The Umbrella

Russ woke with a start. A screaming whistle cut the night air, and his senses came to. The oppressive weight of the tarpaulin covering him. The smell of sweat. The ache of his muscles, tired from running. He sat up, bundling the tarp aside, and breathed the cool air. A freight train stretched lazily along the tracks nearby, steam blooming from its underbelly and spreading across the ground. Russ swung his legs over the edge of the crate and slipped his feet into the clouds.

The team made a hasty camp as thick, grey clouds advanced over the mountains. And then the murders began. Matthew was first to find the body, splayed awkwardly among its own entrails. Blood crept out of the tent and fled back down towards the valley.