Campus news emails put a pit in my stomach while Dad collected his tools. And we headed to the car to make our way across town.


    Note from University administration.


    Dear students and faculty.


    As you have undoubtedly noticed or been made aware. We have been offered and have graciously accepted additional security personnel to be present on our campus, in our buildings, and observing our upcoming activities. I know the news has spun reports of a grisly murder, and there is considerable talk about a raging axe murderer cutting off people''s heads. My friends, we talk security and personal safety to the highest level, but we do ask that you refrain from gossiping and spreading false or hyperbolic information about the incident. There have been no confirmed sightings of any axe-wielding giant, hulking man, or any other colorful depiction you will see on the internet. I explain this with the utmost regard for our local law enforcement. We need to be safe; we need to be careful, and most of all, we need to be respectful and careful with our words, so we don’t harm individuals who are of a more sensitive nature. Those who come from more troubling backgrounds. These last few weeks have had terrible events and have hurt a lot of people. They are not a joke, and we should not treat these events lightly.


    I closed my phone and was not super interested in reading anymore, but I had to hand it to the university. It was a bit frank, but it was powerful, and it was on point. The last thing we needed was downright lies to cause panic, and if Suzy wasn’t done, we had to be ready for almost anything.


    We drove in silence and only managed to cover a few miles before getting stuck behind a school bus full of sports players from a high school. There was no indication of the sport, but the people I could see through the windows looked excited and I could see a big stack of bags by the back emergency door. We proceeded a few more miles and found ourselves stuck behind several big trucks and trailers, and after a few intersections, we found our first police checkpoint. The officers weren''t stopping each car but waved a small group through to create the semblance of a traffic flow. Some of the drivers waved in greeting and even took a moment to exchange some pleasantries. No one honked, and if they felt impatient, today was a day where they kept it to themselves.


    Today was certainly not the day to get stuck on campus. It was already fairly dark and the police presence the university emails had indicated would most likely kill the mood to stay on campus after hours. Lauren had sounded tired, but everyone would after attending classes all day. I thought about her words, and my instincts couldn’t help but speculate about Lauren''s tone, and it wasn’t just stress aimed at the world''s biggest inconvenience.


    Was I looking for the things that go bump in the night, or had Lauren seemed worried. Really worried?


    “What''s got you on edge?” Dad asked.


    I shrug.


    Dad shot me a smile. “If you''re concerned about your friend. I wouldn''t worry. Cars break down all the time. And you and I both know no wild axe murderer is running rampant through the city and if there were one, we have dealt with axe-wielding creatures before.”


    “I know that, and you know that,” I replied. “Lauren and everyone else on campus doesn''t. And there was something about how she spoke to me that made me think she was concerned about something, but she didn''t quite know how to describe it. Or it was putting her on the edge of her seat. I don''t know.”


    “We do sadly live with a critter on our shoulder,” Dad said, “We don’t want a monster hiding behind every wall or causing every problem, but that’s not the case more often than not.”


    Dad signaled to advance through a pocket of traffic to avoid getting caught in it. “Emma,” he continued with a soft narrative tone. “You may be blaming yourself for what happened, but keep in mind that you saved that mom and her kids today, maybe even the whole store. It wasn’t pretty, and most of the time, when it comes to monsters, it''s not, but you did good, and while we have skills and tools that help us do our job. We’re still human, and our line of work can take a toll.”


    “Pop and grandma certainly made it work,” I said.


    “They have, but it has come with a price,” Dad said.


    He slowed as an enclosed tractor accelerated and rocked back and forth from the excursion.  its engine to pull its plow further down the road and not obstruct traffic. “If you think there''s something more to this. Don’t hesitate to be on your guard and I’ll back you up just as you do for me when we have an encounter. Take it in stride, feel it out, pin it down, and take care of it if it''s in your power to do so.”


