The fate of the Monster Society, perhaps the fate of all of Grantville, rested in their hands. It was up to them to find and stop the beast before it could it summon others of its kind. If the Sasquatch were allowed to do so, hundreds of the things would descend on Grantville. Not even the miraculous weapons of the up-timers would be enough to stop the creatures. With the element of surprise on their side, the beasts would rampage through the streets, leaving a trail of blood and carnage in their wake.
A flash of lightning lit the woods as it arced through the sky. Red saw Ray crouching in a patch of bushes not far from her. Clutched in his hands was a heavy mace. Arcane runes and other strange symbols were carved every inch of the wood it was made of. The wood had been consecrated and blessed by the rituals of the Old Ones. It was perhaps the ultimate weapon for dealing with spirits. Red doubted it would do more than anger the Sasquatch, assuming that Ray even got the chance to use it. John was the strongest of them, and he had fallen easily to the beast. Ray was short, dumpy, and lost his breath after even the shortest of sprints. She had little faith his presence would matter at all when the beast showed itself again.