A low, hazy sky hangs over Sunday as Trisha moves on down the road. By early afternoon, the rain puddles in the road have begun to dry up, and Trisha stops to replenish her water supply before they evaporate, filtering the muddy water through her dirty Red Sox cap and into her water bottles. She is aware all day of the presence of the wasp-god, tracking her every step on the road. She can feel it, off to her right in the woods, and occasionally catches a glimpse of movement through the trees. Wearily, she thinks as she has before, that it is only toying with her. It may allow her to get close to freedom, but it will never allow her to actually get out of the wilderness. Meanwhile, Trisha has consumed.....
