Cindy Fletcher rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the boat. She kept telling herself she knew where she was, but her inner voice wouldn’t listen; it knew she was lost. She pulled her hoodie around her and peered into the thick, white fog. It had consumed the row boat within minutes, erasing the shoreline and casting Cindy and her childhood friend, Michelle Purdy, into a cloud-like world.
The fog had devoured every sound save the oars striking the water. Michelle rowed in the direction both believed would take them to the wharf where they had rented the boat. In thirty minutes, it would be Cindy’s turn to row again. It would also be 7:00 pm, marking the fourth hour in the fog.
Diane McGyver 