We pitched our camp at a relatively safe distance from the Garden of Antlers, but we still worried about its close proximity. Ironic, how we often worry about things that turn out to be unimportant. We lay down on the ground, sharing the couple of blankets and sleeping bags we had brought from the bus, and tried to sleep. Nora cuddled up to me in the sleeping bag, and before I could fall asleep, she pulled down her pants to cut herself. I smelled her blood as I drifted towards sleep.

In my dream I stood on the edge of a gigantic pit filled nearly to its brim with the ruins of once-great cities, the pitiful remnants of human civilization. Ghosts whispered amongst the wreckage, believing their cities still intact and vibrantly alive, while I could see that they were all dead and forgotten. I felt a compulsion to bury it all, to shovel dirt over even the memory of what we once were, to cover the shame of our civilization, so I fell to my knees and shoveled the earth onto the ruins, and I screamed and screamed . . .

I awoke to a scream. We all woke up, except for those who were already dead by then.

We were being attacked, and it was too dark for me to see clearly. The face of one of our fellow travelers was covered in blood, as if he’d been mauled by a dog. He was screaming, blinded by his own flowing blood. We heard growls from the woods, disgusting burps, giggles. If you choose to take this trip, be prepared for any kind of hostility, be it natural, unnatural, or manmade. The dangers are yet uncounted, but you should look at them as several possible roads leading you to the very same destination.

Something ran by me. I detected a smell, the smell of fish. The attacker moved so quickly that I couldn’t get a glimpse of it. Nora pulled up her bloodstained pants, her hands shaking. Someone screamed again: a woman and a middle-aged man from the cult had their ankles tied together with a rope and were being dragged towards the woods. They were both desperately trying to grab on to something, but their situation was hopeless. One of the cult members took hold of the woman’s hand, trying to pull her away from her attackers, but then a spear came flying, launched from the forest. The man screamed, his hand reduced to a bloody stump. We watched in horror as the woman disappeared into the woods. It’s a strange, unnerving feeling to know you’re being hunted, but to my surprise it also brought a sense of calm. I felt I was closer to my goal.

Someone had a gun.