At noon, Arrin stopped to rest on a large, flat-topped rock under the relentless burning sun, dropping his backpack at his feet. Too hot, he removed his coat, which he stuffed into his backpack. His stomach grumbled and he looked back in the direction he’d come.

“Why couldn’t you have at least waited until after breakfast to betray me, Tom?”

He sighed, raked his fingers through his hair, raised the backpack to his shoulder and came to his feet. He had no idea how much further he’d have to walk to reach the next town or city. It could take days, or hours. He hoped it was the latter, for he was in desperate need of something to drink, and he wouldn’t turn down a good meal either.

By the time Arrin stopped for the night he was footsore, ravenous,...

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