Collin watched it fall, landing somewhere in the leaves, then looked back up at the creature. The sound of popping bubble wrap filled the air, then the creature moved forward.
Images and memories, some imagined and others still fresh, flashed through his mind. The hiker with the missing hands. Brian’s arms ripped clean off by the picnic basket. And, finally, the sight of the creature holding The General’s bony hand up in the sun to admire it. Like a trophy.
Collin looked down at the trap by his side.
He wondered how many times he had performed a risk analysis for a client over the years. How many times he had gathered facts, done his research, and finally laid the inevitable truth out on the table before the client: that it was too late to avoid the risk and the only thing left to do
