The night was deep and dark, boundless ink smeared across the sky, not even a glimmer of starlight visible.
The mountain road was rugged and winding, pressed against a cliff on one side and a bottomless ravine on the other. The narrow path was just wide enough for a single car to pass.
Kurt gripped the steering wheel, using the headlights to illuminate the road. His eyes were wide open, and he did not dare blink, terrified that one moment of carelessness would send the entire car plunging into the abyss.
Different moods changed the way people saw things.
They had come in the mood for a vacation. The mountain forest had been tranquil, the cliffs magnificent; everything had looked like a painting.
But when fleeing for their lives, the tree shadows were filled with Ghostly Shadows, the mountain wind was cold and mournful, and the cliffs were unfathomable. Everywhere they looked, it felt as if something lurked in the darkness.
It was like being alone at home when the clock struck midnight—there were people in the wardrobe, the bathroom, and beneath the bed.
The more they thought about it, the more afraid they became, and the more people seemed to appear!
"Drive slower. Safety first."
Russell reached out and steadied the steering wheel, averting a disastrous rollover. He soothed the five people's frantic fear. "Don't panic. At this speed, we'll be out of the valley in two minutes—about enough time for Martin to smoke a cigarette."
Other than Kurt, who was still driving, everyone forced out a grin. Martin, who had been named, pulled out some homemade tobacco from his pocket and shakily lit one for himself.
It was bland and harsh on the throat. Those two minutes felt longer than two years.
Rustle, rustle, rustle—
A faint scuttling