Two nights in the tents had been enough. Michelle had convinced them to cut the trip short, and now her calves were screaming.
The trail down from the mountains wound through dense pine forest, the footpath soft with old needles, and every step sent a fresh jolt of pain up her legs. Nearly two weeks of hiking, hauling water, sleeping on a thin camping mat. Nearly two weeks of pretending she was fine with all of it.
Almost over, she told herself. Just get to the car. Get home. Take a bath so hot it turns my skin red. Never, ever do this again.
The backpack straps dug into her shoulders. Dirty laundry and camping gear made every step work. Ahead, Sam and Johnny walked side by side, actually getting along for once, pointing out wildlife tracks and arguing about trail markers. Behind her, Thomas matched her pace, his breathing heavier than usual.
She appreciated what he was trying to do with this trip. She really did. The family had been drifting apart, everyone in their own world, phones and work and school pulling them in different directions. Coming here, to the mountains where they'd first met, it was romantic in theory. She loved that he still thought of their relationship as something worth saving.
Even after what he'd done.
The memory still surfaced at unexpected moments. That night four months ago when she'd found the texts on his phone. The woman from his office. Nothing physical, he'd sworn. Just messages. Just emotional intimacy with someone who wasn't his wife. Just a betrayal that had cracked something between them that neither knew how to repair. They'd gone to counseling. They'd talked. They'd agreed to try. But Michelle still caught herself watching him sometimes, wondering who he was texting, wondering if the distance she felt was guilt or simply him pulling away again.
This trip was supposed to fix that. Supposed to remind them why they'd chosen each other in the first place.
But God, she hated camping.
The cold at night. The bugs. The endless dirt under her fingernails. Her broken nails, the ones she'd spent a thousand crowns on right before the trip, now chipped and ruined. Her hair felt like a bird's nest. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt truly clean.
Hot bath, she reminded herself. Scented candles. A glass of wine. Clean sheets.
"Your shortcuts never save time, Thomas. I keep telling you that," she said, keeping her voice low so the boys wouldn't hear. He had been pushing some route that would supposedly save twenty minutes, except they'd tried his shortcuts before and always paid for it. This was the pattern of their marriage, him charging ahead with a plan, her pointing out the flaws, him getting defensive. Twenty years of the same dance.
"Sure. You know everything, right?" Thomas's shoulders tensed, his tone sharper than necessary.
Don't engage, she told herself. Pick your battles.
But she was so tired of picking battles. Tired of being the one who smoothed things over, who kept the peace, who swallowed her frustration so the family could function. When was the last time he'd picked a battle for her?
"No, that's exactly what you do!" The words came out before she could stop them. She was tired. Tired and sore and done with this trip.
Thomas checked his watch and said nothing. Fine. Let him sulk.
Sam stopped abruptly on the trail ahead. "Hey, look at this."
Michelle moved forward, grateful for the distraction. A campsite appeared through the trees, and her stomach turned at the sight of it. Two tents, one collapsed, one still standing with its flap hanging open. A camping chair overturned beside a dead fire pit. Cooler on its side, contents spilled across the ground. Canned food scattered everywhere, a bag of chips torn open, a half-eaten sandwich gone moldy and green.
"Messy campers," Johnny said, wrinkling his nose.
Sam moved toward the tents, curious as always. Thomas grabbed his shoulder. "Don't touch anything."
"But they left everything here. Maybe something happened?"
Michelle shook her head. "Probably got a phone call. Family emergency. You know how it is. Someone calls, says grandma's in the hospital, and you just go."
"There's a kid's backpack." Sam pointed at a small blue backpack with dinosaurs on it, lying near the collapsed tent.
"See? Kid got sick, maybe. Fever in the middle of the night, parents panicked." Michelle shrugged, but her shoulders stayed tight. "They'll come back for it when things calm down. Or just leave it, it's just stuff."
A sound rolled up from the valley below. Distant. Sharp. Three cracks in quick succession.
Johnny jerked back, his hands flying to his ears before he could stop himself. His face went pale, jaw clenching. He'd always been like this, sensitive to sudden loud noises in a way Sam never was. Fireworks made him anxious. Thunder sent him to his room with headphones. The boys at school had learned not to pop balloons near him.
"What was that?" His voice was tight, controlled, trying to hide the reaction he couldn't suppress.
"Hunters." Thomas didn't hesitate. "Probably someone after wild boar. They're all over these hills."
"Didn't sound like hunting." Sam cocked his head, listening. "Too fast. Pop-pop-pop, like in movies."
"Finishing shots," Thomas said, adjusting his backpack straps. "You wound the boar with a rifle, then use a handgun up close. Standard practice."
