The Descendent Protectors
The Jeep jostled rhythmically, a comforting hum against the steady beat of The Weeknd blasting through the speakers. Ariel, ever the responsible one, had the passenger seat commandeered, occasionally glancing back at me sprawled in the backseat, a half-empty bag of salted Lay's chips balanced precariously on my stomach.
"You are sure we're headed the right way, correct?" Ariel's voice cut through the music, laced with a familiar skepticism directed at Seth, who was navigating. He groaned, a sound of profound annoyance, before reassuring her for what felt like the hundredth time.
I sat up, rubbing the stiffness from my neck, and pressed my head against the window. Outside, the world was a blur of darkness and towering trees, their barks reaching for the midnight sky. We'd been driving alongside this seemingly infinite forest for what felt like ages. It was then, amidst the shadowy forms, that I saw it—a large, four-legged animal, keeping pace with our speeding car, its silhouette too big for a dog, too sleek for a deer.
My curiosity flared, pulling me closer to the glass. "Hey, Seth?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper against the music. "Could there be any coyotes in the woods?" He hummed a distracted response, and just as Ariel scolded him to keep his eyes on the road, the creature vanished into the depths of the trees.
About half an hour later, the Jeep slowed, then came to a complete stop. My gaze shot to the front, mirroring Seth's sudden tension. Three black SUVs were parked, blocking the road. Three men, dressed in dark, formal attire, stood before them, backs straight, chins held high, an unnerving stillness about them. My heart began to thrum, a nervous flutter against my ribs.
