CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Angie sat up, awake and alone, a shotgun cradled in her arms as she stared out into the darkness a bit before midnight. A dreadful fatigue weighed heavily on her, and she looked forward to her watch being over in a few minutes, though, as uncomfortable as she was, Angie wondered if she’d even be able to sleep. She could never recall a time she’d ever been so filthy her whole body itched, and she found the foul odors wafting off her indescribable. The only thing challenging her own stink was that of the waste bucket, filling the cabin with a revolting stench.
“This place smells like a f*****g outhouse,” she whispered to herself, choking a little as she could almost taste the aroma.
Angie stood and was just about to wake Peter when an electric burn sizzled down her spin
