Night Watch in the Timber

The darkness settled deep into the pallet's slatted ribs. I pulled my boots back from the dirt fringe, settling my spine against the rough, splintered pine. The copper tripwire across the rear gap stayed dead still. Fifty yards down the alley, a car's headlights swept past the distant intersection, throwing brief slanting bars of light over the rusted bottle caps and crushed gravel outside. I kept my hand resting casually over the scabbard, tracking the sweep until blackness returned. The improvised alarm held its counterweight. Here in the dry crawlspace, the perimeter is solid. I can rest.