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I kneel down by my son looking for a sign, for anything, a clue. X places his hands on Roland’s chest, and lowers his ear to Roland’s mouth. He places two fingers on his neck and shakes his head.

“Nothing. He’s dead.”

I stare at my son as a wave of shock runs through me.

“It was too much for him,” X mutters. “It’s my fault.”

I’ve never seen Roland so still, so void of life. A tremor runs through me, and all of the stupid decisions I’ve made over the years flash before me. Drunken, stoned and full of sex. Running around with no thought or worry about him. So many bad choices. What a waste.

“Go ahead,” X says. “This wasn’t how I wanted it to happen, but go ahead.”

“You sure?” I ask, a cold sheen of sweat coating my skin.

“No. But we don’t have a choice.”

I place my hands on Roland’s chest and close my eyes. Running back in time to the very first time, the first lover, the first victim. The constant need to fill myself for a day such as this. My arms shake and the life force of a hundred men and women pour into him, and I can feel the drain on my system, the emptying. His body shakes under my splayed hands, color returning to his skin, saliva foaming at his mouth, spittle flying as his jaw clenches and unclenches. His arms and legs fly about as I struggle to hold him down. My eyes shift to a dull yellow, the pupils changing to a diamond shape, the vibration through my system a violent purring. I look up at X and his expression is rigid and calm. But his eyes, they shine and sparkle. The fear that dances on his face is only a surface tension, covering the greater expanse of emotion that runs deeper, to his core.

“Enough, Marcy,” he smiles, grabbing my arms, and separating us. There is a crack of electricity and the downward spiral of a humming engine shutting down. I rock back on my knees and sit there, smoke drifting from my fingertips. Roland sits up and his eyes fly open.

“Mommy? Mom?” he asks, the terror of the last hour evident in his empty eyes. He is a child again, a tiny, frightened toddler, alone in the dark. I pull him to my chest and hold him as if this is the end of it all. Tears pour down my face and a smile eases over my glistening lips. X is flush with excitement and places a hand on my shoulder.

“We’re on our way,” he says.

3. JIMMY

The padlock at the gate clicks shut and I wander back down towards Madison. The baskets of pickles and canned fruit are a great strain to my arms and shoulders but every step that I take reminds me of the role I have taken on, the part I have now been cast to play. It all feels right and I’m suddenly aware of how many little bits of déjà vu I have noticed lately. I have my own theory on déjà vu.

I believe we live many lives, and reincarnate, if the faith and ability is there. I also believe that there are an infinite number of possible futures, but only one true path that will utilize the gifts and talents we are given from birth. When we experience déjà vu it is simply the universe telling us that we are on the right path. We are given these tiny markers, these little blips on the radar to encourage us gently in that direction. It has been a long time since I’ve felt them, but with Madison it’s been a common occurrence. And that soothes me in this modern day wilderness where death lurks behind every door, and instead of missing your bus or forgetting a loaf of bread, you get your legs torn off by a pack of wild dogs or a quick bullet to the back of your head. There is no room for error now and it makes me hypersensitive to the point of sensory overload.

Coming up to the metal door that guards our tiny hideout, I raise my hand to pound on the door. I want to let my Madison know that I’m home so she can put down the giant handgun that she holds with her two tiny hands. As I reach out to knock I am greeted by empty space, a dark void that sends a shiver through my chest and panic through my head. Stunned by the open door and the scent of gunshot residue, I stand frozen in my steps until the shatter of glass and the acrid splatter of pickle juice at my feet breaks the silence.

Boxes are turned over and broken, canned goods strewn about and the stench of rotten urine. I hunt for the spray of blood, or even worse, an ever expanding puddle. Or her crumpled body. I find no sign of her injury, and for some reason this gives me no peace. There are chips in the wall, more now than what I left behind earlier. Why did she answer the door?

Have I been followed, did they know the knock and take her that easily? The urine is a marking of the Blisterheads and I know who brought them here. Somehow he found us. I pray that they don’t know she is pregnant or they’ll make an example of her. Right now she is bait, for me. But if they know her condition, she’ll be a grotesque mockery of all that is still holy and pure, for the world to see. I’ve heard of rituals they perform and send a silent prayer to whatever God still watches over me that they are not true.

