 
### Table of Contents

Ashby Navis

The cold passes

Subtle crosswinds

"WANT TOGO TRAC KING"

I set today to check up

A hot desert breeze

A smooth cobalt blue stone

I find some time

I rub my eyes

Incense from a copper dish

A loud noise startles me

Hannah pulls up my sleeve

My eyes open slowly

Morning breaks

Soon comes faster

The next day Sara's parents

Across a familiar brown path

You Have Been

Hollywood was right

At Hollywood's suggestion

6:00 A.M.

My pulse quickens

Soft flowing washes of sienna

A light switch clicks

BUZZ BUZZ

It is a gorgeous day 
Vampire Music 2

(Vampire Music Series: Book 2)

© 2019 Ashby Navis & Tennyson Media Publisher LLC

March 17, 2093

The cold passes as I join Hollywood for an early breakfast. Four gray birds glide overhead, drifting idly out of sight, passing the government-controlled sidewalk cameras on their way off into the distance.

A young square-jawed executive dusts the shoulder of his expensive red suit. Keys jingle in his pocket as he waits impatiently in the state-controlled food line. Hollywood and I await some delicious imitation sushi. Yes, that is what we chose for breakfast.

Hollywood licks her finger and wipes a smudge off her crimson leather belt. "Let's have a toast - with our sushi," Hollywood says.

"To many years of government servitude," she says smiling.

"To many years of government servitude," I reply, lifting my sushi to hers.

Our cubes of sushi touch, and time freezes.

The soft background of the ration station fades away. The present time returns. My mind refocuses on the grave reality, the moment of my imminent demise, lying helplessly in the creature's cabin.

I turn my eyes away just in time. A second later, she is lying on top of me. Stone cold fingers brush the hair out of my eyes. I force my eyes away. Rubbing my fingers together, I feel the texture of the fabric she wears. The cape I thought she was wearing is actually her jet black hair, amazingly soft and body length. An orange sapphire dangles from her neck, swinging back and forth from her rapid movement towards me.

Her voice is clearer now that she is closer. It is familiar. "When you walked into the house, I began calling to you, and you didn't run to me. Why is that?"

Her lips press against my ears as I shiver in terror. "I call to you all the time. I watch you stir in you bed while you dream, but you never awaken. You never get the chance to invite me in." She whispers like a cold assassin taunting their victim.

Her cold, slick lips part as they press against my neck. The smooth enamel of her teeth brush my neck. "Your blood calls to me. You, young child, are very rare, as I was. I should offer you the chance to live forever, by my side." She hisses, sensing something and pulls back, licking her lips. "Your call is the strongest I've come across in centuries. This complicates things. You could be such a weapon to me, a servant that can converse with the dead. Unfortunately, I know my self control when feasting, or lack thereof, and it is simply not meant to be," she says, closing in on my neck.

Why has it come to this? The flame of my life in its final moments flicker as I arrive at this point. Vivid memories of how this begin overwhelm my thoughts, maybe side effects of the nightcaller's power, who knows? At least the memories are an escape from the reality.

My eyes dart around, searching again for a way to escape, a way to live. Helplessly I struggle in vain. "Who are you?" I barely choke out.

"You know who I am. You dream about me each and every night. She kisses my neck.

"Impossible, you aren't real! " I let out in a strangled cry.

"You have tears, why are you crying?"

Then another voice, the ghostly voice of my sister whispers to me. "Tell her you are in love for the first time."

My knees quake under the nightcaller's weight. I quickly obey the voice. "I am in love for the first time."

My last thoughts gloss over images of Wes Ashby.

The nightcaller pauses. "I was once in love -- a long time ago, I remember the burning in my chest, the feelings of love. Should I deny you this?"

Her eyes, have a wounded look and her hold loosens.

She pauses for a few moments, motionless. "My fascination with you will allow this. I will spare you a little longer, and give you a chance to feel the first love. Yes, a favor to you, before I come for your blood, all of it." She shows her teeth.

She rubs my cheek with the back of her fingers.

SLOSH!

A stream of Holy Water flows in my direction, soaking my shirt and face.

A moment before I'm soaked, the weight on my back disappears. A blur snatched Troy's body and smashed through the window. The black and white streak that was once the nightcaller, flew into the sunlight.

The room is dark and silent, except for the violin. The music plays from a black and grey antique record player in the far corner of the room. Columns of light pour in from the broken window. I jump to my feet.

Grabbing a stake from my belt and a bottle of Holy Water from my pocket, I run to the coffin and open it. Hollywood slowly sits up and holds her head. A cut across her head matches the color of her belt, though it is not bleeding much.

"What just happened?" Hollywood says, recoiling in pain.

"Oh, the vamp jumped you sis but I scared it away," says Jenny. She adjusts her dark-lensed goggles and sticks her tongue out at Hollywood.

"Not funny at all, sis! What was the creature doing awake?" Hollywood asks, gritting her teeth.

"Well she did say she saw it outside the other day, and we just saw it go outside into the sunlight." I rub my shoulder.

Hollywood jumps to her feet, hands balled into fists. "That is impossible! If what you both saw is true, then that nightcaller just committed suicide." Hollywood briskly walks towards the window once covered with boards.

"Just look at the ash fragments and dust that will appear on the other side of this window!"

All three of us peek out the window over and over a wooden deck -- not a trace of clothing, dust, or bones. Hollywood lets out a guttural scream. "No!"

She drops to her knees. "This can't be happening. They can't be allowed to walk the day. It will be the end of us -- of all of us." Hollywood shakes as tears roll down her face.

Prudence waves in my direction and leads me to a series of lit candles on a small table by the old bookcases. Unrolled star charts and a matchbook rests on the table with the inscription: SEPTA | Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority, Philadelphia. I have seen matchbooks in old Interweb pictures. "I know this name. I remember Shark mentioned it in a story once. In fact, recently when we talked about the nightcaller underground, she mentioned the largest organizations of nightcallers were in the subway systems of London, Mexico City, and Philadelphia." I try to remember details of the story.

Grabbing the matchbook, I open it. Written in blood is the phrase: "they still live, if you hurry."

I walk to the other room looking for Hollywood. "Hollywood, I found a clue!" I hold the matchbook up.

"You found a clue? Lilly Rose, are you four years old?" Hollywood asks in pained annoyance. "Just for argument's sake, I'll just pretend that you are not four which I'm still unsure of, but nonetheless that is still the most cliché thing I've ever heard." she stares out the window.

"Whatever, I think I know where we can find the students." I hold the matchbook's inscription to her face.

"Ouch!"

My golden star-shaped necklace is cutting into me. The discomfort, masked by the trauma of the last few minutes, draws my hand to the charm and back to a memory of this precious gift from Alex. 
October 6, 2092

Subtle crosswinds dance a random ballet, meandering, tossing the branches of the tree outside my raindrop-filled windowsill. As of this morning, Midland has gone 158 days without rain. Texas needs this rain much more than we do. Our ration station has been supplementing theirs for the last two months.

My thumb and forefinger rub the golden charm, feeling the smoothness between the contours. Alex tossed it to me before the police took him away.

It's been two days, and now I am finally back at home, in my room. The entire week still feels disconnected from my usual reality. Is Alex really dead? Did Wes Ashby, my music idol, really make the jump from local club scene to the national circuit? Small town Wes, he must be trending big time in the social media networks. I don't know anything for sure. I'm restricted to bed for a few days, as ordered by Doctor Hollingsworth. My legs rub against the soft cotton sheets as I stretch. This bed restriction is going to be dreadful -- talk about stir crazy. Sorry doc, but I can't do this.

I painfully step out of my room to retrieve the old journal. Freakish dreams invade my mind when I combine heavy prescription drugs with two days of sleep. I slide back into the sheets and continue to write stories of an imaginary place from my dreams.

My wrist seizes up, cramps from all the writing. I close the book and slide it under my bed. My shoulder burns, so I reach for the medicine at my bedside. A thin yellow square dissolves on my tongue and immediately dulls the pain and my senses.

Thanks to Shark, I'm still alive. She has always been there. I don't remember a time before her. She has been my big sister, a true guiding light in this decaying world. She has an amazing sense of timing. I'll repay her someday for all that she has done for me. Maybe I can help her solve the problems she has been having at her job.

Shark's quick arrival saved my life. The heart attack Wes almost gave me from his appearance on the television show nearly ended it. Faint memories from long ago dance though my head in swirly circles. I recall images of the time I met Shark for the first time.

I first met Shark in the musty black markets in Midland's underground west side tunnels. Mutants, sensories, priests, shadows, and nightcallers were common dwellers in the markets.

It wasn't a big secret where I worked. My occupation was how I came to know Shark. Shark, a nightcaller from Northern Africa, preferred isolation, and kept her distance from other nightcallers. She also did not feed on humans, as she explained to me once in a story about her turning. I remember the story:

On a damp and murky night on the docks in London, I lost my way in the dense fog and wondered into a dimly-lit alleyway.

I felt this desire, this burning urge to continue down the isolated path. The moonlight illuminated the cobblestone. Someone wearing a crimson cloak, sparkling in the moonlight, walked out of the shadows directly in front of me. Heavy fog enveloped the area. Every muscle in my body drew me, pulled me to the shadowy figure.

The figure came upon me as a second pair of arms seized me from behind and held me in place. The hood of the crimson figure drew back, a red haired woman with blood-colored eyes leaned in. I closed my eyes and I felt the stinging bite on my neck.

For the next twenty years, Roslex and I stalked the back alleys and corners of the London inner city until one day, a priest wondered down an alley one night, pretending to be entranced. He surprised Roslex with Holy Water and a stake. After Roslex fell, I returned to Africa and began to follow the teachings of a great healer.

Regretting my life as a huntress, I took comfort in the peaceful meditations. After thirty years of mediation and philosophy, and the death of the great healer, I came to America on board a large cargo vessel. I was determined to continue my existence without shedding blood, avoiding nightcaller packs to lessen the temptation.

A few years ago, Shark and I came to an arrangement. She would provide me with some unique hunting supplies, in exchange I would trap live game and Geo-tag it for pick-up. It's highly illegal for me to sell her the game, but this is a gray area. If this arrangement were ever discovered, I would probably be sent for reconditioning. But the ration house needs what I provide, so my leash is pretty loose. 
October 8, 2092

"WANT TOGO TRAC KING" I spill my ration cup when I read the text from Ben. Tracking, alone with Ben, the thought makes my heart race. Let me think about this, ok yes. "MEET 10AM @THE ST8N" I reply. Providing food for the government ration stations keeps me fed most days. I could cheat and eat everyday, but they would find out. They always catch the ones trying to cheat. The blood tests are too hard to fool.

A winding brook twists through the lush green mountainside. "Where is your bow?" He places a small bag on a waist-high boulder.

He only brought rope and a copper hunting knife. "I don't own a bow." I twist my head to the side. "I thought you invited me out here to go bow tracking." I cross my arms, waiting for an answer.

"I never said I tracked with a bow, only that I provided more food than anyone else."

"Oh you braggart, doing all that with out a bow. I suppose you also tie a hand behind your back and close one eye?"

"What exactly do you track without a bow?"

"Fish," he says, pulling out and extending his knife with his left hand.

"You track fish, with a knife?" I laugh. Being with him turns me into a giggly mess. "Tell me you at least have a pole, some line, or even a worm on a hook."

"One does not need a pole to fish." He says, as if quoting a proverb. A dark smile surfaces from beneath the hair partially covering his face.

I take a moment to catch my breath. "You are going to teach me to fish without a pole?"

"That is exactly what I am going to do."

He slices seven-inch slits at the end of the spear-like stick of bamboo. Rope intertwines into the slits, spacing out the three spiked prongs. He whittles the tips to sharp points and tosses the spear to me.

Let me show you how to position yourself to make this work.

He slowly wraps his arms around me from behind and his hands onto my wrists. He guides my wrists, positioning the spear's tip just under the surface of the water. The warmth of his chest radiates along my backside. I turn slightly, almost cheek to cheek with him. My hands begin to shake. I can sense him, but I wish I could hear his thoughts.

I speak softly. "You probably teach all the hot trackers how to spear fish."

