Soon, the darkness shrouded us, hiding us from the hungry gazes of our predators. But sight is only one of the senses. My mother held me close and covered my mouth, forcing my to breath through my nose, quieting my tired breaths. By this time I knew enough to trust my mother, and when she removed her hand I kept my mouth closed and my breathing controlled.

They were nearby. My mother had pulled us into a crevice, squeezed between too large rocks. We simply needed to wait them out. But, even in the darkness, I could see their lurking figures. How their bodies twitched and moved in the dim starlight, ragged remains of clothes hanging from their limbs. They kept sound rumbling in their chests as they searched, most half frantic, likely half starved. Seeing them sleeping before, I had thought they were human. But whatever drove their bodies forward now was not that.

It wasn’t sound, but smell that almost gave us away. The figures appeared to be moving away, and my mother and I relaxed. She took my hand in hers and rubbed her thumb against the back of it. And then the smelled reached us. It crawled my nose and back to my tongue and I tasted blood and filth and decay. Again, my mothers hand flew to my mouth, stopping me from gagging, and a figure came into view beside us. Maybe a yard away. Its steps were heavy. Slow. Every breath I took, I could taste him. Even when he had left, even when my mother and I had crawled out of the rocks, even as we made camp for the night. The memory of that empty creature lingered on my tongue