Michael woke up.

He rubbed his eyes and checked the phone – it was about 10 in the morning. Dim, white light had filled the car and taken a bit of colour out of every surface. Michael was still partially asleep, so he couldn't fully comprehend what he was looking at: fog. The car was surrounded by a thick cloud of white, faintly glittering mist. It did make some sense: now that the darkness wasn't a problem, fog was – how fitting.

He stepped outside and smelled the cold air. It wasn't really freezing, but the temperature had clearly dropped during the night. There were tiny snowflakes flying among the mist, reflecting and guiding sunlight inside it. But where had all the fog come from? Michael wondered if there was a lake nearby, but he didn't have a map of the area – not anymore, that is. In addition, there was still no field, so calling for help wasn't an option. The tire was still punctured (it hadn't gotten fixed by itself), so once again Michael saw only one option: walking. He decided to return to the bridge and ask help from the construction workers.

Michael zipped his jacket, opened the trunk and reached inside a wine red sports bag. He took out a gray cap and pulled it over his head – at least he wouldn't die from hypothermia, so then his remaining ways to go would have been starvation and wild animals. Despite the hopeless situation, he wasn't really worried: he actually enjoyed walking in cold weather. Michael followed the side of the road while listening to the sounds of his footsteps.

Clap. Klapt. Shhpt-klap. Clapt.

It was really quiet – despite being surrounded by wilderness, Michael heard nothing. After half an hour or so he started to get a bit worried: how far away was he from the bridge? He couldn't remember the previous evening too well, but he did remember the sudden headache – and the phone call, even if there was no record of it.

Five more minutes passed until Michael saw the shape of a bridge pushing itself through the fog. However, there was no one there: the whole area was abandoned. The bridge indeed was in need of repairing, since its whole middle section was gone – seemingly just cut away. Michael got puzzled, but not because of the bridge: he still hadn't reached the turn he took the previous evening. It should have been impossible to arrive at the bridge without turning left first, so either the bridge had moved itself, or Michael's memory wasn't trustworthy.

There was still no field – of course not. The traffic pylons and the van were gone; nothing but some empty oil drums left on their own. The sound of water was confusingly quiet and loud at the same time, which had to be because of the sharp environmental contrast. Michael stared at the water for a while (he could barely see it through the fog), until he decided to return to the car. Since the road offered only one way to go, it seemed that he would have to keep walking along it. This was a depressing and even scary thought, but Michael saw no other valid option.

Klapt. Shp. Clapt.

Michael reached his car and leaned against it, feeling a bit tired. He took the flashlight out of the glove compartment (just in case – also, he enjoyed carrying things while walking) and started following the road.

Time passed slowly again. The rock formations disappeared, the valley turned into flat terrain. High pines appeared around the road; their precise, distant silhouettes looked unreal. It did seem that Michael was heading towards some kind of potential settlement, which made his mood a tiny bit better. He passed an area surrounded by metallic mesh fence – at first it seemed empty, but there was a mobile home standing in the middle. Michael tried to see if anyone was inhabiting the place, but judging by the trailer's worn looks, it was just abandoned there. Even so, this was the first sign of human activity since the bridge, so it was some kind of progress.

Michael heard a muffled noise – it took him couple of seconds to understand that his phone was ringing. He didn't recognize the number, but at least there was field again. Michael answered, though he couldn't explain why he was a bit hesitant to do so. He heard a woman's voice.

"Mike? You there?"

Her voice was deep yet very pleasant. However, Michael was unable to say anything; he was in a mild state of shock.

"Can I talk to Amy? Or is she sleeping?"

Michael dropped the phone – then himself. His head started aching heavily; a sweet, disgusting stench appeared without warning. The phone was lying on the asphalt; its screen was black. Michael concentrated on breathing for a while until he was able to stand up again. He picked up the phone, which showed no signs of any calls – there was still no field. Michael looked around (and saw nothing but glittering fog), wondering if he was getting seriously sick. Still, he had no other option but to keep walking.

After fifteen minutes or so Michael found some buildings – two cubical houses made out of red bricks. They had small, metallic doors, which wouldn't open. This was to be expected, since the buildings seemed to serve as storages. There were some empty metallic drums left next to them; Michael smelled hints of gasoline. Soon more empty buildings and walkways appeared on both sides of the road, but everything seemed completely abandoned.

Eventually Michael passed a street sign – title Munson Street was written on it.

Michael followed the sidewalk and inspected his surroundings. He quickly came to an absurd conclusion: after getting lost in the night (somewhat voluntarily), he had walked straight into a ghost town. The fog itself did create a lonely atmosphere, but Michael couldn't hear any sounds either – the whole area seemed just empty.

On the left side of the road, there was some kind of depot for old school busses. Their rusted, broken husks were standing next to each other; clearly they hadn't been used in a long time. Michael started to get a bit worried – maybe the town had been evacuated because of some kind of hazardous accident. Then again, the road would have been closed in such case, so maybe a region of the settlement was just deemed useless (for whatever reason). Surely he would find other people if he just kept progressing.