"Yes, guilty as charged," he whispers in my ear.

"And just how many hot trackers are there?"

"Counting you, let me think - one."

He angles my wrists, positioning the spear over the shadow of a fish. I thrust the spear down and pin the fish against a rock at the bottom of the stream. He releases his hold on me, reaches down into the stream, and pulls up a small bluegill. He tosses it into his water-lined sack.

After a day of successful hunting, and back from injury, I sit down at home for some much needed rest. I pull out a thin cherry case that holds seven decorative ash bolts.

I will never use these bolts for hunting because they are handmade and expensive. I have crafting plans of my own for each one of them. Already I have the crazy idea of naming the bolts and painting them in the color schemes of the characters in my recurring dreams. I pull out the remainder of my paints. My supply is nearly gone.

I name the first bolt Eponya, after a slim woman with flowing jet-black hair. She wanders the shadows of my dreams in a strange and faraway land. I begin to etch and paint bright white musical notes with a black contrasting border at the base of the bolt. Eighth notes, whole notes, and quarter notes begin to twist in the direction of my fine-tipped brush, around the base, and to the center of the bolt.

After I am satisfied with my work, I set Eponya out to dry. I get up, walk to the my trophy case which sits by my bedroom door, and place the remaining bolts contained in the cherry box inside the case. 
October 9, 2092

I set today to check up on a favor I'd asked of Shark. My illegal activity, namely my journal writing, is making me paranoid. I asked Shark to build a false bottom in my crossbow case, so that I can hide my journal inside.

Shark tried to persuade me to get rid of the old book, reminding me of the dumpster incident, but I am stubborn. She knows me well, so she agrees.

I sit at the ration station, hungry. My ration card is empty until payday tomorrow. It is illegal to eat another person's rations or even feed the hungry in the alleyways. If someone else's genetically-altered and traceable rations are found on my blood test, I could go to prison and so could they. It could be worse. Last week Tau, Theta, and Upsilon class members received a permanent twenty-five percent cut in their rations. The situation with the droughts out west are dire.

A text comes in from Shark: "CASE DONE COME SOON"

I depart the ration station and take a shuttle to her business, S&S Scrap, to inspect her handiwork. Superb is the best way I can describe the appearance of the false velvet bottom. Shark reprogrammed and rewired the thumbprint lock on the outside of the case to unlock the false bottom of the case. She says press your thumbprint against the lock panel for five seconds, which opens the crossbow case lock. And pressing against the lock for fifteen seconds opens the false bottom.

"Thank you so much, it's amazing!" I jump up and hug her.

"Well, I'd still prefer you burn the book, but it doesn't matter what I think.

Shark's job here is to watch the scrap yard at night and manage the overnight deliveries. We go outside and climb to the top of the tallest hill of metal scrap in the large fenced-in property.

The sky is brilliant with thousands of stars and a crescent moon. It is still just a tad too dark for my liking, so I rub my temples with my thumbs in small circles, sending waves of purples over the glowing landscape.

Shark seems pleasant tonight, as nightcaller moods go. For some reason, when the moonlight is absent at night, Shark becomes very testy. I usually stay away from her during those times. She is the only nightcaller I've every known that is affected by moonlight. Moonlight usually exclusively affects the children of wolves.

I approach Shark as she sits, bathed in moonlight. "Have you put any thought to the problem with my crossbow?" I ask.

The government issues crossbows, which take forty seconds to reload correctly. This means you only get one shot at your game.

"Yes, I remember girl, you have complained a couple of hundred times to me about that," Shark replies, pushing the dark beaded hair out of her eyes.

"So, any ideas yet?"

"Nothing solid, just some general concepts on how to make the improvements, I need more time on this one. She flexs her arms as she looks at the stars.

"Shhh..." I whisper.

Shark turns to me with a curious look. "Two o'clock," I say.

"How did you sense that before me?"

In the distance, ninety yards away, a tall slender figure wearing a black skintight long-sleeve top and loose beanie, is trying to pry open the main office door with a crowbar.

I slowly crouch, set my crossbow case on the ground, and place my thumb over the lock panel. It clicks open and I pull out the crossbow and a bolt. I begin to load the crossbow as I look up for a second. The would-be burglar pried off one of the padlocks, and is prying at another.

"You can't get close to him at ninety yards with that piece of junk," Shark whispers.

"Watch me..."

I look at the single dot in my scope, sighted only for a shot of twenty yards. I quickly do the math in my head, on how to compensate for the extra distance, and fire.

The crossbow makes a pop sound, and over ninety yards away, the bolt rips the beanie off the prowler's head, and impales it to the office door. The figure drops the crowbar and turns around in amazement. She has blonde hair in a ponytail and long bangs, and a squared-off chin. She breaks into a supernatural run, the kind that leaves a blur behind, as she turns the corner out of the main entrance.

"A nightcaller?" I ask Shark.

"Yes, and there is something familiar about her. Just can't place where from."

"Why would a nightcaller want to break in to your office?"

"Superstition I suppose... I do keep some old charms and relics I've collected thought the years in the office. Some are known by name in the underground. It would be in my best interest to upgrade the security to something more than two padlocks." I laugh.

She adds, "How did you target her cap from this distance?"

I coughed and paused for a moment. "I wasn't aiming for her cap." I smirk and she laughs.
October 10, 2092

A hot desert breeze tosses my red hair, impairing my vision as tumbleweeds roll over the dead grasses of the neighborhood. My father has replaced the grass in our front yard three times this year - it simply won't take. The other dead lawns line down our block, highlighting the same story. The dust irritates my eyes. I'm glad to be close to home.

Several photos of movie stars scroll by as my fingers slide them off the page of my tablet. On page six of the Entertainment section, is a picture of Deala Rae, the self-proclaimed "Diva of the Night", arm in arm with Wes, attending the 12th annual Rivit Awards.

"No, you vile seductress! Get your slimy hands away from my Wes!" I yell at the screen. I catch myself a moment before I could throw the tablet against the sidewalk.

I take a breath and finish the article. Wes is next heading to see his parents in his hometown of San Luis, Colorado. I turn the pad off, begrudgingly slipping it into my bag. What a downer. I walk the sidewalk shaking my head back and forth, venturing past a jet black 2016 Mustang in great condition. I run my finger along the shiny contours of its warm hood.

Not a trace of dust, the owner must clean this machine hourly. A neighbor, in front of her bright yellow house, is burning lawn clippings -- a mixture of grass, bark, and leaves.

Most of the cars in my neighborhood were built either in the 2000s or 2010s. With hundreds of millions of cars scattered throughout the country, most dealerships have refurbishing shops like my stepfather's to restore the cars to working order. For every one person of driving age in the country, there are probably 200 abandoned cars waiting to be fixed up. You would think that everyone would be driving, but this is certainly not the case as fuel is quite expensive and not all classes are allowed to drive.

As I walk through my sandy thistle-covered front lawn and towards the front door, a chill runs through me. The door is partially open.

"They have come for you," a chilling voice whispers.

I look all around and see nothing. I reach for my backpack that, unfortunately, resides in my locker at the shooting range. In the front of the house neither my mom's nor dad's vehicles are in the driveway.

I progress down the narrow sidewalk leading to the partially-hidden entryway of the house. I scan from left to right, and grab the walking stick propped against the edge of the front door. I reach out slowly as a crow passes overhead. I push the wooden door open.

The solid oak door makes a creaking sound as it gives way. Rays of light illuminate the tattered green mat on the entryway floor.

I make my way into the front hallway and reach for the light switch on the left side of the wall. I press my thumb to the light switch panel. I jump back, but the lights remain off. The alarm panel has no lights on at all and it has a battery backup.

I walk silently, as I would while hunting wild game. I pass through the entryway and into the living room. The darkness combined with the dead silence becomes more and more eerie.

Though it is dark, I know my way around the house. Walking out of the living room and past the dividing wall to the kitchen, I hear voices coming from the front entryway. I slip into the cramped pantry in the west corner of the kitchen. My left hand grabs the handle and slides closed the wooden sliding door. I have a partial view of the kitchen through the slanted planks. Voices get louder. A number of people must be in the house now. I look down and try to take very shallow breaths. I begin to make out the words in the conversation.

"You sure this is the place, Velos?" Something is sliding along the ledge on top of the fireplace.

"Oh yes this is. My, such potential this one has, her Velgasi aura is the highest I've sensed in years."

"Yes, the order forbids these kinds of extractions. We don't even know if she is pure. Do you want to get us all vanquished? We will not soil our ranks with impure blood!" The other voice yells.

After a few moments, and in a calmer voice, the same voice speaks: "Well Velos, we've torn the place apart, no one is home. Are we going to wait for her to come?"

"No, the older ones will be arriving soon. It's too bad, the one day we choose for the extraction, and she is off of her regular routine.

"Wait!" Velos says.

Footsteps approach the kitchen. A blurry streak materializes in my kitchen. A nightcaller! This is impossible, it's midday.

I hold my breath. He's too close. Why can't he catch my scent? My scent should be very strong to him. I look through the slats and behold with my own eyes the infamous John Velos, the child killer that walked free back in March. We all despise him. I voted guilty, how did he walk? No, this is bad, he's gonna detect my scent. My hands shake.

My grip tightens on the door handle even more. Sweat runs off my fingers. John Velos walks to the edge of the cabinets and grabs hold of my favorite mug. He puts the mug on the counter and begins to empty one of my ration cans into it.

The mug slowly fills. His head turns from side to the side. He raises the mug to his mouth and starts drinking. Odd, drinking is usually just a public display for nightcallers, done simply to appear human. Why would he drink in private?

He turns slightly to the light, which highlights his slicked-back hair. He should have picked up my scent before he even streaked in the room, something's not right. He tosses the mug in the sink.

I feel a cramp in my right leg and this one hurts. It is sudden and intense. I suppress the need to scream with only the deepest reaches of my willpower. The cramping calf is shooting blades of pain through my system.

I'm breathing shallow breaths, in a method taught to me by some of my tracking mentors. This is done to avoid detection of some animals as you get closer to them.

Footsteps begin exiting the kitchen. My leg feels so much like it needs to bend. I focus all of my strength on my hand and squeeze the door handle to distract my attention.

A music ring tone of "Thriller" chimes from a phone in the other room. "Fritz, come!" Velos yells.

The voices disappear from the entryway and the front door slams shut. I fall through the panty door onto the floor, taking a stack of paint cans with me. My fingers immediately massage my calf, tight from the cramping. A can of crimson red paint rolls by. I hope they didn't hear that.

Thankfully, no one comes back into the house.

Once the police arrive, I call my parents. They rush home from a downtown gallery and hover around me like protective elephants circling their young. "Sure they didn't hurt ya?" My stepfather says, pacing in front of me in his black suit and cadmium green tie.

My mother sits in the armchair, fingers running through her reddish-brown hair, and wearing her gallery badge, which reads: "Laura P. Aura Exhibitor."

I've always wondered what went through her head when she was considering marrying my stepfather and changing her name to "Laura Aura". Of course, love is worth it in the end they tell me, the words which contradict the current scene where they argue.

My stepfather walks to the officer and they have a brief conversation. After a few minutes, he raises his voice and says, "That's it? Someone is responsible for this, are you going to do anything about this?"

The G, in standard navy blue, walks over and points at my stepfather. "Sir, you will lower your tone if you know what's good for you. If you have any future break-ins, call the precinct. If any leads turn up, we will contact you. Good day, civilian."

The two Gs and the other officers walk out of the house with their investigative equipment. I'm still shaking from the ordeal, but I've been through worse.

My stepfather looks at his digital pad for a moment and then taps his earpiece. I look over to the front doorway and see Prudence standing by the doorframe, shaking her head towards him.

He walks out of the room. As he exits the room, I hear the first few words of his conversation. "Hey Bud, It's Michael...."
October 13, 2092

A smooth cobalt blue stone twists though the air, descending in a uniform tumble into my palm as I close my hand around it. I'd been flipping this rock for three hours as my parents discuss their plans with me. In the end, my supervision seemed impossible in coming months with their travel schedule.