Back out into the corridor I can still smell the foul odor of the bald beasts. Wet boot prints head away from me and the easy exit to the subway above. They’ve either gone further down, deeper into the bowels of this defunct system, or they know another way out.

I pause and quiet myself, closing my eyes, and opening my ears to anything - a stumble, a stomp, an angry grunt, a wail or a shot. I know this tunnel, and the many branches it can follow. Out into the darkness I send my spirit, willing her to make a noise, to give me a clue. At the very edges of my abilities I hear a muffled cry.

“Jimmy!” she wails.

Far away. Tiny. They have a good head-start. A wet slap and a barely distinguishable laugh. Ming. I will hollow out his glistening head and fuck his eyeholes if he so much as undresses her with his eyes. I pull out my Glock, check it, slap it shut, and return it to the shoulder holster and check the knife in my boot. With two steps into the room I grab the backpack hanging from the back of the door. It has been missed in their haste, thank God. With one deep breath I jog down the path, avoiding the water, my silent steps an angry vibration in the concrete around me.

“I’m coming Madison. Hang in there,” I whisper.

4. X

I need some clarity and I won’t find it here. Roland is okay, and for once, Marcy is here to watch over him. They sit on the couch in my living room under a blanket despite the heat. I leave them with all manner of libation and sustenance, hot and cold, and head for the edge of the property. Past the high hedges, and through the border of trees and low rock walls, I reach the edge of the cliffs that breaks off and fall to the ocean below. The jasmine is here as well. It encircles my property and keeps me at home like a dog on a leash. Or so they think.

A small pile of stones sits there, piled high into a tiny pyramid. He doesn’t know about this one, and it has never shown up on his radar. I sit before it and prepare to search my mind for answers. It is my own personal lodestone, and it, like many sacred places on my tiny parcel of land, allows me portal to various locations around the globe. Some are designed for placement, a certain coordinate. Others for a time in my past, present, or future. And still others, a very few, to a handful of people that have been my teachers and mentors over the years. Like any student-teacher relationship, some are still in good standing, while others are strained at best. Hers is the vibration I’ve been feeling all day. Her color has come to me in the dandelion fluff and cumulus stratus overhead. Her cry in the soaring caw of a seagull. Her stumbling gait in the sly hop of a wild rabbit, but a blink of my eye and gone. She wants to speak, that I am sure of. Whether she feels like gaming or teaching I can’t be sure.

Folding my legs into the lotus, I close my eyes and rid my head of all thought. Of the worry over Marcy and Roland. Of the status of Gordon, the slayer. Over Jacob as he struggles with his recent revelations. And Jimmy’s panic as he chases after his vessel and our future. And certainly nothing for the metal beast that laughs at me in the dark, his assignment my mirror, his reflection my light.

Elbows on knees, hands upturned, a deep sigh and the cold washes over me. The wind howls and the snow beats at my face. The ice stings like tiny needles and with a rush of heat, I am at her fire. The pain of the wind turns into the sorrow of the creature. My eyes open to her stare in the firelight, head between her giant paws, her tail twitching slightly as she eyes her prey with hope and vigilance.

“Bast, I am here.”

“I can see that, my old friend,” she purrs.

“All day you have teased me with requests, so I am here to help if I can, and to ask a favor in return.”

“Interesting. Did I call you? I don’t remember that, maybe I was hunting, and you came to mind. Maybe I was urinating in a crevice, and your face came to pass. It’s quite possible.”

“Don’t play with me, Bast. I have great respect for you, that’s why I am here. For the teaching I learned at your feet, I will always owe you, but I will not sit here like a lamb on a spit, roasting for your entertainment. There are plenty of lesser creatures for you to feast on. The litterings of your cave tell an animated story indeed. I’m hoping we can do this trade nice and easy and both come out ahead.”

Emerald gaze with ribbons of amber bear down on me. She blinks and looks away and I am allowed a moment to breathe.

“I want out,” she purrs.

“I was afraid of that. We’ve discussed this before. It is not something that I can help you with, Bast. It is beyond my means, I fear.”