Michael reached a crossroads, and decided to turn right – on Saul Street. He passed a tall, green building, which was surrounded by metallic stands and plastic sheets. The sight was ugly for sure, but perhaps the building had been under renovation. There were some other smaller buildings on Michael's right, but their doors were locked and their purpose in general was quite unclear.

Michael arrived at a mouth of a tunnel, which passed through a high cement wall. It was notably darker inside, plus the air had a distant, stale smell lingering among it. The walls were quite dirty, which did make sense: there was no one around to clean them. Michael listened to his echoing footsteps, staring at the opposite end of the tunnel: it looked like a white, shining doorway. He stopped and looked behind – it seemed that he had reached the tunnel's midpoint. For a very brief moment he got slightly confused: where was he heading? From which end had he come from? Michael shook his head and immediately regained his positional awareness. He continued walking.

Michael passed some garbage cans filled with various types of junk – a bright, orange object was left on top of them. Michael picked up a small cassette player with gray and black colouring – just the Play-switch was strikingly orange. Judging by the position of the player, it had to be broken. Even so, there were no scratches on it, and it seemed to work well (at least without a tape). Therefore Michael decided to keep the player – maybe he could find some unexpected use for it. Eventually he reached the end of the tunnel, returned among the bright fog and continued along Saul Street.

There was car standing next to the sidewalk – a blue sedan. It wasn't in a bad shape, which suggested recent use. Michael took a look inside, and saw a newspaper left on the passenger's seat. The doors were (naturally) locked, but Michael decided to interpret this as a positive sign. He left the car alone, and proceeded to another crossroads. Michael turned left, and started following Neely Street. He passed several local businesses, and got surprised by the colourful variety: Gozo's Sushi, The Dance Company, Humongous Burritos...and naturally, every door Michael found was locked. Weirdly enough, some of these shops had signs declaring they were OPEN – while they clearly were not.

Michael froze in place as he heard a distant sound. It was like low humming; a car. The sound disappeared for a while, then appeared again. It grew louder and louder, until Michael saw a set of bright lights passing through the crossroads in front of him – finally a sign of human activity. Michael started walking (he considered running a bit too drastic), and turned right on Katz Street. He couldn't see or hear anything anymore, but he did find the car: a black, quite old sedan was parked next to an alleyway.

Michael inspected the vehicle and realized that the driver was already gone – but gone where? Surprisingly, they hadn't locked the car doors. Michael did (for a brief moment) consider stealing the vehicle, but such idea was too absurd. He realized that all he had to do was finding the driver and asking for help. And also, since said driver hadn't bothered locking the doors, they would surely return to the vehicle soon enough. Therefore, Michael decided to wait.

Michael's attention was caught by a folded paper left on the car's dashboard. He checked the item, which turned out to be a map of the area: Munson, Katz, Neely...it was quite hard to believe, that right after walking into an almost-ghost town, Michael found the town's map. However, there was no name written on it – the side of the map was partially torn, so maybe the name got left behind. Even so, the map revealed that the settlement was built next to a lake – maybe this explained the fog. While Michael inspected the town's planning, a small snowflake landed on the paper, turning quickly into liquid. Several snowflakes started descending through the mist, gliding faintly towards the asphalt. The weather conditions surely had become interesting.

Michael heard a slamming sound – it came from somewhere close by. Had the driver entered one of the buildings? Michael wondered for a moment, until he started walking along the narrow Martin Street, passing several backyards and garages. The street led to a dead end in the form of a wooden fence, which confused Michael for a while. However, there was a small mesh fence placed between the wooden boards and one of the garages. In addition, the fence contained a small door, which was left partially open – maybe the driver went through there.

Michael followed, and entered a courtyard of sort. There were two big ornamental trees standing on his left; their leaf-filled branches got mostly lost inside the fog. Short grass covered the ground, yet there was a neat path across it, constructed of brown-red tiles, already covered in snow. Said path led to the back door of a tall building. There were other similar buildings right next to it; they formed a precise row. However, wooden fences were placed between the backyards, so each house had their own piece of outdoor area.

Michael walked to the door – it wasn't locked, so maybe the driver was inside. Surely they weren't living in the area, but perhaps they had to return to pick something up. Michael turned the door open. He took a step, yet not another: a sweet stench exited the building, filling his thoughts with nauseating pressure. Michael ran away from the doorway and fell on his knees, gagging heavily. Once the reflex was gone, he turned around and stared at the opened door – it was (comparatively) dark inside the building; all Michael could see from such distance was a black rectangular shape. He stood up, partially expecting something to come through the darkness, but nothing did – it was just quiet.

Michael approached the doorway, realizing that the smell was gone – he entered the building.