    “I will do that,” I said, trying to be casual as we stopped at another police checkpoint. This one required a brief conversation, and Dad had no problem sharing a few jokes, checking in with the officers, and sharing some gift cards to an Elf Run coffee shop. While they spoke. I couldn''t help but feel a bit off and concerned. Around here, the most typical crimes are traffic violations, petty theft, and late-night fender benders from the small portion of the community that actually drank. I imagined somewhere that an office had a stack of case files full of ridiculous theories and unanswered questions. Sometimes, some jobs get messy. Fosters had been running sting operations, strikes, encounters, and cover operations against monsters. We came to this mid-western area to stay under the radar, and even after several close calls, it was so strange to see an active police presence. I''d seen this kind of thing in dystopian movies but never in real life. There had been a relatively minor one in grade school when some low-level criminal had tried to make his last stand in a cornfield, but that was honestly child''s play compared to this.


    “Have a good night, officer,” Dad said as he rolled up his window and proceeded down the street. The tractor kicked a dark cloud of exhaust into the air. The worker driving it gave an awkward wave. I shielded my eyes as our front lights glimmered across the shiny blades, and a few cars honked in dismay as they maneuvered around it. We swerved past, and I glimpsed a dent along the curved shell, shielding the driver from mud and debris flung into the air by the massive tire. I didn''t recognize the driver, but I recognized the dent in the tire hub. It was a tractor from the Morris farm.


    “Do you have something else on your mind?” Dad asked. “I think we have some time.”


    I shook my head and pushed vivid memories from the Minotaur out of my mind. I wasn''t traumatized by it, but occasionally, you do see things that strike a chord with a near-death experience, and I’d be lying to say that it didn’t make me twitch. Part of me wondered if I should be a bit more traumatized by it. But that was just one of the many family mysteries we had yet to solve. How did we go up against all these terrifying monsters and keep our wits about us?


    “If I had to put words to my thoughts,” I began. “I guess I''m just surprised at the reaction. We''ve not had a job get this out of hand before.”


    “That’s not something you ever get used to, and you really can’t anticipate the results,” Dad replied.


    I settled into my seat and waited for him to continue. It was the kind of start to a story where he’d give me a glimpse into his years riding on encounters with Pop and taking on monsters with primitive enforcement, raw talent, and walking away with bloody lips and broken bones. Dad kept his attention on the traffic and remained silent until we parked the car. We idled in a parking for a minute and Dad straightened but didn''t immediately pull his hands off the steering wheel.


    “This job has gotten a bit out of hand because with monsters, there are no rules, and there is no warning. I understand the pressure and I wish I could offer some encouragement, but it’s the unruliest part about what we do.”


    I gripped my door handle, and I stared blankly at the dashboard. This kind of reply was not at all what I was expecting. “Dad, are you getting at something?”


    Dad furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Oh, no, little bug. You''re not getting rid of me that easily.”


    “But something is.” I began but threw myself back into my chair as a loud crack cut through the air. We had minimal traffic around us and expected our windows to crack or shatter. I looked at Dad, who had reacted similarly. We waited for a moment, and then I reached and jerked the handle, and I barreled out of the cab. Dad flung himself across the seat and came out after me.


    “What was that?” I snapped. My fingers were clenched, and I spun in a circle, searching for any oncoming threat.


    “Be ready for!” Dad began, but a second crack, not as loud as the first, cut him off. We stood at attention to then heard a hoot, cheers, and the chink of smashing glass. I relaxed as my noise filled the street trailed by a tail of exhaust fumes. A few cars honked in dismay and panic as a convertible sports car skidded through an intersection and sped up the street. The car''s brakes screeched, kicking a thick exhaust cloud into the oncoming traffic. Each of the passengers, at least four in all, laughed and hollered at the top of their lungs.


    “Must be a party night,” I said dismally, “Dang that engine. If it had been any louder, I bet the officers on campus would have been all over them.”


