Deer tracks. A coyotes wail. Wild dogs barking. Rabbits running. Squirrels flying from trees.

He walks in fresh snow among pines and oaks. Hickory piled in a stone ring and lit with a match. He warms his cold body.

He gets water from a half frozen stream, dips his pot in, and takes just enough to get him through the night. A hawk soars above.

Coffee brews, and turkey jerkey chewed on from a bird he killed in the fall. It is nighttime. He calls out to no avail. Is anybody out there? He yells. Hello. Is anyone there? There is no response. It’s as though he’s been left behind.

The father of two thinks of his family; a beautiful wife and two boys. He can’t remember what happened to them. One day, they were with him, and the next gone. Disappeared. As if lifted to paradise in the rapture. His mind still grapples with it.

He noticed others disappeared as well. Mr. Johnson and his family. Clerks at the feed store. Homeless out in the street, he was used to seeing. All swept away in broad daylight. He tries to think of that day, but nothing comes to mind except folks leaving. Gone.

Coffee bubbles in the pan. He pours a cup. He drinks it while he eats. He gives no thanks to God.