There, in the distance across what seemed like endless piles, a vermillion cast sent the darkness shuttering away. Heavy clouds, sulfuric in color and stench, diminished the lofty mounds, eventually compressing them, far beyond the light, into the thin black line of the horizon. Through the inbetweens, vast hordes of ragged bodies marched. Always forward, their ranks moved as one, turning only when the inbetweens demanded. Gripped in dirty hands, they slung their hoes, bigforks—or, for those with little luck, the spade—over slumped shoulders. Shuffling, their feet scuffed dust into the air. Their heads bent low, exhausted; their labor far behind them. The piles had grown quiet, save for their thudding steps as they walked away.

      What, thought Sal, is that milky glow?

      That verdant shine, stark and abnormal here among the men, had stopped Sal’s steps, and though he knew he should move on, he stood.

      Though from here it appeared no smaller nor larger than his head; it must be larger, for the piles dwarfed him. Its arrival, at least three piles to the north, brought with it a curiosity impossible to ignore. Yet, to his surprise, no other heads had lifted. They marched on, dedicated to their solemn trek deeper into the piles.

      Sal still felt the pulse that drove them. It was there, coiled around him—tugging. That vague determination, seemingly drawn from somewhere else. Somehow heavy. You could not see the shape of it, but how the legion carried it upon their shoulders was easily apparent. For Sal, its presence carried the faintest whiff of remembrance, like waking to the lingering, slightly acidic, loamy atmosphere of sleeping bodies; the absence of those who’d risen and gone off to work again. He stood stock still against that pull, as they walked on, around the endless bends. To places they would not know, where they would dig, and once allowed, where they would sleep, then wake, he knew, and do it all again. As they passed, their bodies brushing his, a worry bloomed in Sal, then died and settled in his gut—the heavy stone of dread.

They’re leaving me behind, he thought. Alone.