    “I venture they will be,” Dad replied, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, and sure enough, less than two blocks away, I saw multiple flashes of red and blue lights.


    I move my hair out of my face and hook some behind my ears. Then I added in a muffled voice. “It sounded like a gunshot. Didn’t it?”


    We were usually this jumpy, but the engine backfiring had caught us unaware.


    “There are times I feel old,” Dad said, “but then I see stuff like that, and I’m reminded how things never change.”


    “First time I''ve seen that before.” I said, “I’m surprised they didn’t crash.”


    “They might when they get up that hill,” Dad said, “What lot is your friend in?”


    I double-checked the text Lauren had sent. Dad grabbed his toolbox and made sure it was locked. Then, after a quick check of the campus map and a steady increase in the traffic flow, we set out across campus. Dad kept a tight grip on his tool belt, and while his expression was relaxed and pleasant, he maintained an eye on darker spaces near buildings, and we went the long way if one of the lampposts flickered or hadn’t come on. Once we cleared the external line of buildings, unsurprisingly, the entire campus seemed deserted. The buildings where clubs and activities took place were dark, and the security boxes on the doors were ominously tinted red. As we neared the library, from a distance, I could see uniformed officers by the doors and a few students working. We came to the door, and those who were coming out quickly put on their headphones, pulled out their phones or actual flashlights, and scurried off at a brisk pace.


    I looked at Dad, who kept his attention forward, and a look in his eye told me he was on the prowl.


    Did my earlier comments make him worried?  I wondered.


    Grandma and Grandpa had stories from their active years that they never wanted to discuss, and they’d react in a similar way if questions or a present-day encounter ever came close to being a similar event, even indirectly. Among the four of us, there were things we never mentioned, referred to, or discussed in any great detail unless it was absolutely necessary. Dad had such a stellar social face, yet at the same time, there was hardly a moment when, on certain occasions, Dad got angry or felt uncomfortable. You could tell. There was a look in his eyes that made the situation sting, and for a brief instant, I wanted to question him about it. Show my support, but as we passed the dorms and a roundabout. I moved to his side and set my own sights on the prowl.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    He wants to be strong for me.


    Dad knew his limits, and he knew his skills. We didn’t have the luxury of second guesses or second chances. We had to be prepared when things went wrong and respect the pressure it would put on us.


    Know your skills and know your limits.


    Music drifted across the courtyard from the student center. It varied in volume as the automated doors opened and closed. We took a curved path that arched near the student’s center Food Service entrance. This was where outside organizations could come to pick up copious quantities of food for their galas, conferences, and work parties.


    Through the window, I caught quick glances of people working on their laptops or having dinner. Compared to the tension from the people coming out of the library, the mood at the tables seemed relaxed and normal. That perspective shattered fairly quickly once some officers came into view who didn’t say much to the students, but their simple presence caused about a quarter of those present to polish off their meals and leave; one officer even helped a girl with her books and accompanied her toward the outside doors.


    “College should just be able your future,” I muttered, “it''s not normal to be worried that a killer could come around the corner.”


    “History shows that even humans can come off as monsters,” Dad said. I choked slightly. I hadn’t realized I had said that loud enough for him to hear.


    “You’re right though,” Dad continued. “It''s not normal and it’s not fair. Sadly, it''s one of the reasons why we do what we do. Monsters have shown they can change, but some of them don’t.”


    We cleared the student center, and as we approached the fountain, a few couples huddled around its perimeter glanced in our direction. These guys didn’t come off as paranoid. They chatted with smiles and hearty laughter. One held a telescope, but they didn’t strike me as diligent students, and I doubted any of them would take an astronomy class seriously.


    “Hurry home!” a girl in a baggy black hoodie yelled. “You shouldn’t be out too late.”


    “What?” one of the groups yelled, a boy with spiky blond hair. “Are there ghosts lurking in the bushes that will get me!”


    His friends laughed and launched into further comments and jokes about the ghosts, some made explosion sounds, while others put their fists together and swung their arms back and forth as if they were holding an axe.


