It wasn't the early morning drive on just a few hours of sleep that had her on edge. Or the way the radio only seemed to find more static than songs. It wasn't the lack of traffic on the road--as she was traveling through the country after all, nor the occasional unnecessary amount of pot holes she had to keep avoiding on her way home. No, it was The Fog . The all consuming white mist that seemed to let her see just two car lengths ahead, and barely a full car length behind her as she passed through it. It wasn't like it was unexpected, it was often foggy on her trips home when she had been out and about the night before. But this one felt different. Hell, it even smelled different. Not like damp fallen leaves and wet wood, something that usually said fall was in full swing to her. No, this smelled a little like smoke, dry and dirty, with a hint of diesel and something heavy with iron. It was one scent away from rot