It's a still summer night in 1916 in the countryside west of Paris, France.

Jean Montailles curses under his breath as he peddles hard through the darkness.

He stayed too long while visiting

his aunt and missed his train home, so now he's got a lot farther to go on his bike than he was

anticipating. But as he rounds a corner, Jean wrinkles his nose. There's a terrible stench in the air,

like nothing he's smelled before. He looks around for where it might be coming

from. The only building inside is a two-story brick house with a red automobile parked outside.

As he rides closer, he can see a tower of black smoke billowing from its chimney. John bikes

faster, eager to distance himself from the smell. He cycles down a dirt trail heading for a forest, but he hasn't gone very far,

before he feels his bike buckle beneath it.

He's got a flat. Frustrated, he rolls to a stop.

Kneeling down, he peers at the tire, but it's too dark among the trees to see anything.

He looks around and wonders what to do. There's a large pond off to the side of the path,

so Jean wheels his bike down to the water's edge where it might be a little brighter.

And in the moonlight, reflecting off the pond, Jean can see enough to start patching his tire.

He's just finishing the repair when he hears an engine.

He looks up, and it's the same red car that he saw in front of the house earlier.

It's driving down the road that runs by the far side of the pond.

The car then stops and a man gets out.

He's probably in his 40s, with a bald head and scraggly beard.

John watches as the man grabs something out of the trunk of his car and trudges down to the

pond. He then disappears behind some rushes and Jean hears a splash. He thinks the man is probably

...