Michael eyed the marshmallow bag, but knew he'd had enough sweets. He was either going to try to go to sleep and ignore the other guys or raid the cooler for more hot dogs.

"You know," Flynn said, looking at Junior, "I don't think grizzly bears were ever known to hang out in New Mexico."

"Nope," Junior agreed. "I watched a special on them on Discovery a couple nights ago. They always stayed up in the northern and coastal areas."

Perry sighed in exasperation. "Doesn't anyone want to know what happened to Head-Eater?"

"He got kicked out of the tribe," Flynn said, "then went on to wander around the neighborhood here. He ambushed and kidnapped people from wagon trains and in local settlements, then he killed them and ate them."

"Probably left a pile of skulls around," Junior agreed. "He died, but since the tribe refused to bury him, his spirit still walks the desert and he's still eating people."

Perry cursed and flopped back down on his sleeping bag. "You guys suck," he said, and before he finished the word, Tiller's panicked scream rang out through the nearby hills, washed away by the sudden peal of thunder.

"Hey!" Flynn said. "That was Tiller!"

Already galvanized into action, Michael, rising from the sleeping bag, peered into the darkness that had surrounded the desert campsite. Shadows stretched away and filled the night in all directions, hardly interrupted at all by the campfire.

2

“Where did Tiller go?” Junior asked anxiously.

Kurt Bulmer raced from the tent and stood in front of the open flap. "What's going on out there?"

As Junior tried to explain, Michael grabbed the backpack he'd been saddled with all day. He rummaged inside and came up with a flashlight. Grabbing the flashlight, he ran in the direction of the screams. The downpour that had finally begun stung his eyes and matted his hair, and had turned the dry desert floor into muddy slush.