    “Come get me!” a guy declared, and he pretended to be heroic and dodged his buddy''s attacks. We proceeded up the path toward the administration building. From what Lauren had sent, she had parked in the student section adjacent to the staff spaces. It was a coveted spot, great during the wintertime. You had to pay top dollars for the parking past though.


    “I think we’re close,” Dad muttered.


    ‘Fantastic,” I said at the same time I crunched a chip bag beneath my shoe. Without a second thought, I snatched it up and tossed it into a trash can beside a series of pillars positioned in a triangle with bulletin boards displaying colorful posters for job fairs, campus activities, and public announcements.


    I saw some light from a solo car, and we quickened our pace as we passed the bulletin board, and trash cans. The sidewalk narrowed slightly as the area had been built to accommodate service vehicles for the campus land crew. Their tool shed and garage could be seen from most places on campus. It was eye-sore or would have been if they didn’t have so many trees barricaded around it.


    We stepped off the path and began our brief ascent at an angle across the parking lot itself. The car door opened, and a single person got out. I waved, and then the person who I recognized as Lauren waved back.


    “She seems relaxed,” Dad said, “and in good spirits.”


    “We’ll see,” I said, but Lauren came into earshot before I could say more.


    “Hey Emma, Mr. Foster thanks for coming.” Lauren began.


    I had bad light to judge her facial expressions and anyone’s voice at this time in the day would sound fatigued, if not exasperated.


    I hoped I was wrong. “Hey Lauren, sorry to hear about your car and sorry it took so long. We got stuck behind the tractor and ended up parking on the other side of campus. There seems to be a lot of activities going on tonight.”


    “It’s definitely rotten luck and terrible timing,” Lauren said, “It was fine this morning when I came here. I guess things just happen, right?”


    “Things do just happen sometimes,” Dad said, moving to the mood to assess his patient. “Did you hear anything sounds or have any kind of warning?”


    Lauren quickly recounted her day and attempted to describe the sounds and how it drove, along with comments about how she didn’t know a lot about cars. Dad posed some questions and while she spoke, I caught brief nuisances of her nervousness, but the longer she spoke, the more her posture seemed to relax, and her demeanor brightened now that she was no longer alone.


    I would have felt the same way if this had been me. Lauren gestured to her car and put her hands on her hips. A second later, she moved them across her chest, and then they were back on her hips.


    Dad opened the driver''s door, and Lauren gratefully climbed inside. She started the car, and I pulled back in surprise. Dad looked surprised, too. We’d damaged, shredded, and pulverized several vehicles. I could probably make a playlist with sounds I’d heard when we assessed the damage. Those noises, they came close to real damage, our kind of battle damage.


    “That definitely doesn’t sound normal,” I said.


    Dad stuck a finger to his lips, and hearing my intonation, I could tell I needed to work on my acting skills and masking my suspicions. Lauren didn’t seem to notice, and at Dad’s request, she took her seat and then messed with the lights and the turn signals, which surprisingly still worked.


    “What do you think, Dad?” I asked.


    “Could be a number of things,” he replied. Lauren released the hood catch, and Dad moved to prop it up. I moved beside him and spotted a copy of the campus bulletin partially crumpled and soiled beneath her tire. It had been there for a while. I stepped closer and gingerly nudged it with my toe.


    People are reacting to new situations. It doesn’t mean there is immediate trouble. I pursed my lips and tilted my head when I identified what looked to be some ridiculous drawing of a broad-shouldered cartoonish monster holding an oversized axe. I pulled back and then kicked the paper further beneath the car.


    “I hope this won’t be too much trouble,” Lauren said.