So now, I rub the stone between my fingers, here in a van with my Uncle Bud, surrounded by high mountains and lush green trees. Bud has an older country look, with his white and gray beard. He sorta resembles that Obi-Wan dude from the video game machine at the ration center. I'm hanging out in the back of the van with Prudence, who is motionless as she stares out the window. Bud is slightly hard of hearing, so I need to yell to get his attention.

The roads in the southern parts of Pennsylvania can make for treacherous driving. Some areas become dark, illuminated only by eerie flashes of lightning. Occasionally, I glance away from my binge reading of Fruits Basket mangas on my tablet to watch the dark landscape.

My pocket buzzes, so I pull out my music phone card.

"IHAV XBOW IDEA TTYL"

Shark must have a modification for my crossbow! Actually, the request I gave to Shark is complicated because the design must comply with weight rules of the Global Unification Games. She is not allowed to modify the bow itself.

After about the sixth checkpoint stop, the inspections become routine, though there is not much dignity in having the Gs rummaging through your undergarments.

In addition, at every stop, the Gs become alarmed at the sight of my crossbow case. However, once they see my authorization permit, the tension diffuses.

Luckily, none of the inspectors discover the false bottom in the case. Amazing how the weapon is legal for me to carry, but carrying the book will bring about a beating or worse.

BUZZ BUZZ

Four hours have passed since the last message from Shark. I pull out my phone and read the screen:

"YOU PENN ME P HILY."

Wow, she's moving.

The situation must have escalated at the junkyard for Shark to make the move to Philly. But then again, she's wanted to live in a big city with a subway system for quite some time. The move also puts her very close to where I will be living.

A subway system is the perfect way for a nightcaller to get around a city during the daytime, and since most of the major cities' subways are abandoned, it seems like a perfect situation for Shark. I reply:

"GR8 SEE ME SOON"

After the final checkpoint, the combination of the canopy treetops and the occasional pouring rain brought about a colorful transitioning of dusk into night.

I'm somewhat restless in the back seat, and my uncle Bud is now quite focused on following the boundaries of the winding road. The van's headlights shine across road, and illuminate the neglected pavement. "If you ever drive out this way yourself, Lilly, remember there is no such thing as too slow." Bud does not move his eyes from the road.

Between flashes of blinding light, I pull out my crossbow case, and place my thumb on the lock panel for five seconds. Then I continue to hold my thumb in place for ten more seconds, and it clicks a second time.

I open the false bottom and lift the old leather book with the broken brass lock. Bud doesn't have a good view of where I am, and Prudence never seems to mind, which makes this the perfect opportunity to write.

A flash followed by a loud crash of thunder snaps me back to the real world, and I quickly replace the book in its hiding place.

The lack of visibility causes Uncle Bud to pull the van off to the side of the road. "Hey, I bet you don't see much of this back home."

The interior windows fog up, as lightning draws brief outlines of the surrounding forest. "Does this really happen all the time, Uncle Bud?" I ask, right as thunder sends me flying to the floor of the van.

Uncle Bud doesn't respond as he looks down into the darkness of the floor space beside the driver's seat. Reaching into a dark duffel bag, he pulls out an old pocket watch. He depresses a button, which opens the top and exposes the face.

"I hope it clears up soon, or your Aunt Leah will be worried." Uncle Bud begins to polish the face of the watch with a handkerchief.

I begin to rise from the floor, peering out the window. As I ascend upward, Prudence whispers. "Oh no."

I press my forehead and fingertips to the glass. A brilliant and nearly blinding flash of lighting highlights a featureless cloaked figure in the window. Pearl-white fangs and ruby red eyes glow in the shadows of its hood. It stands directly outside my window at my eye level, still as a statue.

The thunder immediately follows another flash of lightning. Wind gusts rock the van side to side.

Fear paralyzes me. My face remains pressed to the glass. I stare into total darkness with only a thin sheet of auto glass separating me from the creature.

I cannot move. That thing is a centimeter in front of me. I can't breath. I feel a pounding pulse in my knees as they press against the carpeted floor.

Only darkness is in front of me. Minutes pass by as my breathing resists all attempts to return to normal. A flash of remembrance comes upon me. "I know that face -- but it's not possible," I whisper.

The face is from my dream -- a dream that usually plays to the background music of chilling rhythmic music. The only sound I now hear is the relentless rain striking the van's exterior. I slowly pull my face from the glass and return to the floor.

Uncle Bud is still fidgeting with his old pocket watch, unaware of anything unusual. He closes the cover and returns it to the bag on the floor. The rain has died down slightly. Bud reaches for the gear shifter on the wheel column, placing the van in drive.

"Seems like as good a time as any," says Uncle Bud as he looks into the rearview mirror and sees me on the floor. "You better get back in your seat and belt up, the roads are pretty slick."

My heart continues to race as I return my seatbelt across my shoulder and click it into place.

A few hours later as we travel further into the mountains, I feel the chill of mountain breeze fluttering through the partially-rolled down windows.

The endlessly winding roads of the Allegany Mountains are alien to my eyes, so different from the flat desert landscape of West Texas.

The landscape flows like a watercolor. The base of the greenery climbs in a natural collage of spiraling foliage, roofing us in with a top canopy of thick treetops, creating an enclosure the likes of which I have only seen on those South American rainforest documentaries at school. Bud turns onto a bumpy country road, and cautiously begins accelerating. The short steep half-mile road tosses me around in my seatbelt and brings back the anxious feeling in to my stomach of the crash from childhood. Uncle Bud's cabin is at the highest point of the seventy acres, around the rehab center that surrounds it. He is the head of maintenance over the drug and alcohol rehabilitation facility. Bud and his family live rent-free on the property in a cabin. The rehab center is located in a cleverly remote location. An escape attempt will reward a patient with a 100-mile hiking trip through the forest to the next town. The center is part of the smallest township in the history of ever, with the total population being only about a hundred people. We pull into the basement level garage, half buried in the side of a green and rocky hill. My legs protest all efforts to stretch them. I begin to stand and stretch. My heart is still anxious from the trip, that more resembled a scene from a nightmare.

The sound of a heavy sliding door echoes down the hillside. Bud opens the rear doors of the van, and begins to stack my bags and suitcases outside of the van.

"We'll go upstairs, say hello. Leah should still be awake. We will unload the rest of the big stuff in the morning," Bud says.

I walk the coarse gravel road, up the unpaved driveway, and stop midway. The cool mountain air is thick with humidity and gently blows across my body. I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes. This is the scent of life, something fading away from my hometown. I open my eyes to the sight of butterflies, purple and orange, dancing about. After a moment of absorbing the wonderful climate, I begin to walk again to the cabin.

I open the garage door. The garage is half cut out into the side of the mountain. Half of the basement is exposed on the garage side, and the mountainside covers the other half. I walk through the garage door and into the musty basement room.

From floor to ceiling, the walls are constructed of cinder blocks cool to the touch. A damp air resides as I breathe in the scents of the room, a mixture of mothballs and cedar chests. I know it is odd, but I have always liked the scent of dampness. It reminds me of a cold rain on the sidewalk in the summer.

A dehumidifier sits in the corner of the room. The small machine seems overmatched by the dampness.

Prudence looks around, curiously content, so I leave her in peace. I walk up the wooden staircase leading into a corner of the cabin's kitchen. My Aunt Leah is dusting a table, wearing her brown earthy apron as, stacks of school tablets sit on the ground beside her.

"Sweat pea, you are so tall. How was the drive?" Aunt Leah asks, walking forward to give me a hug.

"The scenery is even lovelier than I remember it. The colors of everything are such a change from the desert."

"I love it too. I hope I never take it for granted. Lilly Rose, do you remember being here when you were little?"

"I don't remember much, especially before the car accident.

"You and your sister were so young when that accident happened, bless her soul, such a tragedy."

I look around, trying to find familiarity. "Well, feel free to take a look around the cabin. When you were six, you played hide and seek here all the time with your cousin Ashley. Back then you must have known every inch of this place," Aunt Leah says as she smiles.

"Thanks, I'll take a look around."

Aunt Leah has a peaceful face for an overworked schoolteacher. It hasn't aged a bit.

"Bud said you are hungry. Hope your up for some late night dining," Aunt Leah says, holding a menu pad in her left hand, and she has places an order for some type of baked enchilada dish at the food distribution station.

"Yes, that sounds great!"

We journey down the hill and hop in the rear door of the shuttle.

The shuttle silently glides the narrow roads with robotic precision. I attribute this mostly to the robotic G pilot. We are on the road for about twenty minutes and arrive at the Westmoreland County ration station. Luckily, one week's rations have been loaded onto my card to hold me for my move. The meal is not bad for Mexican food served this far north. 
October 14, 2092

I find some time to unpack my bags. The leather book with the broken brass lock. Where am I going to hide it?

I can't let Uncle Bud or Aunt Leah find my journal. The most random idea comes to mind. What if I hide the book in the basement, inside the dehumidifier? The dehumidifier should keep the pages from getting damaged by the moisture. With no one around, I make my way down the wooden steps.

I descend the basement staircase, only silence around. I take out the pen, jump onto the fifty-year-old sofa, and begin to write.

After my final thoughts, I remove a panel from the dehumidifier and place the book inside. After I replace the panel and satisfied I've hidden it properly, I return to my room.

The next order of business is to break in the lounging chair on the glossy wooden deck. A cool and damp evening breeze blows across my face, my hair blocking the view of the lush green forest.

The noise from the flaps of the dog door brings me out of a daydream. Ben walks out and sits down on the porch next to me. Ben made the trip in a pet transporter.

I protested the sedation, but Ben had to go under as there were so many complaints of animal bites from the National Guard personnel.

Ben seems to be perfectly awake and sniffs at two silver bowls on the deck. One bowl is filled with dry pellets and the other contains a moist ration of dog food.

His short tail wags rapidly as he tilts his head in my direction. The colors of the dusk on the edge of the forest make me wish I took more than one photography class in school.

Something fell in the woods and causes Ben to jump. About ten crows fly out of the woods and directly overhead. Ben starts growling. "Ben, stay calm boy!" I tell him.

Ben continues to growl and starts running towards the trampoline. I follow him. Without warning, Ben bolts as fast as he can, directly for the trees. "Ben! No!"

I quickly perform a one-armed dismount off the railing of the trampoline and start running towards Ben. He darts and jumps into the thick brush, disappearing. "Ben, bad... come here, Ben!" I approach the path leading up the mountain and into the forest.

Bud told me not to wonder too far into the forest because of the bears. I'm not sure if he was trying to scare me.

I chase Ben, also looking for the source of the sound.

Why am I walking towards the crackling sound from the dark patch of trees? The sky yields little light as sunset quickly arrives. How many times have I mocked the mindless extra in a horror movie, as she walks alone in a forest getting ever closer to her death? Oh the irony.

The barking stops.

I press on slowly down the shadowy dirt path. The incline is steep and I feel the burn in my calves as they struggle to go up the path. "Ben, come back now! Ben!" I start to jog in the direction of the path.

Beams of red sunset illuminate the path through the branches of a monster tree, forming some of the creepiest shadows I've ever seen.

The barking begins again as I close in on the familiar growls of Ben. He grabs something red from the ground and shakes it back and forth. He sees me and begins running in my direction, then sits down. Something is in his mouth. It looks like some kind of satin robe tie.

The robe tie is about three feet long and very smooth to the touch. I cover my ears suddenly as a sharp noise startles me.

Something is moving in the brush. I start running back down the path as Ben sprints alongside me, slowing to match my speed.

It is quite difficult to see as the sunset partially penetrates the forest, but luckily, the path is pretty straight and clear of brush. The noise behind us gets closer.

Ben continues to bark. The pursuing sound and the sense of being followed cause the Adrenaline to flow. I see the final sharp turn. We take at almost full speed. Two strides and we fly off the steep path and into the backyard. We don't stop. Ben and I ran directly to the sliding glass door.

When the both of us are in, I lock it quickly. I fall to one knee and bend over, gasping for breath. Uncle Bud turns his head and lowers his reading tablet.

"I see you took Ben for a run. Don't underestimate him. He can run you to death." Bud laughs as he goes back and forth between trying do decide which brand of chips to order, and reading The History of World Championship Wrestling.

"I'm going to go take a shower," I tell him, still half out of breath.

