From where she was crouched, Wilkinson could not see Janson. He had signaled for the rest of them to hold a position at the base of the hill just inside the treeline while he scouted to its crest. The incline was not steep nor the journey to the top long, but there was no easy path. The slope was covered with brambles and stunted trees. Janson had crawled up the first few feet in a low crouch and then dropped to his belly and slithered underneath a knot of branches, disappearing into the gloom. For a few minutes, she had been able to track his path by the occassional, slight shutter of a thicket but that had ceased many minutes ago.
Wilkinson was in charge of the squad in Janson’s absence. The Threshold was not officially organized in squads, but due to Wilkinson’s military background she found it easier to think of the elite governmental taskforce in familiar terms. She was still reeling from the shift in reality that came when the Threshold recruited her into their cause. With that recruitment came an education in the darker dealings of the world she thought she knew. With the horrors of the War still fresh in her mind and body she then became aware of The Cult of the Black Goat and their secret dealings with beings whose existence
Wilkinson’s knee ached. She and the others had weapons raised, ready to shoot anything that came out of the dark that was not Janson.
[20 Minutes is a self-imposed ritual in which I write, uninterrupted, for 20 minutes a day. No self-editing is the goal. Just 20 minutes hammering on the keys. After the 20 minutes, I am allowed to clean up spelling and grammar errors, but the rest must stay as is. 20 minutes a day. Every day. Today is day 6.]