They staggered toward the depression beside the tracks, hoping for anyone—normal travellers, merchants, even smugglers—as long as they weren't the killers from the sewer.
"You… It's you…" Lucy wheezed, her voice barely a thread.
The moment they crested the final ridge of the depression, the scene came into focus. A group of people sat around a large, crackling fire circle. The scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat hit Thomas like a physical blow to the stomach. A large deer was skewered over the flames, its fat dripping into the embers with a rhythmic hiss.
Thomas's eyes darted across the group. They were all strangers, rugged and dirt-streaked—until he saw the man at the centre of the circle.
"Thomas! Lucy! What the hell are you two doing here?!!!"
The shout came from Trevor. He had been sitting on a log, sharpening a knife, but he was now on his feet, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated shock.
