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CHAPTER EIGHT: NON FUTUIS NOBISCUM.

At around 100 paces, I slowed down, and dropped the packs. Creeping along, I finally saw the woman, huddled as if she was in a pile, hearing her weep before I saw her. Emily, to her credit, was a bit distant, standing with her back against a tree, head on a swivel. Her handgun was in a low ready, and, from the look on her face, I certainly did not want to be the soul who fucked with her.

I stopped, and whistled. Emily, even more alert, turned to me. I waved a red kerchief from behind my own tree.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" This woman knew who she was, and what she was about. And, from the tone of her voice, she was not about to be trifled with.

"It's me, Mark. I'm back from my look see."

"Show yourself, hands empty, and away from your body!"

No fool, I did so.

"Oh, Mark! Thank God you're back! I've been startled by every little noise! What did you find?"

...

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