Rushing Headfirst into Catastrophe
"Guys, it's really not funny anymore!" My voice echoes off the twisting wooden figures, but no others come out. I cross from tree to tree with the flashlight's narrow beam and watch it disappear into thick black fog. "Guys?" But all that replies is biting silence.
Jerry glanced down at the photograph in his hand, then back up again at the woman sitting alone at the back of the cafe.
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