EISEN’S POV
There was a buzzing in my ears, and I couldn’t say whether it was coming from inside my head or something nearby. I reached around blindly, rough carpet imprinting against my cheek. With a groan, I forced my eyes open. Somehow, I’d ended up on the floor, sprawled out between the kitchenette and pull-out couch.
Everything the morning light touched was in some varying shade of brown, orange, or green. The Winnebago had belonged to Gamma Brekker's father. He’d bought it back in the 1970s, and had been kind enough to loan it out to me on short notice. Needless to say, the interior had seen better days, and my nose was resting next to a particularly large, foul-smelling stain.
I pushed up on my elbows and the Winnebago rocked like it had been put out to sea. An empty bottle cli
