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Adam woke to an overcast sky with a dry mouth, too-tight boots, and a cold ache in his bones. But he was alive, and that was something.
The woods were quiet. The occasional bird plucked at dried seed stalks or rustled in the leaf litter. A slight breeze passed through the trees like the mountain’s breath. And nearby, the loudest sounds were generated by an old man in the kitchen—the bang of a skillet on a burner, the protesting whine of a water pump, and the occasional creative expletive.
With so many blankets piled atop him, Adam felt like a hungover mummy. It was almost more than he could manage to pull himself free. Then there was the matter of standing, but the tree behind his head helped with that. He trudged slowly past the canvas chairs from the previous evening, a forgotten r