I turn and walk to my room, concealing the satin tie behind my back.

Reaching into the shower, I turn both knobs to a comfortable temperature. The state allows people to keep small rations of water in their homes, but as far as showers, baths, and toilets go, the state runs only a special liquid through the pipes of the cities and towns. It works well enough for bathing, but if one tries to drink it in a significant amount, shaking and violent vomiting will follow.

I place a bottle of my favorite nectarine-scented lotion on the sink and toss the tie on the toilet seat. The tie drapes across the top of the lid.

The final piece of clothing slips off my body and I get into the shower. Hot sheets of liquid flow from the showerhead. My muscles react especially well to heat, after the escape. I close my eyes and allow the musty-smelling liquid to run down my body, cleansing me of impurities and relaxing my mind.

Meditation takes me somewhere else. I empty my mind of thoughts. Just empty tranquility. I jump suddenly as I hear a crash.

A sound of something falling and breaking on the floor. It is from the other side of the shower curtain.

My head pops out the side of the curtain, and looking down, the bottle of lotion fell from the sink and is shattered across the floor. I look and notice the bathroom door remains locked. Odd, I am certain that the bottle wasn't near the edge of the sink.

After turning off the water, my hand creeps along the wall and finds a towel. The pink towel quickly absorbs all of the sanitary liquid from my limbs, and I wrap the towel around my hair. I open the shower curtain fully and look down. I take a step out of the shower. My left foot touches the floor.

My body cringes from a shard of glass I didn't see. I jerk my foot up off the ground and pull the small sliver from my foot. I spot an impossible detail.

The red satin tie is gone.
October 15, 2092

I rub my eyes hastily as the world shakes under my dormant body. I witness the cause.

My vision comes into focus as Hannah jumps on my bed with her dolly Princess P. Princess P is a glow-in-the-dark eco-toy, powered by a solar charger, and is dressed with a belt and a hiking backpack. The doll charges in the outdoor sunlight during the day, so that it glows at night. "Princess P wants to go for a walk. Can you take us please, please?" Hannah asks.

"Of course!" I get to my feet and head towards the open closet.

"Princess P loves exercise, it makes her healthy!" Hannah says, looking at me with a cute smile.

"Princess P, you are so right to love exercise." I look at Princess P. Prudence walks along the path, prancing through a field of flowers. She sees us all and follows.

Ben barks in her direction and runs, circling around her. He always notices her. Prudence is very excited to be with all of us.

The scent of sweet flowers trail in on a gust of wind. The deep greens, browns, and reds of the forests are painting-like. Ben nudges a volleyball with his nose as he walk past it. The nudge sends it slowly down the grassy side of the hill. "Ben, if you keep doing that, I'm going to make you go get it." Hannah says, pointing her finger at Ben as her curly hair blows in the wind. 
October 16, 2092

Incense from a copper dish burns off plumes of red smoke. A kettle with a tea bag sits on the table, next to it a silver dagger. My legs quiver as the dark figure approaches. My neck and shoulders shake at the sight of this person, from both my dreams and outside Uncle Bud's van.

Several others beings dressed the same begin appearing, forming a loose circle around me. They all point at me, mumbling angrily. Their words are unintelligible, but I know it is about me. The same music of frightening rhythmic sounds that always accompany my nightmares pulses in the background.

I sit in an old wooden chair, waiting, like an injured animal watching the vultures. Something is different this time. A second light begins to shine and another chair fades into my view. Uncle Bud sits on a chair polishing his watch with a handkerchief.

"Bud! Bud!" I scream. "Bud!"

He doesn't respond to my cries, he simply sits, polishing his watch. The figures glance at Bud, and then run right at me. I scream as the glowing eyes glaring through the holes in their masks close in on me.

Screams, my screams, fill the damp air as I sit up in bed hysterical. Sweat soaks my back, and my heart races. I look across the room, catching my breath. Hannah sits in my bedside chair staring at me, still as a statue. She simply watches me with an occasional blink of her eyes, the only sign of movement in the dark room.

I am awake for the day now. I look out my window and see the empty Distillery Road across our seventy-two acres. Bud promised to show me around the rehab center today.

"Thanks for letting me show you the place," Bud says, focusing on the road. He pulls into a parking spot in front of the white admissions building, rolling thunder in the background.

We walk along the cracked sidewalk through the drizzle. "I like how it looks more like an old community of log cabins than an office park. It must be a bit less intimidating for the patients," I say, admiring the rustic look.

Bud pulls open the door to the building and we enter a waiting room in the admissions area. The receptionist is glassed into an area with many aisles of file folders and records. Bud walks to the window and taps on the glass. An older blonde receptionist, with her hair tied back, slides open the glass door.

"Nurse Wilson, this is my niece Lilly Rose, she's gonna be staying with us up yonder in the cabin."

"She's not gonna be startin' no trouble like those city kids?" Nurse Wilson says, frowning in my direction.

"Oh no, she is an angel."

"That's what they all say."

"Very good Nurse Wilson, we'll catch you on the flip side," Bud says as she slides the glass shut and goes about her tasks.

"Catch you on the flip side? Bud, we must work on your pop culture speak." We approach an interior door with a key card pad.

As we turn the corner, a square-chinned boy in flannel walks by with a work badge. He gives me an unsettling wink as he passes by us. "Why is he here?" I whisper to Bud.

Did my ex-boyfriend actually follow me across the country? It can't be coincidence.

"Alan, yeah, that new kid does landscaping part time. Pretty talented. The back side of admissions looks great." We enter a narrow door. We walk into a musty stairwell and up a narrow set of cement stairs. Bud pushes open a door at the top of the stairs. "Have you met before?" he asks.

"In a past life," I say, half shocked.

Bud enters his office and I wait in the wood-paneled hallway. The door shuts behind him as I wait. From the next office over, a deep voice speaks: "We have no idea what these kids are on, Bill."

Another voice: "The blood tests all have the same chemical. The patient shows up with white lips and a red left eye. No memory of how they got here or when they ran away."

I jump at the creaking door. Bud emerges from his office.

"Alright hun, let's hit the road." He walks out with a brown cloth tool bag.

I use the time walking back through the building to pull out the earpieces to my music card device and hit shuffle on my music phone card. My card always travels with me. Wes Ashby begins singing into my ears, and all is right in my universe again.

The ride home is quiet and lit by silent flashes. Wes sings a calming acoustic piece. The rain is coming down in layered sheets of white and gray. 
October 17, 2092

A loud noise startles me. I look around, dazed and confused. I instinctively swing my fist down with as much force as I can muster. The snooze button on my alarm clock is hit, and the noise stops. After repeating this several times, I decide to drag myself out of bed.

Wanting to take advantage of the freshness of my latest dream, I pull my book from its hiding place and begin to start placing my dreams on paper.

I make my way down the hallway. The morning is quiet and everyone reads silently from a tablet. Bud is now reading his news tablet intently. The headline on the front reads: "Star High School Quarterback Missing." He squints his eyes, focusing as he reads the article.

After some light conversation, I resign myself to folding laundry back in my room.

Before I left for Pennsylvania, I sent in my application, and received confirmation that I had a hunting and tracking job waiting for me at the regional ration station about a half hour away from the center. The ration station in Pennsylvania has a far greater number of trackers employed than the Midland station had. Each tracker has a map with the plots of land they are permitted to hunt on.

Being the new kid, I have been assigned an area that on satellite appears treeless with a few rolling hills. There are not many places for me to hide or reasons for game to come out of the forest. Nonetheless, it is a much more life-filled area than the desert. I should do fine, or at least my stomach hopes so.

I make my way into my room and switch on the brass lamp on my bedside table. I begin to unpack the contents of my red shoulder bag onto the bed. My crossbow is covered in clumps of sand and dirt. I wipe it down with a cloth. A small silver accessory case rests on top of my bed with two special bolt tips. I bought them in at Big Jay's in Odessa. Big Jay's is a street market downtown where you can find some very useful, and sometimes very illegal products.

The crackdown on weapons makes it impossible to find accessories in regular stores, but at the black markets, ammo and accessories make their way to the trading tables. One tip that I bought fits at the end of a crossbow bolt, which makes a noisy blast on impact.

My brilliant idea for this tip is to over-shoot head of the wild game, and the loud boom will scare it out of the cover and right towards me. For this to work however, Shark will need to find a way to modify my crossbow to reload faster than the forty seconds it takes. The second tip sets off a bright blinding flash, which blinds the target long enough for me to close some distance to it. These tips were 1000 credits each, so I better use them wisely.

On my first day of work, using a five-minute lesson I was given on stealth movement in a forest, I move from tree to tree, and get within fifteen feet of a large whitetail. I load my crossbow and drop the animal in one shot.

The shift leader at the processing center, a man named James, commends me on the clean kill and fine condition of the game as I drop it off. He scans my card and hands it back to me.

I read the screen on the card. "1200 credits for that catch?" I ask, puzzled.

"New rates from the state, that's the way it is these days," he says, not making eye contact.
October 18, 2092

Hannah pulls up my sleeve, as she has done for a few days now, and prepares my insulin shot. She pushes the needle into my skin, injects the insulin as smoothly and calmly as a doctor. She places the injector in a red mini-disposal bin. I look into Hannah's innocent light green eyes. She is just the cutest little girl. "Ok then, what's the surprise?" I ask.

"I promised not to tell you," Hannah says, folding her arms.

"I'll give you a credit if you tell me."

"I won't tell you for ten hundred thousand credits!"

"I guess your secret is safe!"

I make my way to the closet and open the left side. I look down at the pile of shoes and up through the tightly packed clothes that are hanging on hangers. I pull out a purple lace trim knit cami, with sides that change colors with my moods, and some faded demin shorts. I throw them on my bed as Hannah skips out of the room closing the door behind her.

I eat breakfast at the rehab center cafeteria, an official state ration center. The breakfast consists of scrambled artificial egg mix, a biscuit covered in gravy, and a can of apple juice.

My tablet sits on the table, "Vote John Velos for Governor" scrolls across the bottom. That wicked man is running for governor? He will never ever get the votes for that! A second article reads: "Third Student Athlete Missing This Month."

This might be why Bud told me to text him when I am on my way home.

After volunteering to wash dishes at the cafeteria, Hannah and I have some things on the "to do list", which are on a glowing card attached to the refrigerator.

We also agree to help in Great Grandma's herb garden to pick up roots and herbs. Hannah grabs some black heavy-duty trash bags and we head down the hill. A few brown bats hover harmlessly at the forest line. A calico cat walks from behind some brush and in our direction. "Silas!" Hannah says, smiling.

"Do you know it?"

"Yes it's Silas, he belongs to Great Grandma."

We approach the garden entrance, a chicken-wire gate of some sort, and I open it. The sound scares off Silas. Hannah begins reciting some instructions from her mother. She reads a list off her miniature tablet of state-approved medical herbs and berries.

We hit a good pace filling the bags. Hannah sticks out her hand, feeling a few drops falling.

A flash of lightning slices the sky. Our bags are about half full. Looking down the mountains, fast moving clouds are coming in our direction. The wind begins to pick up, and I tell Hannah that we better hurry up.

We quickly top off the bags and start moving out of the garden. Wind gusts push us from behind. The amount of light in the sky has cut in half. A blinding flash of light follows a loud crack of thunder. We both jump.

"Hannah, can you run?" I yell.

"No, my bags are too heavy!"

A branching bolt flashed overhead, and we both become doused as a wall of rain hits us. "What if you drag the bag?" I ask.

We both begin dragging them up the hill. We hit a good speed. We finally make it onto the porch and look back. A rainbow-colored trail of roots and berries lead up to the porch, and our torn sacks rest on the porch. We both look down at our bags and laugh as we bring them inside. Hansel and Gretel would have been proud.
October 20, 2092

My eyes open slowly. The blurry world slowly comes into focus. I quickly sit up. The first day of school has come. In Pennsylvania, school begins later than Texas.

As is the case, many mornings, I woke too early. I grab the old journal from the basement, the leather binding is cool to my touch, and continue my writing journey.

Scented candles break my concentration, and I hide the journal. Hannah walks in with five chill tubes, each containing a dose of my daily insulin. "There were only five in the delivery this morning, they usually send seven," Hannah says as she preps my daily dose.

