Chapter Eighteen: The Old SoldierLuis sat up, his face dripping with sweat. He wiped his wet forehead with his palm and brushed away the bugs running through his hair—he still hadn't cleared out his truckle bed. He stood up. The night had cooled a little, but he was as soaked as if he'd plunged into a river. Scraps of nightmare images returned, of grotesque beings, of sharp teeth and cavernous mouths. He shuddered and groped around for a cloth, or a rag, found one and did his best to dry himself off.
The remnants of the dream lingered. Despite what the old soldier said, Luis knew what he'd seen. The ogre. The dream confirmed it, and he would never deny a dream.
He was running, like someone blind, arms outstretched to ward off the branches of the olive trees, thousands of them packed so t
