The next couple of hours were uneventful, I had brought a portable grill and the steaks we cooked were incredible, only overshadowed by the ice-cold beer in the cooler. After a two-bottle buzz Wayne started in with the first campfire story. Paul sat close to the fire pushing coals around with a 3-foot stick, his dog Star, lay sleeping behind his folding chair. Kim shuffled her chair closer to mine and rolled up one of her pant legs. I nodded to her, whispering that I had them also. Angry red welts circled around our ankles from the attack in the woods earlier, not really painful but a harsh reminder that we were in more danger than we had once believed. As Wayne reached a particularly frightening part of his story I noticed that the flames from our campfire grew. As if in anticipation of the finale, the fire began taking on a life of it