Bad Games

23



Arty and Jim squatted in the backyard of the cabin they’d selected, their bodies cloaked by the surrounding black the woods provided. The cabin was close to the Lambert’s, making it an ideal transitional spot for them to prepare.

“Could be on a timer,” Jim whispered, motioning to the lit windows of the transition cabin.

“Doubt it,” Arty said.

They shuffled side by side, to the left of the cabin. There was a car in the driveway. Arty pointed to it. “Somebody’s home.”