Jeremy, knowing he only had moments, threw himself to the forest floor, fingers probing dirt and leaves with all the precise grace of a backhoe. Again and again they came up with nothing but grit and detritus.

Before he could react, to curse and call out, Francis cross-body tackled him, taking them both down into the leaves. There was a mad melee; fists and elbows and knees and teeth. Profanity of all sorts punctuated each flurry, capitalized in a loud “fucker!” Called out by Jeremy when Francis side-swiped him with a sturdy stick.

They both fell apart from one another, bloodied and heaving and utterly spent.

In the lull, Jeremy had to laugh.

“What’s so goddamn funny?” Asked Francis. His gruff voice carried like a bear call out there in the woodlands.

“I jus-hehe-I just can’t believe that we’re killing each other over a key. My key that-“

“It’s not yours.” A cross retort.

“-That neither of us know what it unlocks. How crazy is that?”

“No crazier than anything else.”

“Well,” Jeremy stood up. “You keep telling yourself that. You can have it.” With that, he began to walk away.

Utterly confused, Francis called back, “Just like that?”

With no hesitation: “Just like that! Cheers!”

Francis sat there among the leaves.

As he departed, Jeremy’s hand found its way to his pocket, patted the key it had slipped in there at the last moment before he stood up. He wondered how much of a head start he’d bought himself…