In the distance, a low rumble rolled through the gathering storm clouds, echoing softly across the small copse of trees where Carlos stood.

He didn’t know exactly where he was. Only that he was somewhere wooded, somewhere damp and cold. Light raindrops tapped against him steadily.

Carlos felt sick.

Not terribly sick, but cold and clammy, almost like he might have had a mild fever. A quiet instinct somewhere inside him urged him to find shelter. Maybe even build a fire for warmth.

Off to the side, he noticed a cave.

For a moment he considered going inside, but quickly thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was to wander into a bear’s den or surprise a mountain lion.

So he stayed outside.

Then something nearby caught his attention.

Near the mouth of the cave sat the remains of a campfire, darkened by the rain. Scattered across the damp ground nearby was the head of a fish, picked nearly clean, as though whoever had been there had left in a hurry.

Carlos stared at the scene quietly for a moment.

Then, deciding not to take any chances, he slowly backed away and disappeared into the trees.