Mason

but it felt like one more brick in a wall being built around us.

Later that morning we found our first real trap.

It was a snare line set low across the trail, thin wire almost invisible against wet earth.

Mason spotted it at the last second because the rain had made the wire shine faintly.

He stopped so fast I nearly hit him again.

He crouched and pointed.

The wire ran between two saplings, anchored tight.

At the center, right where a hiker's shin would pass, there was a twisted loop with a hook, like it was meant to snag a foot and yank it sideways.

It wasn't a hunting snare for animals.

It was placed at human height.

Mason's hands were shaking when he pulled his multi-tool and cut it.

We stood there for a long time, staring at the severed ends.

"'He's trying to hurt us without showing himself,' Mason said."

I wanted to tell him to stop saying he, like naming it made it real.

But it was real.

It had been real since the clearing, since the altered signs, since the cloth strip on the cairn, since the zipper.

We started scanning the trail constantly, for wires, for pits, for anything that didn't belong.

It slowed us down, which felt like the worst thing.

That afternoon we came to a place where the trail ran along a steep slope.

On one side was the hillside.