Michelle watched him. That tone, the one he used when he was making things up but didn't want the boys to worry. She'd heard it a thousand times. But she didn't contradict him. What would be the point?
Another sound. Deeper. A low boom that echoed off the mountainside.
Johnny winced again, his whole body tensing. Michelle noticed him breathing deliberately, in through the nose, out through the mouth, the technique his counselor had taught him last year.
"And that?" Michelle shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun. Where the trail broke from the trees, the valley lay open below them, and the smoke was worse now, more columns than this morning, one of them thick and black.
"Quarry near Zelezny Brod." Thomas shrugged. "They blast for gravel and limestone. Hear it all the time out here."
"We're leaving. Now." Michelle's voice was sharp, brooking no argument. She grabbed Johnny's arm and started walking fast, pulling him along. "Come on, boys. Move."
Thomas blinked at the sudden command. "Michelle, it's just—"
"I don't care what it is. We're getting to the car." She didn't look back. Her shoulders were set, her stride purposeful. The boys fell in behind her without question.
Almost at the car, Michelle repeated to herself like a prayer. Almost home. Almost done.
Her legs burned, but she kept moving.
They'd been walking for another ten minutes when a figure stumbled out of the undergrowth ahead.
Michelle gasped, her hand shooting out to grab Johnny's arm. Thomas stopped, hand out to halt the boys.
A man. Homeless, clearly. Maybe fifty, maybe older, impossible to tell through the layers of grime. Greasy gray hair sticking out in all directions. A stained jacket that might have been green once, now mostly brown with dirt and something darker. No backpack, no hiking gear, nothing that suggested he belonged in these mountains. He swayed on his feet, blinking at them like he'd forgotten what people looked like.
The smell hit Michelle a moment later and she fought not to gag. Sweat, urine, stale alcohol. The sharp ammonia reek of someone who hadn't bathed in weeks, maybe months.
That campsite. Michelle's stomach tightened. Did he do that? But no. Two tents, a child's dinosaur backpack. That was a family's, not one man living rough. Something had happened back there, and she did not want to say it out loud.
"Hey there," Thomas said carefully, positioning himself slightly in front of the family. "You okay?"
Why the hell is he trying to start conversation with this creature?
The homeless man squinted at them. His lips moved silently for a moment before sound came out. "Don't... don't go down there." He waved vaguely toward the valley, nearly losing his balance. "Bad. Very bad. The angels came. Took everyone."
Sam snorted. Johnny elbowed him.
"Angels?" Thomas kept his voice neutral, the way you'd talk to a frightened animal.
"Flying angels. White ones. With masks." The man's head bobbed up and down, utterly convinced. "They sprayed the towns. Everyone sleeping now. Sleeping forever." He giggled, a wet, unpleasant sound that made Michelle's skin crawl. "But not me. I'm too smart. I hide. I always hide."
"Okay, we'll be careful." Thomas took Michelle's arm and started leading the family around the man, giving him a wide berth. "You take care of yourself."
"The end times!" the man called after them, his voice rising to a singsong. "Revelation! The beast with seven heads! You'll see! You'll all see!"
They hurried past. The man's ranting faded behind them, swallowed by the forest.
"Well." Johnny glanced back over his shoulder, making sure the man wasn't following. "That was something."
Thomas shook his head, relaxing now that they'd put distance between them. "Classic schizophrenia. You can see it in the eyes, that disconnect from reality. My colleague's wife worked in psychiatric care. She'd recognize him in a second." He stepped over a fallen branch without breaking stride. "That campsite we passed? Probably his. The mountains are full of homeless people like him. They come here because it's quiet, no one bothers them."
"Angels with masks." Sam grinned, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "That's a new one."
But Michelle wasn't smiling. She walked in silence, her brow furrowed, arms wrapped around herself.
"Michelle?" Thomas glanced at her. "You okay?"
"The smoke." Her voice was quiet. "Sam saw smoke earlier. Lots of it. And those sounds, the gunshots, the explosion. And now this man talking about people being sprayed, everyone sleeping forever." She shook her head slowly. "What if he's not crazy? What if he saw something?"
"Come on." Thomas's tone was gentle but dismissive. "He's clearly delusional. White flying angels? Everyone sleeping? That's textbook paranoid schizophrenia."
"Maybe." Michelle bit her lip. "But my aunt always said there's often a kernel of truth in delusions. The brain takes something real and distorts it. What if something did happen down there? What if that's why we haven't seen anyone? Why the campsite was abandoned?"
"Should we call someone?" Johnny asked.
