#Chapter78
The guest
They're American luxury cars, but filthy, as though they have been driving through terrain like this for hours on end and not accustomed to it at all. As they approach at speed, they stop right in front of us, kicking up dust, mere feet from our truck so that Meadow doesn't have to go anywhere at all. Close enough to see what's happening right where we are and it settles some of my nerves, giving me a sense of protection that she won't be far, neither of them will.
The first car door is opened by a driver jumping out quickly, dressed completely in dark clothes with gloves and a hood pulled firmly over his head so you get zero sense of what he looks like at all. I freeze in paled faced horror as his scent wafts this way at my approach and I almost choke on the sheer strength of its familiarity.
