Mason

I lay there and listened and waited and hated myself for being quiet.

In the morning, we found the first of the markers.

Someone had stacked small stones in a neat column right in the middle of the trail where it passed near our hidden camp.

A cairn.

That wouldn't be weird on its own.

People build cairns all the time, sometimes for navigation, sometimes just because they're bored.

But this cairn had something on top.

A small strip of cloth tied in a knot.

It was a piece of nylon, frayed at the ends.

It was the same color as the strap on Mason's pack.

Mason stared at it for a long time.

Then he reached out, grabbed it, and pulled it free.

The cloth came away easily like it had been placed there for him to find.

He held it up and we could both see the stitching.

It wasn't just the same color, it was the same material.

It looked like it had been cut cleanly off something, like someone had taken a knife to Mason's gear during the night and removed a strip without waking him.

Mason's hands tightened until the cloth bunched in his fist.

That's it, he said, and his voice cracked a little on the last word.

We turn around.

I nodded too fast because relief flashed through me.