"We don't have any signal out here. Again." Thomas gestured at their useless phones. "We've barely had signal since we went deeper into the mountains. And what would we say? A homeless man warned us about flying angels?"
Michelle said nothing. But her pace quickened, and she kept glancing back over her shoulder, the way they'd come.
Thomas glanced at her. "Michelle, seriously. He's just a disturbed man living rough in the woods. Probably stopped taking his medication months ago. His whole reality is broken."
"I hope you're right." Her voice was flat. Unconvinced.
They walked on. Thomas had that look she recognized, already filing this away as a funny story to tell friends. She could practically hear him rehearsing it. Remember that crazy homeless guy in the mountains? But Michelle kept her thoughts to herself, and the unease Sam's smoke had planted would not let go.
Michelle found herself walking faster, eager to put distance between them and that broken figure. The soreness had not gone anywhere, but suddenly the car, the road, civilization felt more urgent than before.
She caught up to the boys, forcing brightness into her voice. "So, how did you enjoy our camping trip, Johnny?"
Johnny blinked at her, thrown by the sudden shift. "It was... okay."
"Seriously?"
The floodgates opened, the familiar complaint a strange comfort after what they'd just seen. "No, it sucked! That's why we're leaving two days earlier, right?"
"You mean because it was so cold at night? Come on, give me a proper rating."
Johnny frowned. "You mean just the tents, or the whole trip?"
"The whole trip. Rate it."
Sam was barely suppressing a grin beside him. Johnny shot him a look. "Fine. I'd give it five stars, except there was no Wi-Fi, the data at the cabin was garbage, then no data at all in the tents, the showers were basically a bucket of cold water, my phone's been dead for a couple of days, and it was freezing every single night." He crossed his arms. "So minus two stars. Satisfied?"
"Come on! What about something you liked?"
Johnny rolled his eyes. Sam was definitely grinning now.
"Mom..." Johnny sighed, and the edge went out of him. "I guess seeing the animals up close was pretty cool. And swimming in the cold lake." A small smile tugged at his lips. "But I'm ready to get back to training and seeing my friends. And Sara. Satisfied?"
"Well, I'm glad the trip exceeded your expectations. And I think the quarantine is still ongoing, so how can you see your friends?"
"FaceTime?" It seemed obvious to Johnny.
"And Sara? Her parents are a little cautious, you know."
"Secretly?" Johnny ventured, then caught Sam shaking his head. "You don't even have a girlfriend, so shut up!"
"I haven't said a word, you idiot!"
"Guys!" Michelle cut through, but there was more amusement than anger in it.
"Sorry, Mom." Sam ducked his head. "I'm excited for pizza. Can we get one for the drive home? I'd like a margherita!"
"Don't you want to wait until we get home?" Thomas called from behind. "Or maybe we can stop somewhere?"
Michelle's expression shifted. "The restaurants were all closed when I checked last week. And I don't think they deliver out here. Infections rose sharply while we were gone. I followed the numbers on my phone up at the cabin, watched them climb every day until we lost signal. A lot of people died. You weren't following it?"
"No. I'm sick of watching it over and over." Thomas paused. "But that's also why we left for this kind of trip, right?"
Michelle gave him a look, but her expression softened.
"Fair enough," Thomas continued. "We'll be home in two hours. Just wait it out. We can stop at a gas station on the way and grab some snacks. We'll need to refuel anyway."
Michelle reached out and tapped Sam's head affectionately. "I'm just happy that Sam finally agreed with me and wanted to go home earlier. I don't think I could have survived another freezing night in a sleeping bag." Her polished mask slipped for a moment. Her shoulders sagged under the pack, and she let them. "The heating pads were fine, but a heated house is much better. First thing at home, hot bath. Dirty clothes can wait."
Thomas glanced at her, and for a second she thought he might finally say something real. His mouth opened. Something shifted behind his eyes, the same thing she had caught there since the night she found the texts. Then it passed, the way it always did now.
"Sure, we all need to recharge," he said instead. "I probably couldn't survive either, to be honest. My back's killing me. I can't wait to sleep in my own bed. I'll definitely call for a massage."
Whatever he had almost said stayed unsaid. Michelle was too tired to reach for it.
"Our car!" Johnny's voice cracked up an octave. "Finally!"
He reached for his dead phone, fingers twitching with muscle memory. The black Mercedes sat waiting in the grass beside the footpath like a promise of civilization.
Thomas circled the car, checking it over, then unclipped his hunting knife from his belt and slid it into the driver's door pocket. Some old hiking habit of his. She watched his shoulders finally drop.
"Put everything in the trunk and we'll hurry home," he said. "I can already feel that hot shower!"