Everything hurts. I’m not going to open my eyes. Oh, hell. Bladder warning. Reality check. I’m going to have to move.
Eyes open, I’m assaulted by the day-glo orange of the hyperlight tent I’m lying inside. There’s a bucolic moment where I hear birdsong—and then something else. The rapid beating of blades on air. A helicopter: big, inbound. Where was that helicopter pad staked out?
