Jason

Something in me broke then.

My vision went white around the edges.

I think I might have passed out for a second because the next thing I remember clearly is the sky being lighter, the clouds thin to a dull gray, and birds, actual birds, chirping somewhere far above us.

We'd made it to another dawn.

We didn't talk about what happened that night.

Not really.

Not beyond a few muttered, Did you hear?

And, yeah, what was there to say?

Hey guys, isn't it fun how the canyon is haunted by something that likes to wear our voices like masks?

We packed up.

We put one foot in front of the other.

We climbed out of that side canyon by mid-afternoon, scrambling up a steep, crumbly slope until we finally spilled onto a flat, scrub-dotted plateau.

The road was faint, a pair of tire tracks through low sagebrush, but it was there, scratched into the land like a promise.

I could kiss this stupid road," Becca said breathless, laughing in a way that sounded more like sobbing.

We camped one last night on that plateau, a few hundred yards from the road, because we were too exhausted to keep walking and there was no guarantee of a car coming by, even if we did.

The sky was bigger here, the canyon walls far behind us.

I told myself that meant we were safe.

I told myself that whatever lived in those narrow stone corridors wouldn't follow us into open country.

I was wrong.

The last night was almost normal at first.