The sight of what was inside hit Jim Bradford like a mule kick to the chest. Suddenly all the humidity in Virginia rolled down off the mountains and settled in the pit of his twisted stomach. Slumped down in the plastic camper shower stall like a wet towel was a bloated, purple corpse. The chalky mouth of the deceased was agape and his glazed eyes were frozen wide and in as much revelation as Jim's.

Jim stumbled backwards a few steps and landed hard on his backside on the floor of the camper. The rig swayed with a sudden gust of wind and the gray metal sunroof crank rattled as if laughing at him.

Now suddenly out of breath Jim looked up toward the splotchy beige ceiling of the camper and felt the earth belch. He struggled up to one knee and peered over at what had shaken him up. The door to the lavatory was still propped open giving Jim a clear view of one purple hand laying open on a dark carpet stain near a smudge of dried red clay.

Jim struggled to his feet and blinked away the dizziness. He was not sure if he had simply fainted or if the sheer shock of what he had just seen knocked him off his feet. Either way he felt sick just being there and desperately wanted to launch himself a thousand miles away. The camper walls closed in around him again and his mind turned sluggish. He tried to remember how he got there.