Chill tubes are amazing, as they can keep my medicine cold for up to six months, which really helps during the rolling blackouts. Hannah injects me with a dose and heads back to her bedroom.

"Here we go again -- another new beginning at another school," I say to my reflection in the mirror.

Yes, the great part about having nomadic parents is that I constantly change schools. This is at least my seventh time starting in a new place. I try to remember how I usually would go about the first day.

Oh yes, first I need to decide what to wear.

I open the sliding door to my closet and begin running my fingers from left to right across the tops of various outfits. Truth be told, I don't care about impressing anyone with what I wear on the first day of school. And yet, I don't have a desire to look like a fashion outcast. It will be best if I don't stick out on the fashionable or unfashionable sides. Fashion is probably the only aspect of my life where I aspire to be average.

As I ponder my philosophy, a very light blue pair of jeans catches my eye. I slide them on and remember these are the most comfortable pair of jeans that I ever owned.

I button up the jeans and look in the full-sized mirror on the outside of my closet. Next comes the shirt. I choose one just as comfortable as the jeans, a navy one I bought three months ago. As I browse the closet, I hear a knock. "Yes?"

"We bought you a school shirt for your first day! It's hanging in the bathroom." A voice says from outside my door.

"Thanks." I say, pondering those words.

Do I really want to be that girl with the school spirit on the first day of school? After thinking about the school shirt for a second, I decide to wear it.

I pull my hair back into a ponytail, and walk down the stairs towards the scent of Aunt Leah's candles. We all walk outside and down to the cafeteria.

Hannah and Bud sit at the table across from Aunt Leah. Aunt Leah taps her tablet, no doubt preparing a lesson plan for her high school class. The server begins placing breakfast trays on placemats in front of us. Today the meal is an almond poppy seed muffin, a small cube of red strawberry jam, and a wedge of cheese. Hannah loves strawberry jam and her eyes light up at the sight of it.

Leah, setting aside her tablet, begins spreading the jam on Hannah's muffin and returns it to her tray. "Do you really have to ride the bus for forty-five minutes?" Hannah asks, looking at me as she licks strawberry jam from her fingers.

"Yup, that's how far away Cook County High is," Bud says, jumping in.

I bite into the warm and moist top of the muffin and through the layer of jam. "This is really good, Aunt Leah, thanks for all the work you and Bud put in getting my file transferred. I prefer the more homemade selection of food here as opposed to the distribution center."

"It was no trouble, sweat pea," Leah, responds smiling.

When breakfast finished, I grab my red shoulder bag and start walking down the gravel path to the bus stop.

The winding path to the stop slopes down the hill from the house and through the middle of the rehab center. At the bottom of the hill rests a stone pool where freshwater fish swim in formations of colorful patterns. The scene is tranquil for those that stand along the edge.

The pond, according to Bud, is helpful and soothing to patients confined within the borders of the center. The pond is clear and crystal-like. I scoop some water up to see the clarity against my hands. I look across the street at the bus stop. The small enclosure appears to be made of some old wood, but as I approach and sit on the bench, it seems to be sturdy.

I wait about ten minutes until the bus comes. The bus transports just a handful of students down the winding roads of the dense forest. The drive is very beautiful, though a bit repetitive with trees, trees, and more trees. Buildings come into view, along with an anger-inducing holographic billboard advertising John Velos for governor. As the bus twists around one of the never-ending turns, a classic school building comes into sight.

The bus pulls up beside a long walkway. I step off the bus and look across the sea of people. No one else is wearing the Cook County High tee shirt.

Just great, not even on the property for thirty seconds and my attempt to blend in is already in jeopardy.

The covered walkway leads into a semi-covered eating area, surrounded by vending machines. The cafeteria is off to the right, and to the left is the entrance to the school. I step in front of a special ration machine and pull out my special trainer's ration card.

Registered State athletes are given special rations during the school year to give their bodies a boost. I have been a registered state athlete since I was seven.

I wonder if the transfer has fully gone through on my ration card. I slide my card into the machine. "Yes!" I jump with excitement at the machine's response.

The screen shows that I am approved to use this machine for an extra daily ration of an electrolyte drink, and my choice of one of five items on the screen. I press the screen twice in different spots, and open the slot below the screen. I slip the beverage ration into my bag along with a box of my favorite thing to eat in the entire world: Puff-Nogs.

If I strike out for an entire week in the hunting fields, at least I can live on Puff-Nogs. I stand in the door way of my first period class.

"Move, peasant," says a bleach blonde throwing her arms in the air to show off her Phi bracelet.

Her blue satin dress grazes my arm as she shoves me out of the doorway. Two other girls follow behind. "Jessica, please let me come to your party. You won't even see me there," begs one of her followers.

"Forget it." Jessica, the bleach blonde, rolls her eyes taking one look at her friend's Upsilon bracelet, "The daughter of a street sweeper won't be seen at my event."

Upsilon is considered one of the lower classes, the poor working class. I hide my bracelet behind my back. She does belong to a higher class than most of the kids at the school. However, my Kappa class is technically a higher class than a Phi. Phis tend to hate Kappas -- they think we don't deserve such a class rank.

The student aide sits at a table next to the blonde, and she rolls her eyes looking in the other direction.

Why do I get the feeling it will be difficult to resist the urge to break Blondie in half this semester? I know the game she is playing. She tries to bait a lower class member into a fight. Such a fight usually gets the lower-class person expelled. When that happens, it is called the "Johnny Roll." Talent Hunt star Johnny Patten's tell-all brought about this game, where he confesses his displeasure with those beneath his social standing, and his game to get back at them.

Pressing a few icons on my tablet, I notice my schedule has a few issues. Art, for example, is my first period class. This will be challenging, as my creative juices are not flowing at this early hour. My last class is Latin III and it has just five students. I've been taking the class for several years, and surprisingly, the third part is an elective here.

A tall dark-skinned boy sits across from me. He has long jet-black hair parted down the center, and long sideburns. He must be at least six-foot-one. He would make a decent model if he lost all the dirt and the tracker jacket. I may have seen him before, maybe he tracks for my station on a different shift.

I look him in the eyes. We hold contact for a second and he looks away. He looks back, holds his gaze, and smiles. My knees draw closer to my body. I arch my back in a stretching yawn and smile back as he approaches and sits at a desk next to me. "Hey new person, class is a bit crowded, isn't it?" he asks.

He doesn't make eye contact as he flips a switch-blade comb between his fingers. His hair, the sheen of polished lava rocks, glows in the lighting of the classroom.

"I have a name you know," I tell him. I look down at my feet and then finally up at him. I loathe my school shirt. He cuts me off before I can say my name. "Of course you do." His arms hang loosely, swinging.

"Do you work for the ration station?" I ask.

He looks directly into my eyes. "Why yes! It is me you should thank for providing the food at the station."

"All the food? I beg to differ," I say, giggling.

"Oh do you? Care to explain your difference of opinion!"

"Why yes! Not only do I know that you don't provide all the food, I'll go as far as saying that I provide more to the station than you.

" He laughs spontaneously, playfully patting my forearm. The touch is strangely out of place, similar to that I have with my puppy, but hazy and unreadable. I've never had even a tingle of a sense with another person before. I open my mouth in confusion, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"You are a tracker?" His laughter brings back my composure.

"Yes, I'm a tracker. Why is it that funny?"

He smiles. "Oh, I'm not doubting your talents, just caught me off-guard. But hey, since you're new, I thought I'd show you around the school."

"Thanks, but I'd like to set off on my own. My memory works best that way," I look back into his dark brown eyes.

"Well, perhaps we should talk again sometime." He pulls out his phone card, and I react by pulling out mine. We tap them together, and our information is shared. He places a hand on my forearm and draws closer to my face. I take in subtle hints of his cologne - a warm and sophisticated scent. My heart beats a hastened pattern. He gives a small rub to the arm. "It's been a pleasure meeting you." He smiles and jumps over a desk, returning to where he was originally sitting. His desk is next to a girl whose name I think is Sara. She crosses her legs and smiles when he shows up. My emotions and thoughts scatter like freed butterflies from a sanctuary. A mysterious guy, the type that normally doesn't know I exist, just gave me his number on the first day of school. I'm certainly not in Midland anymore. I'm even beginning to wonder whether I'm still on Earth. I smile, looking down at my desk.

Physical education is the next class on my schedule. I pull and tug on my uniform and it finally buttons up. Though I don't participate in many sports, my body is lean and in great condition from my job. I lace my shoes and follow a few other girls into the field outside the gym.

Oh, this really sucks. Today's activity is dodge ball. I hate dodge ball and all the traumas this so-called "sport" caused over the years.

Near the end of the first game, frustration sets in as the last three people on the other team mock me as the last survivor on my team. My throws are very accurate, but I throw the ball with little force. The ball finally comes to a rest on my side, and I walk to the resting spot of the ball. As I lift it, the remaining players and some of their friends on the sidelines mock me. It sets something off deep inside of me.

Ben, according to the name on his jacket, is the tracker I met earlier today. He talks to a red-headed girl on the sidelines. He looks at me with a grin. That look is unbelievably attractive. The players begin to incite the crowd. Just as if they were unsuspecting deer, I see my opening, and my foot speed increases. I run towards the valley dividing the two sides of the area, pulling the ball behind my head. I choose my target and fling the ball with all my strength - it slips.

The rotation and spin are perfect, but the ball is about ninety degrees off course. A streak of red ball impressively rotates in the air and arrives at an unintended target.

The ball smashes into Ben's ration cup. The ball hit just as he lifted it up to drink. The ball destroys the flimsy cup, and the drink bursts into the most epic of splatter. Everyone, the crowd, the players laugh. The soaking wet Ben cracks a half-smile in my direction. I cover my face with my hands in utter humiliation.

Still embarrassed from what happened, I walk into the science lab. My table at the back of the classroom is larger than the average table. Each table has two bench stools and looks big enough for the largest of experiments. Every table has two people sitting down, except for mine.

I tilt my head, distracted by the sound of a clicking door handle. The classroom door opens, and in walks one last student.

Unsmiling, she looks familiar to me. Her shiny jet-black hair, tied into pig tails, swing about in contrast to her stationary long bangs. The lights reflect different colors from her tight sparkling black sweater, with its lacy borders. On the cuffs, a purple mood strip runs in random directions.

Two purple leather-studded bracelets adorn her wrists with with four bulky silver rings on her fingers. Her pale face contrasts her artistically-drawn eyeliner, and her black lipstick looks dramatic in the florescence. She places her tablet on the table and drops her transparent bag on the floor.

Her tablet is on the cover page of Kat Von D's High Voltage Tattoo. She runs her wistful fingers through one of her pigtails, and then turns to look at me. One of her ponytails hits me in the face.

"You're new," she says, getting too close to my face.

Her dark brown eyes shine like a puppy, compared to the eyeliner. She continues to brush through her hair with her fingers. "I'm Hollywood," she says as a sudden chill of ghostly déjà vu takes hold. This is the girl appearing in my dreams, both in look and in name.

I sit, mouth open, staring at her in stunned silence. She sees me gaping and rolls her eyes. "Let me guess, you've come from some tiny town in Kansas, and you've never seen leather or black lipstick before. Am I right, angel?" she asks with a pensive look.

"I'm Lilly Rose," I reply softly, wondering if this conversation or this situation is even real.

The strained teacher, Ms. Jenson, begins calling roll. "Sara Parks."

"Here!" says a student with a single ponytail. She lowers her hand and drops a bag to the floor. She places her track shoes inside before closing it.

"Melissa Gregory."

"Here! And my name is Hollywood." She says as she flips her pigtails over her shoulders.

"Melissa, we have had this conversation before. I am not going to address you as Hollywood."

Ms. Jenson checks her list as the class laughs.

"Lilly Rose Aura."

"Here," I say.

Turning, I glance at Hollywood's bag. A Wes Ashby sticker is visible on one of the clear pockets, along with several other stickers. Wes's name pulls me back into reality and gives my voice strength. "Oh, I love that sticker! Are you a member? Where did you get it?" I ask, biting my bottom lip.

