Harold woke up with dirt in his mouth.
He coughed once.
Then again.
His entire body jerked with the force of it, his palms scraping against damp earth as he tried to drag air back into his lungs.
For a few seconds, he couldn't understand what was happening.
There was no darkness.
No grayness.
No strange silence that seemed to stretch forever in every direction.
There was wind.
Real wind.
He could feel it moving through the leaves above him.
He could hear birds.
Somewhere nearby, a car passed.
Harold stopped breathing.
He slowly raised his head.
Road.
Trees.
A weather-beaten sign standing several feet away.
His eyes moved across the words.
BAILEY FALLS
His stomach dropped.
"No."
He scrambled backward.
"No, no, no…"
"Harold?"
He spun around.
Charity was lying several feet away, her hair covered in dirt.
She pushed herself upright.
Her eyes darted around.
Then she saw him.
Then the sign.
Her face collapsed.
"Harold…"
"I know."
"How are we here?"