    “Whether it’s a lot of trouble or a little trouble, we’ll solve the problem,” Dad said with a reassuring thumbs up. Lauren didn’t look convinced and from what I could see of her expression. She didn’t like being the center of attention and she probably thought this was a big inconvenience. I asked Dad some broad questions, and he gave some straightforward answers. Dad dug through his toolbox, and after putting a work light on his forehead, he withdrew some tools and ducked beneath the hood. Lauren glanced back toward campus, and I noticed her occasionally masking tiny shivers.


    I didn''t feel it was cold at all, “Can I grab your jacket or hoodie?”


    Lauren shook her head, “I didn’t think I’d need one today. I’m good.”


    Her voice was abrupt, which conveyed a shifting uneasiness and uncertainty. I watched Lauren and considered small talk, but that was the last thing she seemed eager to engage in.


    I wish I could tell you that you don’t have to worry about a wild axe murderer. I thought, At least not the one everyone is talking about.


    My lips went dry, but I quickly moistened them. I was starting to overthink things, treating this as a job.


    Cars do break down, I told myself. Lauren probably drove through some mud, and maybe a small rodent was caught in the engine block somewhere. Dad tossed a few simple questions at her, and she did her best to answer them. All the while, she kept her arms across her stomach. We hung out in an uneasy silence broken by repeated chords of rumbles, sputters, and unappealing rattles from the car. Each distinct noise made her flinch, and she often shot her attention over her shoulder.


    She needs to get out of her head. I realized everything going on around town has got to have her spooked.


    “How was class?”


    “Same old, same old, you know,” Lauren replied. “I''ve got some tests coming up. But I''m not.”


    She hadn’t made eye contact, but something had caught her attention, and she pulled back, bracing herself in what I could only describe as alarm. I immediately tensed in response when her body went rigid. Was she going to have a seizure?


    “Lauren?”


    She didn’t respond, so I followed her graze across the parking lot. I disregarded noises from behind me as best I could. There were traffic noises, faint voices, and the hum of campus machines. My attention reached the central pathways. There was no one visibly in sight.


    You are worried about something, Lauren?  My attention danced between the buildings, which, despite the lateness of the hour, were fully illuminated by multiple lampposts and some external lights above public entrances and the service areas for the lighting, heat, and garbage disposal. I tightened my face, feeling a warmth across my palm as my ZAP ring clicked to life. I watched the trees and then focused on some of the larger bushes. There was a rustle. Or was there? I waited for any additional clues. If something was lurking there, they would have to give themselves away as they moved into striking range.


    Nothing came, but the first breeze I readied acknowledged, picked him a crumpled chips bag and pushed it across the sidewalk.


    A chip bag? Then I saw it, the garbage can that was lying on its side.


    On cue, a few more pieces of garbage skidded across the pavement and got stuck in the grass. I followed a few pieces, and after mentally tracing the outline, I saw additional trash and two blue or black plastic trash cans beside the display boards. Their lids sat in the walkway, and one I could now see bumping into one of the display''s stand poles.


    “Who knocked you over?” I muttered You were up when I tossed that bag away a few minutes ago.


    I thought back, and I was convinced they hadn''t come that way when we came up. The walkway had been clear. I wiggled my fingers, finding them stiff and chilled now that the weather had made its presence known.


    No natural force knocked you over. That meant someone did.


    I was back on alert. That had to have happened while we were here. I pressed my memories, but there hadn’t been outcries of pain or alarm. I hadn’t heard a thump, and no one had come up this way, so there weren’t any witnesses. Could someone have hit them toward the other side of campus?


    I looked at Lauren, who did not look sick. Her nose became wrinkled, and she looked a bit irritable.


    “Did you see the bulletin today,” I said quickly with a glossy finish of Dad’s upbeat personality. “It sounds so outrageous to me.”


    “Let''s not talk about that, please,” Lauren said quickly.


    “Sure,” I said, adding, “It''s been a long day, hasn’t it?”


    Lauren sniffed and then nodded.


    “It definitely has been a long day,” Dad said, “and sadly, I need a better place to work. Lauren, let''s get you home, and I''ll take your car to our house. I''ve got everything I need there.”