Hollywood laughs. "I like Wes, but not enough to pay some membership fee. I bought this from a street vendor in Greensburg." She traces her finger along the textured sticker.

"Where in Greensburg?" I whisper as the teacher stands with arms.

"I'll touch text you the address, what is your number?" Hollywood slips me her phone card.

I type in my number and hand it back to her under the desk. "Thanks."

The teacher, in her white lab coat, begins to speak. "Class, according to your syllabus, each of you are to come up with one fact about the 2020 black typhus outbreak and its long-term effects. Please take out your tablets, write down the one fact you came up with, and press the submit." "Is that everyone? Raise your hands if you haven't submitted your fact."

Looking around the lab, there are no raised hands. The instructor presses a green button on the wall. A screen lowers from the ceiling and the lights dim. "Ok, class let's analyze some of the facts."

She continued: "First fact, about a half million Americans survived the 2020 black typhus outbreak. Correct, the population of the US at the time of the outbreak was about 350 million. Next, anarchy ruled for forty years after the outbreak. Yes, elections were held about forty years after 2020 and President Howard Travis won the first election. Moving on, the Western US becomes completely uninhabitable after the outbreak. Yes, to date, the government does not permit travel west of the central time zone. One more, car production ended. Very good, over 170 million automobiles were functional in the US before the outbreak, additional production was unnecessary for the remaining people still alive."

The lights flash on and the screen goes back into the ceiling. Ms. Jenson sits at her desk and types a few things on her computer panel. "Class, your first homework assignment is now on your tablets, feel free to use the remaining class time to start on it."

My next class, study hall, is canceled due to teacher illness. I take the time to eat a few Puff-Nogs and head around the back of the school to the track field.

I hop from the edge of the track and onto the bleachers. Each step has a couple of anti-slip strips so I can run up without any danger. The ascent leads me to the highest part of the bleachers where I sit down. I set my electrolyte ration down next to my bag as I pop a few more Puff-Nogs in my mouth. I spot Hollywood talking to a coach wearing a red-hooded sweatshirt with the school logo on the back.

After they finish talking, he takes a number of steps back. Hollywood then extends her arms while twisting her torso, and rapidly takes two and a half spinning steps and with two feet planted inside the circle, she stands over and flings a discus past the wooden 120-foot marker on the field. The coach claps, walks back over to Hollywood, and begins gesturing a few things about her technique. As I take the last sip of my ration, the bell rings. I head to the library to get an ID and download card for my tablet.

After a quick stop in a short line, I walk to the exit where I receive a blue library card.

A strange feeling comes up again. The second time today. As I open one of the doors exiting the library, I collide head on with someone. My tablet falls to the ground and the person drops a box of metal parts on the floor. I bend down immediately, as does the person. It is Ben. We are both face-to-face kneeling. I look into his eyes, taking in his smooth skin and amazing hair. He pulls this look off perfectly. He smiles, but with a question in his eyes. "Would you like to help?" he finally asks.

He is referring to the fact that I'm frozen and he is picking up all of the mess on the floor. "Snap, I'm sorry!" I say, embarrassed. I look down at the floor.

"So what's with all the assassination attempts today? I know you're new around here, but you just can't go about, trying to kill people outside your social circles."

I, slowly gain my composure back, "Well in some of those assassin movies, the targets actually deserve it."

"Oh, is that so, Ms. Lilly Rose Aura?" A mischievous look crosses his face.

He knows my full name. I bite my bottom lip. A mix of emotions run through me. This boy is staring into my eyes, calling me by my full name. Wait, this is a bit too creepy. I shake off the quietness and get in his face. "Alright, Mr. Stalker, what's with the full name thing?"

I don't break eye contact as I wait for a response. My heart races from the intensity of his stare. He says nothing, standing for a few seconds, looking and grinning at me with his arms folded. Then, he laughs. "The answer to your question is not too dramatic. I take attendance and grade papers. You know we don't get many new students coming to Cook County, and your name caught my attention."

I see Hollywood out of the corner of my eye, and half-fumbling, I take my tablet. "I have got to go." I walk away, slightly embarrassed.

As I approach Hollywood, she asks, "What were you two staring at, besides each other?"

"Oh no, it's not like that. He's not my type."

"Sure, he's not. Hey, any chance you will be going into town tomorrow?"

I pause and think. "Actually yes, I will be going to the mall with my uncle tomorrow."

It is actually a good thing that tomorrow is a teacher in-service day and there is no school. I need to buy a few more things. "If you'd like to ride the bus home with me, we are going to leave pretty early in the morning." I say as we walk towards the front of the school.

"Works for me, thanks. I'll just send a text to mi casa," Hollywood says as she whips her hair over her shoulder and pulls her card from her pocket.

I glance at her card as she types:

"Spnd Nite Aura L8tr"

"Does everyone know my name?" I ask, Hollywood still busy on her phone card.

"Yeah, they do -- not many outsiders here. Oh, and before I forget," says Hollywood typing on her phone and then putting it away. My card vibrates. I take it out of my back pocket and look at the screen.

"5478 STH MPLE AVE."

"Oh, the address for the shop where you got the sticker!" I look Hollywood in the eyes.

"Yeah, with no help from the phone company and the stupid new texting rules." She slips her phone card into her leather wallet.

As we approach our bus, Ben slips into a black 1967 Chevy Impala. The entire surface of the car is reflecting the partial sunrays that break through the clouds. He starts the stunning car, the engine roaring to life. I stare in awe as Hollywood pushes me into the bus. "Come on, Lilly Rose, keep it moving! Nothing to see here."

I sit in a window seat and gaze out the window as Ben drives off, his hair blowing out the window as he speeds off into the distance. Hollywood takes a seat next to me. "That is one sweet and expensive classic car Ben is driving, and maybe the oldest car I've ever seen."

Hollywood twists her head abruptly in my direction, causing one of her pigtails to whip across my head. "Well that's what happens when you're the spoiled rich boy, of the Leidolfs, one of the wealthiest families in the state."

"Then why isn't he at some private school or boarding school?" At my question, Hollywood shrugs.

We exit the bus and walk the steep gravel path to the cabin. I walk Hollywood through the house and to the guest room. I peek at my phone card and read the message from Alan:

"You' reon my mind"

Ugh! I slip it back in my pocket. I look up at Hollywood. "You can put all of your stuff here." I point and she drops all her accessories on the bed. "I'll be right back. Make yourself at home. You can check out the TV channels if you'd like." I toss the remote on the bed and backpedal into the hallway.

I crack the door and catch a glance of my bedroom window. The view brings back the time when I first arrived. I walk over and rest at the windowsill, holding a ration of water.

Gloomy white and gray clouds release misty rain that soaks the roads sloping down the hill.

The slow and steady winds toss the branches from side to side. Sheets of rain sail over the distant mountaintops. Smoke rises in the distance, past the edges of the forest line, probably from the chimney of Great Grandma's cabin. It's usually cloudy in these parts, and I have witnessed quite a bit of the rain.

As the heavier sheets of rain move closer, my view of and the colors change.

The rain begins glowing orange. The glow brightens. It comes from the direction of the mountain.

The mist becomes stationary. Then something that tends only to reside in the imaginations of my writing appears: a row of figures drift out of the forest. I swallow dryly as I strain to see them all through the fog.

I feel a rush of heat in my face as they all begin to move, as if they are floating across the field. As the group nears the edge of the clearing, they all stop and turn, facing my direction. My heart leaps as I jump backwards. My body drops below the windowsill, out of sight.

The whole group seemed to turn at the same time, as if they were all members of a synchronized swim team. My balance of fear and curiosity turns more towards the later. I slowly begin to pull myself above the level of the windowsill. The clouds wash away, replaced by the usual rain.

I scan the horizon as if on a hunt, trying not to miss a detail. I find no signs of that line of figures that were facing my direction. "What are you staring at?" says Hollywood, entering the room.

My attention shifts back to the present. I turn back to Hollywood, my mouth still open. "Nothing, just thinking," I say, in a bit of a childish whimper. 
October 21, 2092

Morning breaks. Hollywood slides to the living room table, wearing a new outfit. My jaw drops as lights highlight her felt top and the vest covering it. The vest transitions down into a two-layer belted skirt. Two reflective silver ties hold up her pigtails, twin studded armbands cover her wrists, and platform knee-high boots add about two inches to her height.

"Wow, just wow!" I say. "Do you always bring a change of clothes with you to school?" I ask.

"I'm always ready for all of the what-ifs of the world," says Hollywood as she sits down at the table.

"You all ready?" Bud asks from outside the front door.

"Let's go!" I take Hollywood by the hand and pull her as we gallop to the door.

Our trip for food and to the mall seems rushed. Hollywood turns heads everywhere we walk. We shop so fast that we are outside the front of the mall a full half hour before Bud is going to meet us.

A line of secondhand flea market stores sit across the street. I point at the stores. "We have time," I say, staring at Hollywood.

She seems to ignore me, standing against a light post, comparing the shades of blacks and pinks in the bags she purchased with the outfit she is wearing. She holds up a shirt with bright red and orange flames flowing around it. "Yeah, we can check out a few shops," she replies, half distracted by her purchases.

"And by the way don't bother, nothing is going to match that collar around your neck." She gives me a shove and laughs.

We jog over to the row of shops and enter the store named "Quinn #7". Army camo-style designs line the entryway and the outside windows are lush with rainforest plant designs.

Tables with clay vases line the clean entryway. A little something for everyone is available here. Car parts, music players, camouflaged gear, and just about every type of junk fill imaginable line the aisles of metal shelves. Hollywood spots a display case of silver chains and heads over to get a closer look.

As I walk by a glass counter toward the back of the store, a bolt tip attachment grabs my attention. I've never seen one like it. The attachment has a glossy onyx finish, and a thin fifty-foot nylon cable attached to it. "Hollywood, look!" I squeak.

She walks towards me and I point inside the case. "I can use this tip to fire a line of cable."

"Talk about dull," Hollywood says with a mocking grin on her face, flipping back one of her pigtails.

A pink price tag displays the price: "5000 Credits". Ugh, I really want this, but it will wipe out my account if I buy it. Wipe me out until next payday. Sold!

I walk up to a thin, older-looking clerk. He rubs his handlebar mustache and I ask to purchase the bolt tip. He charges me for the bolt and bags it up. "Thanks, for shopping with us. Oh and if you have an interest in such things, young lady, call me in a week, I may have other interesting things."

The old man slips me a plastic card. One word appears "Quinn" with his number on the front. "Would you like to be notified of upcoming specials? Just type your phone card number on the wall pad on your way out."

"Thanks, I think I will." I walk over and touch type my number on the pad.

"Tell some friends too, we have specials every Monday," Quinn says, leaning on a broom.

"Thanks," I say as Hollywood and I walk out the front door.

"I can't believe you blow all your money on that stuff. Though, the lack of money does explain your dress," Hollywood says, skipping a foot ahead of me, and through the parking lot.

Bud waits for us outside his truck, twirling keys spin on his finger as we arrive back to the mall parking lot. On the way back home, we drop off Hollywood at her dad's place.

As Hollywood grabs her bags, she turns quickly, whipping me in the face with one of her pigtails, and gives a smile to Bud. "Boss on!" Hollywood says, stepping out of the truck.

"See ya!"

"Boss on?" Bud asks me, puzzled look in his eyes.

"Yes, it's a young person thing," I say, laughing as we pull away.

In the middle of reading some classic manga on my tablet, a radio newscaster interrupts with some breaking news. "This is what we have so far. A group of men into a black 1960 Chevrolet Chevelle pulled a seventeen-year-old boy, whose identity is being withheld by the family, into the car and sped off. Witnesses say the Chevelle sped off heading west from Greensburg. Police are asking for your help."

Bud turns off the radio. "I don't want you going into town by yourself, there's something going on now, and I don't want you caught in the middle of it ya here."

I nod and continue to read my manga. I do however need to go back into town soon.
October 23, 2092

Soon comes faster than expected when I receive a text from Sara, a girl from school. Her friends call her Buffy, though she doesn't look like she can handle menacing nightcallers. She looks too delicate for that, but I'm not one to judge.

