By
Charles Joseph Giovinco Henry
Exhausted, Jack dropped to his knee; the wet earth giving under his weight. He rested his head against the knee of his corduroys, now heavy and water logged. The fierce rain disappeared into the fog of his breath, before splashing back up into his face from the puddle that was soaking his socks through his muddy sneakers. He braced his hand on his knee, righted himself then pulled his poncho-hood back. He leaned back and closed his eyes. The angry November sky bellowed a slow, rolling thunder; the sound paled to the pelting of the rain, which stung as it cooled his face, streaming over his five-day-old stubble, rushing off of his front teeth into the puddle. His neck and back felt slick, and he pulled the hood back over his drenched and ratty chin-length hair. The punishing rain was deafening against his plastic poncho.
He glanced at his surroundings, blinking the glistening raindrops from his long eyelashes. The moon forced its presence through gaps in the grey clouds; glinting off of the rain, and imbuing the forest in an ethereal hue; the purple bags under his eyes looked black. He rose to a crouch, tried to listen for her, and tried to listen for anyone— or anything else that was out there.
Nothing.
The sky growled. A sheet of rain stopped mid fall, clamored up onto a gust of wind and pummeled its way into Jack’s poncho.
Shivering, he gripped his knee; winced as he forced himself to his feet. He bit his lip, and jammed his thumb and two fingers into a rip in the poncho near the upper arm. His face contorted, and a sheen of sweat rushed onto his rain-slicked upper lip while he fished around in the coat for a moment. With a stiff grunt, his fingers jolted back from the ripped sleeve. He looked over his bloody digits, and the piece of cheap plastic. It was somewhat pointed on one end
