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They watched it die. The fire, the ashes, twinkled like the sky. There were no more shooting stars. The weight of the cold nothing tethered their hopes.

With a flashlight, olive weaved a needle through the trees. There the world grew

disconnected. Here stranger's shadows seized their chance. Skulking, closer, within arms reach. A subtle finger, a drop of

sweat drew a line down Maya's spine.

Acid climbed her throat, but she swallowed the urge to scream,

just as Jake swallowed another fly.

In the dark, he couldn't see the mist of wings, but he could feel them, buzzing, biting, drinking his warmth, combing his hair like lice.

He scratched, waved, and shook his head, but the little brain suckers kept coming back.

For Matt, the darkness was a relief. In the shade, his hands were hidden. In the

dark, he didn't have to look. Without the light to prove him wrong, Matt could pretend that he was still him.

And that's the end of that. I swear, man, these bugs are like those beetles from the mummy.

So, are we calling it at night?

Wait, this early?

Early? It's night and your fire's dead, Matt.

Not like it ever lived.

Yeah, that suckers off life support.

Huh.

I thought you said we didn't need a fire.

We still have a flashlight, don't we?

Yeah, but only one. And you have your phones.

...