Lion Head Mesa borradura

It was the smell that hit him first.

An awful dampness hung in the air as the boy crept along the foot of the mesa, ears pricked and eyes wide for any movement. Scavengers, survivors, picking at the metaphorical bones of a desolate civilization that, unbeknownst to Emilio, had once called this place home. Objects caught in the crossfire; a drowned fox, an upturned boulder. It was as enticing to explore as it was repulsive.

"Joder." It was too dangerous.

He half expected to see the figure of Vincent taunting him but instead was met with a deafening silence. What had happened here? For a moment, the boy stood as still as the world around him and contemplated his own mortality.