    “That’s not necessary,” Lauren said weakly. “I shouldn''t have bothered you all. I''ll call my dad, and we can just tow it to our house. I''m sure he has a mechanic we could get to look at it.”


    “Nonsense, by now, it will take a few days before most garages can get you in,” Dad said. He collected his tools and secured his toolbox. “Think nothing of it. We''re here, so we might as well help you out.”


    “Well, ok,” said Lauren. “Let me just call my dad really quick.”


    “You do that,” Dad said, “I’ll get our car over here, and we’ll get this thing all hooked up.”


    Lauren dialed he dad and turned her back to me as she spoke in a faint voice. I caught a few words, but my attention stayed on the walking path and the tipped-over garbage can. For a moment, it seemed trivial, and I wanted to disregard the suspicion. It was chilly. It was nighttime. For some, stress peaks at the end of the day, and everyone had plenty to chat about. During the few minutes of the call, Dad handed me his toolbox and then hurried across campus. He glanced briefly at the free-flowing trash strung across the grass and nearby bushes. I watched him consider the space, but he didn’t pause, and I hardly saw a back step. A few cars passed him while others zipped down the road. Thankfully, it didn’t take long before he was back, and Lauren seemed a bit more relaxed with a car close by that actually worked.


    I secured the toolbox, and once Dad got the car in place, I pulled out his cables and began hooking everything up. Lauren climbed in the back, and once the door closed, Dad shot me a stern expression. This was the nonverbal indicator that he knew something was amiss, but it wasn’t the time to talk about it. In fact, based on his expression, I could tell that his main objective was exfil. The conditions weren’t the best to attempt any repair. Plus, if something had caused this, they might come back. We needed to get out of there. We could fight, but we were not ready for combat in such an open space.


    I closed the trunk as Lauren stepped out of the car, holding her phone out.


    “Mr. Foster, my dad would like to talk to you.”


    “Sure,” Dad said, in a similar jovial tone I remembered using with Mr. Morris, the farmer. Dad handed me the toll ropes, and I knelt down. Dad verbally guided me in putting them in place. I started in a defensive crouch but then moved to my knees. Once I was finished, I used the car to stand up, but I stopped and leaned across to the left, where I noticed several jagged lines. That ran several inches up the side. For any other car on any other day, I would have considered a mark like this as simple cosmetic battle damage over its lifetime. Lauren had a stellar paint job that was almost too new, and the car was, at best, six, maybe seven years old. She wasn’t the type to go off-roading or do any drag racing.


    “It’s no trouble,” Dad''s voice carried over from that frame out of our car. I''m happy to help. I''m based on what I''m saying, and you know, it''s pretty late. I think it would be easier if I took care of things in my garage. I''m sure and believe me, I''m more than happy to lend a hand.


    I ran a finger across the line. The edges were sharp, and a few were jagged, but they were too clean to be anything other than; I arched my head to the side, and my idea was confirmed visually.


    Claw marks?


    “Sounds good, Mr. Jones,” Dad said. He ended up calling Lauren back. “We’re all set. Let''s go.”


    “We''re all set over here,” I called back.


    I climbed in, but part of me wanted to create an excuse and head across campus. I decided not to. We were suspicious, but there was no need to go on the prowl at this point. There were monsters on campus, and chancing of finding one was pretty good.


    There could be a logical explanation. I thought as I clicked my seatbelt. It was possible, but with everything going on, what were the chances? Maybe someone could have just been clumsy in this parking lot at some point earlier in the day. But why be so brutal? And how would they have gotten away with it? Dad would know more tomorrow, and when Mr. Jones and Lauren came to collect the car, it was the most likely response Dad would use to ease their fears. I’d back him up and, hopefully, if something was causing a stir on campus. I hoped that they would look at the police and scurry on to class and let someone else be the troublemaker who antics could simply go unnoticed.