Ethan and Gina walked through the rooms in silence, packing everything they needed into their backpacks: silver daggers in leather sheaths, pouches of salt, a first-aid kit, spare ammunition, flashlights, and Gina's battered notebook filled with notes on monsters.
Each item was packed carefully, almost reverently, as if it were not just equipment, but a part of life itself.
Ethan swung his backpack over his shoulder. The straps bit into his skin. Gina picked up an extra canister of gasoline and slung it over her shoulder, wincing from the pain.
They went out into the yard. Their dad's old but sturdy dark-gray minivan stood near the porch like a loyal hound ready for the road.
The paint was peeling in places, and there were scratches on the hood, but the engine ran reliably, their father maintained it like a weapon.
Gina sat in the front passenger seat, carefully placing the canister at her feet. Ethan climbed into the back, arranging his things beside him: his backpack, a cased shotgun, and a dagger close at hand. He settled in comfortably and looked out the window.
David started the engine. The old minivan gave a low rumble, as if waking up.
"Is everyone ready?" — he asked without turning around.
"Ready," — Gina replied, buckling her seatbelt.
"Yes, ready," — Ethan answered, looking at the reflection of his face in the glass.
The car slowly drove out of the yard onto the dirt road. The tires crunched against the gravel.
The house was gradually left behind. Ethan watched it through the rear window until it disappeared around a bend.
Gina turned on the radio, keeping it barely audible. Their father drove in silence, concentrating on the road. Ethan sat in the back, wrapping his arms around his backpack.
"The client threw a couple of interesting locations and jobs our way," — David said, looking back and forth between his son and daughter.
"Today we're dropping by Riverdale. It's an hour's drive, maybe two, so you can get some sleep on the way."
Gina turned her head toward her father.
"What exactly is in Riverdale?" — she asked, though she was already guessing the answer.
"Missing fishermen," — David replied shortly, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Three in a week. The locals think they drowned. But the tracks by the river are strange. And the water there… it's too quiet. Might be a new nest. Or something worse than bag-grabbers."
Ethan swallowed hard. He closed his eyes, trying to get at least a little rest. The wet tracks on the floor, the black slime, and the piercing screeching were still lingering in his mind.
The road gently rocked the car, the engine hummed steadily, and within a few minutes, Ethan felt drowsiness washing over him.
Gina also leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. Their father drove in silence, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror at his children.
The minivan pulled onto the highway and picked up speed. Ahead of them lay Riverdale, a small town by the river where, according to the client, something was amiss.
The old receiver in the minivan began playing a calm, slightly melancholy tune,an old blues song that their father loved to listen to on the road. The soft guitar strumming and the singer's low, raspy voice filled the cabin, creating a strange contrast with the tense silence inside the car.
David drove with one hand, lightly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. He looked in the rearview mirror, made sure the kids weren't completely asleep yet, and said quietly:
"A few people disappeared near the river in Riverdale. Officially, they're accidents. Drowned, swept away by the current, the usual story for those parts." — He paused.
"But my client thinks it's water-dwelling vermin again. Kids, I don't buy it. There's something else down there… and I don't even think it's bag-grabbers…"
Ethan, sitting in the back, opened his eyes slightly and looked at the back of his father's head. Gina, in the front seat, also turned her head a bit, though her eyes remained half-closed.
"Why wouldn't it be them?" — she asked softly.
David nodded without taking his eyes off the road.
"It's an old riverbed, lots of quiet backwaters, flooded cellars near the shore. An ideal place for water creatures. If it's bag-grabbers, we'll handle it quickly. But if it's something else… we'll have to improvise, though I doubt it's them." — He went quiet for a couple of seconds, then added in a lower voice:
"The client pays well. But it's not just about the money. If we don't sort this out, in a couple of weeks it won't just be fishermen disappearing, but children and locals. And I can't let that happen."
Ethan looked out the window. Fields, occasional farms, and dark strips of forest on the horizon drifted past the glass. The sky was gray and heavy, without a single glint of sunlight. He felt fatigue weighing down on him again, but his father's words kept him from drifting completely into sleep.
"Another nest," — he thought.
"Just let me jump out of this car, I don't want to look at their disgusting faces…"
Gina sighed quietly and leaned deeper into her seat.
"So, water again…" — she muttered.
"I hate water after last night."
David smiled faintly out of the corner of his mouth, a grim sort of smile.
"Me too. But a job is a job. Sleep while you can. When we arrive, you're going to need a lot of strength."
The music continued to play. The minivan hummed steadily, carrying them further down the highway.
Ethan closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the cool glass. Sleep was slowly but persistently taking over, even though the images of last night's creatures were still spinning in his head.
Without opening her eyes, Gina sank deeper into her chair and murmured in a sleepy, slightly raspy voice:
"God, let it be something else, I hate small creatures…"