CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nolan’s Journal
It takes me a long time to drag myself down into the entrance to the old mine. Inside, it is cold but nowhere near as cold as outside. I find a threadbare blanket and wrap it around myself and try to find some slight vestige of sleep.
I wake with a start. With no idea of time, I scramble around, find an old pair of work pants, and, pulling them on, I go outside. The sun is blinding. A new day. Over where they tied me to that tree, there’s the body of the man I killed and, about ten paces of so beyond, three scrawny looking buzzards, their eyes on stalks. They have only just begun to tear at the corpse, and they look to me with true hatred for disturbing their breakfast.
Ignoring them, I manage to pick up my clothes and pull them on, gasping as the pai
