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Adrenaline energised senses, attuned to signs of activity from the cabin behind me.  Where the forest squeezed down to a bifurcated wall of trees, the drive began.  Out of sight of the cabin, the LED light sprayed the ground with illumination, enabler of a faster pace.  I reached the gravel road in a couple of minutes.

Terrain sided with me and afforded a downslope trek all the way to the village.  The road paralleled a small stream and both wound around and between hills.  Water gurgled fifty feet away.  Early on, I crossed a little cement bridge where the stream switched sides.

The sound of an approaching car sent me on a crazed dash into trees opposite the brook, full on into barbed wire what snagged my coat.  Ripping fabric accompanied my drop to ground.  Prone, my body pressed into grass, rock, and root, an attempt to blend into the background.  I looked away to avoid beamed iridescent cat eyes.

The vehicle slowed and stopped three car lengths past me, of all the damn luck.  To the better, only the weak red of taillights shined my way, rather than the full halogen headlights.

A door opened.  Hurried footsteps stomped hard gravel toward me, exaggerated in loudness by the quietude of a wilderness night.  My body tried to contract into invisibility.  The person halted not ten feet away.  One tamarack and a slight embankment stood between us.

A rushed stream of liquid pattered the ground, closer to me.  The idiot whizzed, and my greater purpose or no, if the dude pissed on me, his groin faced the prospect of a punt halfway back to the camp.

How long could one human urinate?  Half of a brewery leached out of him.  I hurried him along in spirit, although his incessant whizzfest triggered a new worry, an urge to laugh.

His spigot tapped out, at last.

“Hey Mike!”  A second voice called from inside the pickup.  “Will you hurry it up?  We need to buy more beer before the store closes.  Jeezus, yer gonna cause a flash flood bigger ‘an the one from the hurricane!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done.  What the fuck you bitchin’ on, Denton?  You took your sweet time back on Caleb’s Hill.”  Mike returned to the pickup a pound or two lighter, and the two sped off in search of added inebriation.  Their departure left me alone again, and attention re-tasked to circumstance.  Eerie claimed the return of silence, my hearing calibrated to the smaller sounds of night, including the omnipresent crickets.

(Author’s note: this is another snippet from Twinned.)

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