Chapter 6: In Which Things Go Badly WrongHoyle sat bolt upright, frightened and confused by the sharp pain in his ribs. His face struck something cold, wet, and clinging. He tried frantically to push it aside, but he couldn’t raise his arms. He yelped, then realized his arms were only trapped by the sleeping bag, the tarp was not actually suffocating him, and the pain was a rock he’d rolled onto as he slept.
As his breathing slowed, he freed one arm and lifted the side of the tarp. The sky was stacked bands of color: orange at the horizon, then green, turquoise, deep cobalt blue. A few stars still shone. The air was cold enough to sting his nostrils, and brought strange, aromatic scents. He listened, anxious lest he’d woken the others, but all was quiet.
A harsh, ringing squawk tore thro
