Mat Pinckard

Fingerprints

Amber knew something was off, and it had everything to do with how quiet it was. She was in a forest wilderness, but no birds or squirrels were chirping, insects buzzing, or gusts of wind. The high-pitched scream of a mountain lion would be welcome. It was late, and it had taken longer than anticipated to get to this point. Amber wanted to be sure of the coordinates. She checked her GPS, then pulled out a small black notebook from her pocket. The notebook was quality-built but old, at least seventy years.