The scorched earth beneath his worn out boots made him long for the past—when he was still a boy, before life got its grimy hands on him. He hated the desert, and it hated him right back. He and the desert had never gotten along well, but he’d gone too far to turn back. He’d done too many things to too many people to even think about going back—bad things, unspeakable things.
He was a flesh and blood monster, not the kind that kids think live under their beds. Something worse. Something far worse. But he was tired of it. He didn’t want to be that thing anymore. That’s why he and the desert had gotten reacquainted after so many years apart. That’s why he’d left his car on the side of the highway and entered a hell that had almost taken his life the last time he’d been there.
This time, he planned to make sure it finished the job.