Nate and Baronick approached from the flanks. Brown camouflage fabric with mesh windows concealed the interior until Pete was inches away. “It’s empty,” he said. Nate holstered his sidearm. “Some hunter probably left it behind once the season was over.” “I doubt it.” Pete stashed his Glock too. “It’s in too good of shape. If it’d been sitting here since winter, or even spring turkey, it would show more wear and tear from the elements.” Baronick pulled open the flap serving as a door. “I’d say you’re right about that, Pete. Look.” He and Nate circled to the opening. Inside, the grass and weeds had been flattened. A set of tires had left a mashed path in their wake—a path that led toward the trail. Careful not to step on the tracks, the men followed them. Once they hit dirt, the indentations became distinct tread marks. Baronick yanked out his phone.