She must have remembered I needed a ride to the mall and waits for me outside my classroom. We stop by her house to feed her precious newborn kittens. The first kitten, Jasper, is pure white and rubs his big eyes with his paws. The second kitten, Chrysoberyl, is golden yellow. Sara wakes him up to feed.

Sara sits in the driver's seat, turns to look at me, and brushes the hair out of her eyes. "I'm, like, so excited about the games. At the qualifier I so did amazing, second place. I only need to place fifth to make it." Her voice is energetic, very bubbly. We roll down the road in her five-speed light blue Metro.

She wants new track shoes for the upcoming qualifier. She's dropping me back home after the trip.

I sign some releases in the mall office for my next tournament and rejoin Sara. I don't see anything worth buying, which is good, because I'm still broke due to my purchase a few days ago. Sara picks out a great pair of shoes, bright white with off-white glittering stripes, and light as a feather.

She told me the story on the ride into town how she and her parents barely survived a blast at a fuel refinery that leveled the nearby neighborhoods. Her parents were badly injured, but she escaped unharmed. After her parents could no longer work, they were disabled from the blast, Sara took up working to support the family.

Though she has expensive tastes attempting to fit in with higher classes, she is her family's only source of income.

"What a great deal, only like 9500 credits," she says as she proudly walks back to the Metro with her purchase.

We drive off. The beautiful sun sinks behind the mountains and the mall fades into the distance.

We head down through the old district. A neighborhood street intersects with a commercial street at the edge of Greensburg as we come to a stop at a red light. She shifts her Metro into neutral. A dark green streetlight illuminates the surrounding area as the neon lights from a psychic healer flash against the finish of the car.

My eyes widen as four muscular men streak around the corner in a rapid motion blur. Nightcallers!

The nightcallers, all attired in long-sleeved pullovers, run around the corner. One of them throws something the size of a rock, that is followed by waves of black smoke. The waves penetrate the car and everything turns pitch black. All sound stops.

I no longer have two of my senses, nothing left but touch, smell, and taste if that matters now. The car shakes. I start to rub my temples in circles. Waves of sapphire blue flood through the car and blast outward. The waves splash into the outside world, pushing aside the black clouds. Like a giant gust of wind, the waves reveal the world.

I see in shades of blue, nightcallers rocking the car back and forth in a taunting way. One nightcaller walks to the back window and shatters it open with his elbow. Translucent green ivy tendrils of control pour from his body, wrapping around Sara in a tightening grasp.

The tendrils advance in my direction and I jump. They do not seem to be able to penetrate the purple circle my vision is projecting. I fly from the passenger seat and onto Sara's lap. I shift into first and take off.

The nightcaller that broke the window grips onto the car and pulls himself up towards the window. I reach down in front of the passenger seat and pull up my red shoulder bag.

In the side pouch, I grab a bottle. As the nightcaller pulls his head in the window, I press open the top with my thumb, and over my shoulder, I squeeze.

A stream of holy water sprays in the face of the nightcaller. It screeches as it jumps off the car, head engulfed in yellow and blue flames. Sara yells, "What's happening? And what are you doing?"

"Calm down. You passed out at the wheel and hit a street sign," I say.

After about three miles, I pull over and convince her to get into the passenger seat. She does and I drive her home. We tell her parents that she blacked out, hit a street sign, and that I jumped over her and took the wheel. They thank me about a dozen times and her mother tearfully drives me home. 
October 24, 2092

The next day Sara's parents kept her out of school, just to be safe. I touch text her after school:

"YOU FEEL IN B ETR?"

Hollywood and I decide to do a little cross-country running together after school. A three-mile path behind the school meanders into the forest.

Hollywood sits on a rock at the base of the path as I combine her pigtails into one long braid. I tie it off with a black and pink tie. "Thank you," she says as she stands up and feels the long braid.

"This is fine work for someone of your fashion ineptitude." She sticks her tongue out as she begins to jog.

We go from the back of the school and into a small opening in the forest. A brewing storm, waits motionless in the distance. We don't speak halfway through the schoolyard, and I am terrible with icebreakers. I ask, "I heard you have a job, where do you work?"

"I'm a barista at the coffee shop in the Westmoreland County Ration Station," she says.

"Do you like it?" We enter the wall of trees and make our way up a small hill, following a twisting path.

"It's a job I suppose, too many latte-drinking nightcaller wannabes trying to hit me up for my number. I should just have a recording that plays for them: "I'm Aquarius and no you can't have my number."

"Do you believe in nightcallers?"

"Nightcallers are members of some of the social circles I hang in. They are always trying to get us to come with them and live forever. It's only a matter of time before the mainstream recognizes them. Some of them are much bolder than the ancient ones." She turns to look at me. Her braid grazes my cheek. "Just need to watch out for the rogue ones and the newly-dead, they will make quick work of lost city girls wandering the forest."

"And you Lilly Rose, do you believe in the scary nightcallers." Hollywood slows her pace as we enter a denser part of the forest.

I pause for a moment, leaning against a small utility box. It seems very out of place here. I crouch to one knee and look at a panel on the utility box. "Don't touch that. It's out of your league," Hollywood says.

Directly in the center of the panel is an Ethernet plug with two green and yellow lights. "This is a powered network panel for a hardwire connection."

"How the hell did you know that?"

"I bring old broken computers back from the dead. Or actually, my stepfather does. I've helped him in his workshop since I was a little girl."

"Well I am glad the government isn't as sharp as you are in spotting such things."

"But, such things are in theory illegal. Meaning that I've never ran into a powered network connection that was not completely wireless. I wonder where it gets its power."

"Keep talking," she says. "That is how the state monitors the Interweb, through the wireless signal. But, if the network was hardwired and closed, could they still see it?"

"You have a dangerous mind, I like that very much." She smiles deviously.

Confused slightly by the whole thing, I change the subject back to the nightcallers. "Before I forget to answer your question, I do know a few nightcallers."

"So you have nightcaller acquaintances?" She asks as I stand up and begin to walk again.

"Well, let's just say that nightcallers hang around some of my social circles."

"Wow, I didn't know nightcallers were members of the chess club, or liked band camp," Hollywood says as she breaks into a full run to avoid me.

We run into a very dark, patch of forest. In combination with the overcast sky, the area is very night like.

In a blurred streak, a small figure appears in front of us. "You mentioned that little girls getting lost in the forest are easy kills, and you are right," says the petite weasel-voiced nightcaller as he rubs his blonde goatee.

I gasp and turn to run. The white streak of his formal top comes into focus as he appears in front of me. Turning, I begin to run the other way, and the nightcaller streaks in front of me in that direction.

I rub my temples and wash the area with my purple vision. Translucent green vines of the nightcallers control project from his body, and I jump back against Hollywood. The vines slither their way all around us, but stop short of the spear protecting us.

"How are you resisting my pull, you helpless little mice?" The nightcaller asks as he exposes his fangs.

"Back off chump!" Hollywood yells.

"Chump?"

"It's Drake Rutherford to you little girl, the name of your death!"

"I know the rules, you are not allowed to hunt in these forests." She reaches around her back, placing her hand inside a pouch on her belt.

Tendrils of vampire control search for a way around us, but find no opening. The nightcaller stands upright as he raises his arms in the air. "You are resisting me, girls. You both should be mine but it matters not. Who's gonna arrest me anyway once you're dead?"

My heart races as a crash of thunder shakes the forest. The wind speed increases.

The nightcaller streaks towards me. I raise my arms to block my face, and let out a scream as Hollywood unleashes a handful of brown dust right in Drake's face. The nightcaller's body flies past me. Blinded, he grazes my right arm on the way down. He falls to the ground, shrieking and wailing in agony.

Hollywood grabs my arm and pulls me in the direction of the school. "Run!" She yells as I snap out of the momentary shock.

I begin to run with her. The smell of rain is stronger as we fly out of the brush and find the main jogging path. "He's faster than us!" I yell as a flash of lightning briefly reveals the forest.

"Don't worry. He'll be down for a while."

We hit the forest edge, and arrive in the school parking lot.

Several students are filing into a shuttle. We jump in. At the back of it, we sit side by side. Both of us take a moment to catch some air. Two students sit in from of us, speaking a foreign language I don't recognize. "What did you do to Drake?" I ask Hollywood as I try to ease down my breathing rate.

"It's a little defensive tactic I was taught while I was staying with my uncle. So how much do you actually know about the anatural? Commoners don't generally know about them?"

"I know a thing or two. I take a silver bolt with me when I'm out hunting, and I have a small wooden stake on my hunting belt." I turn to look at her. Sweat drenches her black tank top.

She leans back against the cool plastic seats. "What kind of wood are your weapons made out of?" She pulls a small cloth from her belt and begins wiping her neck.

"I use pinewood, which is all over this place. Free is my favorite word." "Free? If you are backed in a desperate, dark alley corner with your stake, and a nightcaller is closing in, are you gonna wonder if your discount stake is gonna break on you? Or if the wood is potent enough to fully finish off the nightcaller? In times like that, you are gonna wish you had spent the extra 200 credits on the right wood. Try myrtle, ash, or hemlock. Those are the best."

"Oh, I have some ash bolts, but I use them for crafting."

Hollywood leans against me, trying to tighten the laces on one of her shoes. "Say what? You use your ash bolts for crafting? That's like saying you have a perfectly dangerous rocket launcher sitting on your desk that you've turned into a lamp, and you attack your enemy by throwing light bulbs."

We walk a red brick hallway as I read my father's tablet. I turn the page and see the full page headline "Is It Love?" The photo is Deala Rae and Wes kissing outside a theater in New York.

My teeth grit and I toss the tablet as hard as I can at the wall. "You witch!" I scream.

My stepfather's tablet collides with the wall and loses. It bursts into fragments of glass and silicon. Smoke and sparks are its last signs of life.

Hollywood grabs me by the shoulders and looks into my eyes. Her eyes blink with incredulity. "You psycho, is this some kind of post-traumatic stress thing from the woods? Who are you yelling at?"

"Oh it's just Deala Rae, such a witch." I stare catatonically.

Hollywood pauses and then bursts into laughter as she kneels and collects pieces of the tablet. "Are you referring to Deala Rae, the TV actress?"

I nod my head.

"Lilly Rose, you take that gossip stuff way too seriously."

I help her sweep the fragments of the tablet into one of Hollywood's bags, and continue in line. "The old man's gonna kill me, I'd better tell him I dropped it." I listen to the jingling of the shards in Hollywood's bag.

"Hope that teaches you a lesson about going psycho or whatever."

We stand, just waiting.

I feel a buzzing in my pocket and pull out the card see a message from Alan:

"THNK ING OF YOU"

I put the card back in my pocket. "Who's that?" Hollywood asks as my face twists in annoyance.

"My evil ex-boyfriend -- I stopped responding to his texts about a year ago. His messages went down to twice a month. I thought I was a good 1000 miles away from him. I just found out that he just moved up here."

"Is he a dog? What's wrong with him?"

"Actually, he's hot, and it was in a moment of weakness as I was feeling like a victim of my principles. Not five minutes after saying yes, his hands got out of control. The word no is not in his vocabulary."

"Guess I'm lucky, the boys are too scared to try that on me."

"Groups L and M," a deep voice says over the PA speaker.

We walk inside the main doors. I insert my ration card into a metal slot and place my right thumb in an opening below.

I shutter at the needle stick. All people entering the hall are randomly blood screened. This is how the government ensures we are eating exactly what it says on our ration cards. A person found to be eating a diet other than what is on their cards can lose part or all of their rations for the year.

The scanner releases my card and the main hall door opens. Hollywood follows behind me, and lucky for her, did not need a blood check. A sign above the food bar reads "a two oz meat limit per tray." Two ounces, wow, they must really be hurting on shipments from the distribution center. Good news for me though. My hunting should be in high demand this month.

The line finally reaches the main bar. I rest my tray on the sliding metal rails that lined the edge of the food bar. I grab the second-to-last salad box and a small cup of Italian dressing. I should have enough credits for a giant pretzel and some imitation cheese sauce. The clerk scans my card and a green approval light flashes over her register. She hands me back my card and tells me politely to have a nice day. That was a close call. I don't have much of a balance on my ration card.

