The first survivors to come out of the mist were spat out the white fog like as if they were being shot from a canon. It took them a few seconds to figure out that they were not in the mist anymore.
Tensions remained high as they waited for their leaders and the rest of the missing to return as well. Many eyes focused on the mist, a mixture of hope and terror. More than a few were holding back from heading back inside to start a search.
The moment the last survivors emerged from the swirling, jagged curtain of the mist in a vehicle, everyone could finally breathe. Helmets were lowered, hugs were given, sorrow escaped from the pits of some throats and corners of a few eyes.
The air in Ferry Island felt like a breath of fresh air_ even if it did taste like gunpowder, blood and charred wood. The pending dusk looked beautiful against the faint grey sky. It's overly bright golden rays almost seemed to be welcoming them home, if one ignored the uncomfortable heat.
