A church bell rang in the fog. It was hard to be absolutely accurate, so I guessed it must have been about five hundred meters away. I was too tired to walk any further then, so I just lay where I was. Strangely, the hardness of the pavement was exactly what my muscles needed to help soften them. My body really hurt. Footsteps. Three people. Approaching from behind. I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing so that no part of my body moved visibly when I inhaled and exhaled. There was enough blood on my clothing, both fresh and old, that injury was indisputable. How plausibly fatal, I did not know. My camera was hidden under the body of a young boy ten paces in front of me, whose blood was also somewhere on my person. He was dressed poorly enough for them not to inspect. The footsteps halted. Not a sound beyond the church bell. In the darkness behind my closed eyes, I could feel their body heat hover over me. I was terrified. My logic informed me that I was already in the best position to survive, but horrific fantasies of what they would do to me if they realised I was still alive made me want to jump up and run away. Screaming. I reminded myself to take shallow breaths. And not to move my eyes. One of them stepped over me and the other two followed. They moved cautiously on. When I felt they were a safe distance away, I squinted open my eyelids. I saw the silhouettes of a grandfather, grandmother and their grandson dissolve into the gray swell. How the hell had they survived so long?