“That is not true, my friend. I have more knowledge, gleaned from a recent meal of spicy Mexican, their heads not totally empty for once. Their liquid courage was a nice change from the usual beef jerky that finds me here. It need not concern you for once, but in time, I will need you. Soon, I fear. Change is coming, these lands of ours are to be void again.”

“Again?” I ask.

“I’m afraid so. Mutation has continued, and while the population has dwindled to a fraction of what it was before, certain resourceful individuals have staked a claim on the crumbs of our existence. It will come to us in time, but of your sextet, there are vulnerabilities, and I can help you with that.”

“I am grateful.”

“Dried reishi and goji berries, there by the fire.”

A small white bowl sits full of berries. Tiny oblong crimson fruits nestle next to larger circles of amethyst.

“Take them to Jacob, he can help you with this. Move fast, the virus will reach us soon. You must all survive if this is the path you want. There are others to follow, that is for sure, but this is the one that you have chosen to pursue.”

“Thank you, Bast. When you need me, call.”

“I will old friend. Now go, I grow weary.”

The cave fades from view, and the she-cat rises and limps toward the back of the cave, a slash to her hindquarters, four long streaks of velvet across the pristine coat of white. Her head turns and her age shows for once. The centuries have been hard on her and something has gotten to her.

5. GORDON

The throbbing in the back of my head rouses me and again I am surrounded by darkness. She is gone and I still don’t know her name. I was sent here for a reason, from a dying organization hell bent on preservation. I have a mission, but the more I see the less I believe in it. She has taken the microchip that they implanted. She obviously knew where it was, so she has a history here. But she left the processor that I came in with, and that secret is a good one to have.

I have two choices. Wait for her to come back and hope that she can free me or find a way to get untied myself. The latter, I think. I do not trust her and a ladle of water does not a sister make. I am equipped for situations like this. It is not the first time I have been tied up, or tortured for that matter. My right index tip is not flesh. It was lost in a knife fight in Kathmandu. I had it surgically replaced with titanium alloy, and the fingernail is as sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel. Now that I am conscious for more than thirty seconds, and not entirely drained of my fluids and energy, it is time to make a break for it. I need rest and nourishment before I can consider myself healed.

Slicing through the twines that bind my hands is quick easy work, and my hands burst loose from behind my back. I pause for a moment to rub my wrists and the familiar feeling oozes over me. When I have caught my breath I bend over to free my legs but am stopped by a leather strap that is wrapped tightly around my neck.

“Damnit.”

This will take more time, but not much. In my haste to get out of here I slice through the leather too fast, and too far, and slice open my neck. Blood sprays the air in a crimson stream and I hold my hand on it, for what it is worth.

“Fucking

shit.”

Bending over I slice the twine on my feet and I am free. My head spins as I straighten up and I worry that I may have nicked an artery. That is not good. Not at all. I pull my hand away for a second and more blood shoots out, way too much.

“Goddamn

motherfucker.”

Clamping down again I have to get out of here, I don’t have much time. I need to find supplies, gauze and bandages. I have to stop this before I lose too much blood. Gazing around the tiny room, one tunnel is slightly brighter than the others. I head that way, my feet shuffling. Every bit of dirt I move and stone I kick is another noise that can alert my captors. Bending my head slightly at the shallow entrance the blood surges over my hand. I am still nude, covered in dust and dirt, my skin a patchwork of cuts and purple bruises. Up ahead it gets brighter still. But there are voices as well. An opening to my right is filled with the cackles of old women. I ease up to it and peek around to look in.

The old woman with the stringy hair is hunched over a makeshift table. It is low to the ground, thick branches tied with vines held down with stones. She grinds a rusty substance in a bowl, and murmurs to her octogenarian sisters. Their wrinkled skin is split with bloody smiles and their spines protrude from their skinny backs. If I wasn’t so weak. How sad is the day that the killer of tenfold men has to pass on a trio of ancient witches. With a quick breath I ease past the opening and down the tunnel, unseen. A ladder waits at the end, a beacon of light spilling down its rails. I grasp it with my one free hand and climb up it as fast as I can. I am out in seconds, in a section of the jungle that is familiar, and not. Glancing around I can see concrete buildings in the distance, and know that I have no choice. I can bleed to death or try to get help.