DRYNN

It began as a routine murder investigation, but one detour into unconsciousness later, big-city detective turned small town police chief Skip Walkins finds himself plunged into a war that has spanned two worlds and thousands of years. Definitely not on his list of things to do that day.

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The tire tracks turned off the main road where he knew they would, but instead of following them, Skip stopped. It was dark.  There were no lampposts this far out of town, just the little reflectors on the sides of the road.  He could see snow swirling in his headlights, and it seemed to him that he was on another world, different from where he’d been just thirty minutes before in the comfort of his home.  The trees that surrounded him were blanketed, and as he looked down the narrow, cramped road that was devoid of any life save the single set of tire tracks, Skip’s hackles stood at attention.  He sat in his truck a few moments, oblivious to the coarse, grainy voice of Bob Segar pouring off his stereo speakers and just stared down the desolate road.  His thoughts were on nothing specific, like a mental Ouija board searching for letters, but he knew that if he chose to follow those tracks, something was going to happen.  Something bad.

His hesitation lasted only a moment longer.  He put his Two-Fifty into drive, turned up the stereo, and started down the road.  “Riders on the Storm” by The Doors picked up where Bob Segar ended, and Skip smiled at the irony of the Radio Gods.

“Let’s tempt fate and see what happens,” he muttered to himself.