Gabriela
The smell of blood is the first thing that alerts me that something is wrong.
My eyes scan the scenery around me. Nothing's moving in the overgrown, dried-out shrubs surrounding the porch, nor is there any kind of noise to signal that something is passing through. Why would there be blood?
It smells fresh and not that rotten kind that comes with a dead carcass.
Slowly coming to my feet, I swing my pack back around and secure it behind me. The steps creak again when I move down them. I take the pathway back toward the creek, breathing in deeply as I go.
The water only heightens the scent, carrying it over to me in an overwhelming burst that has my eyes practically watering. What the hell?
That's when my ears pick up the sounds of fighting, hard to hear over the din of water r
