Chapter 3: End of the Track

On and on he trudged. At last, he recognized a faint light. The sky was brightening ever so slowly. He judged there was more brightness on his right hand. (This was his first indication that he was moving north.)

As the darkness lifted slightly, Andrew could see that the “road” was just barely-discernable parallel ruts. As if the last vehicle to pass had been an ox-drawn wooden wagon. He tossed aside the now-useless stick.

Then he came to a collapsed iron gate. There was a small clearing, but no sign of the track continuing any further. The gate’s purpose was clear: beyond were scattered semi-legible headstones and a partially collapsed chapel. The steeple was swaying in the wind; the back wall was laying in the weeds. There might be shelter in a corner of the structure; the storm still drove the rain in curtains.

Andrew was tired, damp, and hungry. He had a horrific headache (in fact, he had a concussion from the crash). All he could think about was getting the rain off his face.