Maurice trudged onward. And he thought.

Where did they go? He assumed they just all died but...then where would they come from when spring came back? He was so engrossed with this new revalation that he didn't even turn his head when they passed a pile of very old, very mildewed looking shoes situated next to a tree. They were mostly covered with leaves and pine needles. Except one. A left shoe. It was fresh--a converse. Red.