4De Young scaled the trench, his heart exploding in his chest. Mucus and spittle dripped from his tongue as his pain-racked limbs grasped any support, rocks, roots, worm-infested sand. Twice, he slipped and imagined teeth clamping his calves, his worst dream become real. He envisioned those sweat-soaked nights, which he shared with a million others, when the monster closed in, but the feet would not move. Awake and in waning daylight, this monster, though yet unseen, was far more hideous and cruel. This one would have no mercy, and the morning sun or dark-drenched bedroom would provide no solace.
Coated with filth and sweat and bleeding from a hundred abrasions, he won the path and struggled to his feet, weaving like a refugee from the soul-shattering shocks of heavy artillery. He fell to