I lift my tray, walk to a small table for two, and set it down. I check my blood sugar with my meter. It reads "100". I usually like my sugar to be between 90 and 130.

Felix, one of my supervisors, approaches my table. "Hey, Felix," I say, waving.

His eyes narrow. "Lilly Rose, 'aven't 'ad your meal yet?"

"I'm pacing myself, as to not eat all two ounces of meat at once. So by the looks of things, you have some shifts available for me, huh?"

"You have no idea. The situation to the west is getting bad. We are supporting their centers with half our stores of meat. I don't know what's happening, and I shouldn't be telling you actually," he says, matching my smile nervously. "I'll put you on the list for next week on your regular parcel. Don't know why we don't give that baron patch to you. You seem to be the only one catching bloody anything there." He turns and walks away.

"What's happening to the west?" Hollywood asks as her eyes dance around an imitation cube of sushi suspended between two chopsticks.

I say nothing.
October 25, 2092

Across a familiar brown path of running track, Hollywood and I run again. My cardio is really coming into form. I'm getting more familiar pacing myself for cross-country running.

Entering the denser part of the woods, I make my way to the utility box I saw on our previous run. I crouch down in front of the box and unzip my red shoulder bag.

"What are you doing?" Hollywood asks, arms folded.

"Watch and see, discus girl," I say as I pull out a dusty red box I found in the drainpipe during the tornado I survived. I remove the circuit board inside the box. A plastic shell covers the Ethernet connector on its topside.

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"This utility box sure gets you excited." I insert the Ethernet adapter into the panel on the utility box.

The slow green and yellow lights begin blinking at three times their normal speed. The front of the clear shell lights up. The front of the card is a touch screen.

The words "Log In or Create an Account" appear. I pause. Then, I touch the "create an account" icon and type in:

\---------

Username: Tracker2080

Password: Leatherbook

Re-Type Password: Leatherbook

\---------

A page opens.

\---------

Welcome Tracker2080

Friends Online (0/0)

Messages (0)

Events (0)

Search

Send Message

\---------

"This is a social network! But, for who?" I ask.

I look up as Hollywood pulls something from her bag. I look in astonishment as she has the same card. "I can say nothing to you about this other than my username. Add me. My name is "SilkLeggings5." She places it back in her back.

"Silkleggings5, what kind of a site is this?" I laugh as she pumps a fist at me. "Ok, just a second." I touch the screen.

\--------

>>Search<<

Send Message

\--------

\--------

Search for: SilkLeggings5

\-----------

SilkLeggings5

>>Add as Friend<<

Send Message

\-----------

Your request has been sent.

I remove the card and we continue our run. "You better accept me," I say, smiling.

"I don't know if I should. Your nickname, Tracker2080, is the lamest nick ever," Hollywood laughs as we shove each other playfully, running through the dense foliage. 
February 17, 2093

\--------

You have been pre-selected to honor your state with a once in a lifetime employment selection.

\--------

I rub my eyes and stare at the words on my tablet. My bedroom door opens. Hollywood walks into the room, as silent and dark as the shadow of a cat.

She nods at me and sits at the edge of the bed. Her orange tablet appears before me, and I begin reading the same message on her screen that I received.

"They have some really incriminating video of me," she says.

I reach up and examine the strings of silver beads intertwined into her bright red braids. The beads glisten in the light, and her icy silver contacts reflect the morning sun.

I reach for my tablet and, show her the same message for the state employment site. "Me too, they must have had surveillance at the markets for months."

"Well!" She scoffs. "Such a bummer. If you are invited too, how exclusive can this club be?"

I hit her in the arm. "Ouch!" She laughs.

"Are you going to accept?"

"In all seriousness, this is not the type of job one chooses to accept. If the state says we are selected, we have no choice in the matter."

"Well, I suppose because the NO button is only for decoration, let us do this together." My heart flutters.

"At the same time?"

"Of course, on three"

"One."

We position both of our fingers over our tablets.

"Two."

We glance at each other and back at our tablets.

"Three."

We both press our screens.

>>Click Here<<

The screens flash.

>>Thank You<<

"That's it?" I say, puzzled, "What about name, address..."

"They already know everything about you. More than you know about yourself in fact." She stretches her arms.
February 18, 2092

Hollywood was right. After reporting to the recruitment center, they waste no time informing us of two possible destinations. I can choose the reconditioning camps of Florida or become a state agent for F.O.R.A.

Samuel is pleased with my experience and knowledge of anaturals. Obviously, I choose F.O.R.A., as they have evidence to use against me if I choose not to participate. They know a remarkable deal of my travels to the black markets. They have some great spies.

I will be working as a direct field agent.

F.O.R.A. tracks the movements of the nightcallers, and negotiates rules of conduct with their leadership. We have treaties with the nightcallers to both protect the rights of the citizens and allow the nightcallers to hunt.

I have no idea how that works, as allowing a nightcaller to hunt a person would seem to be a violation of that person's rights. 
March 18, 2093

At Hollywood's suggestion, we make plans to attend costume night at an exclusive club.

Hollywood adjusts her waist-length white wig. It flows to her waist. She slips on a shiny silver dress with a diving neckline and pleated hem. She covers it with a cape and a short striped necktie.

She grabs a plastic wand and waves it in my face. "Poof!" She spins in a circle.

I'm not sure how I would categorize her, maybe as an underdressed girl attending a school for wizards.

I raid her closet next, and end up dressing as an evil secretary -- I think. It is sometimes hard to figure out Hollywood's closet. The outfit consists of a furry tube top, velvet pants, furry bell-bottoms, and a velvet coat with fur accents. Gracing my feet is a pair of red-topped cork heels.

I walk into her mirror room with its mirrors on four sides and the ceiling, to get a better look at myself. "Where's the rest of this outfit?"

"That's all there is."

"Wait, what about the parts where the designer forgot to put material? It's just my skin."

"That's the point. You are one of a hand full of girls, including myself, who has the physique to pull off your outfit. We are not going to an interview with the principal. We are going to the hottest club in the county and you need to dress the part." She gives me a wicked grin.

"I look nine feet tall with these heels. But, they are pretty easy to walk in." I walk in small circles in the room.

We slide our pay cards at the door. Cover is expensive, so I don't see us making a habit of this. The oversized bouncer checks our class bracelets and we walk though the golden-edged double doors of Club Zeo.

Hollywood grabs my hand and we run past the sapphire blue walls of the entrance hall, passing though clouds of fog and lasers. We pass two girls. The fox haired girl is dressed like Yuna from Final Fantasy and the lighter brown haired girl with the long-braided ponytail is dressed like Saki Hanajima from Fruits Basket. I smile at them as I recognize their outfits. Hollywood pulls me ahead.

"Keep moving. We didn't come here for the manga convention." She shoots a flirting glance at a surfer and his board. The pulsing music is getting louder.

The crowded spear-shaped dance hall is a moving work of art. A holographic ceiling projects the illusion of the club being twenty stories tall. Moving laser images of pop stars animate from the ceiling. Their outlines dance a coordinated routine.

Vibrant light washes over my costume. A cobalt shade of blue covers the violet spotlights, cooling the mixture, and making my outfit glow. Hungry eyes are everywhere as I hit the dance floor with Hollywood. We dance to the left side of the crystal center. DJ Night Night Alright slowly drops down in his floating control center.

Three guys in matching suits move in front of us. They can really dance. I move back to back with the blonde-haired one as blue fog and lasers fill the sky during the fastest part of the song. He spins me and pulls me back into his chest, where my head comes to a rest. His heart is racing as I place my ear is to his chest. Hollywood spins with the muscular guy with the neck tattoo.

During a sweet trance song, two sensories pull us from the dance floor and walk us to a side door. "You better leave now," one says to us.

"What, why? " I ask.

He looks me in the eye. His jet black eyes pierce my soul. "You know what I am, and I am telling you to leave now, when you get outside run as fast as you can!"

I grab Hollywood's hand and pull her out the door. Hollywood asks, "Why are you listening to him? Let's just talk to the manager."

"Hollywood, he's a sensory, and I've never seen a sensory worried before."

We run to the car. Bright streaks, three of them, come upon us quickly as we shut the doors of the car. Hollywood floors it. They grab the car. I scream and point.

Many hands grip the sides of the car, one on the passenger side, one on the driver's side, and one on the tailgate. The car speeds down the road.

The streetlights are out, so Hollywood clicks on the high beams.

The face on Hollywood's side is the face of the guy I was dancing with. Strange, I was looking into his eyes on the dance floor, and he didn't entrance me. Maybe the flashing lights and strobes interfered.

The men each grab glowing items from their belts. "Weapons!" I yell, looking all around the car.

My seatbelt locks. The tires make a horrible screeching noise. My body lunges forward. The heavy pressure of the belt is the only thing keeping me from flying through the windshield. Three bodies fly over the top of the car and tumble on the street ahead of us. As they kept reaching for their weapons, Hollywood slammed on the brakes. The men hit the street and Hollywood floors the accelerator.

We fly past their rolling bodies. In the rearview mirror, all of them stand. One slams his weapon onto the street in disgust. "Now that's what I call a nightclub!" Hollywood says, smiling as she flashes her headlights at a passing truck. "Good thing I parked close or those nightcallers would have caught us."

"I don't think they were nightcallers."

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course they were, you saw them streak."

"Yes, but the one I was dancing with, as I leaned my head onto his chest, I listened to his heartbeat." She turns to me with a look of puzzlement. 
March 19, 2093

6:00 A.M. We arrive in downtown Philadelphia, riding in Hollywood's uncle's silver Ford Explorer. Hollywood, Jenny, Prudence, and I walk the morning streets. Jenny's copper bat earrings reflect the sunlight into my eyes. Thick boards enclose the entrances to the old subway system, signs posted with trespass warnings. I'm shivering in my black tank top and dark camouflage pants.

"This could be a problem, too many people walking around and cameras everywhere. The state police don't always know what mission F.O.R.A. is conducting. We don't need them to slow us down. Someone will notice us prying loose the boards," Jenny says, standing a few steps down at one of the entrances.

Hollywood pulls out her orange tablet and scrolls over street maps of the city. "Lilly Rose, on the 1600th block of John F. Kennedy Blvd., is a subway entrance, and according to the city guide, that whole block is closed for the two-o'clock parade."

"Let's do it." Jenny walks back to the Explorer.

Jenny's lacy gloves grip the steering wheel, and we speed down. Unfortunately, road closures stop us several blocks early.

We pull inside a parking garage. Jenny rolls down the window and scans a yellow card in a rusted machine. A striped metal pole ascends and we enter the garage. We hurry down a stone stairway and out to the sidewalk of the main street.

We walk the sidewalk past orange barricades. A scrolling marquee advertises an appearance from the stars from Talent Hunt. Johnny Patten and Geoffery Q. Galligar will be on the feature float. At least that horrible woman won't be here. I wish she would leave Wes alone.

A G officer patrols in the distance. I get everyone into an alley. "Oh snap, two-o'clock outside the alley -- a G. Its' back was to us, don't think he saw us." "Can we get over there from this alley?" I ask.

Hollywood slides her finger across her tablet. "It dead ends right on the other side of the subway entrance. Maybe it's a wall or a door. I'm not sure."

Jenny starts jogging down the alley and we follow. At the end of the alley, is a twenty-foot wall. "Great, I knew I should have gone for pole vaulting instead of discus," Hollywood grumbles, staring at the wall.

"Hey look!" Jenny yells.

We approach and look up at where Jenny is pointing. A retractable service ladder mounted to the alley wall hovers thirty-feet in the air. "I suppose none of you are gonna to volunteer to jump up and pull it down?" Prudence says, staring upward.

"There aren't any panels or switches down here that I can see." Hollywood inspects the brick surface of the walls.

"Blast, we'll just have to risk walking past the patrol," Jenny starts walking back down the alley.

"Wait Jenny!" I say.

She turns. I open my red shoulder bag and remove my crossbow. I load a bolt with a broad head, attach the forty-foot nylon cable, and mount the scope on the crossbow.

I bend on one knee, aim the crossbow upwards, and fire. The bolt soars upward, and pierces the first wooden rung of the ladder.

I pull out a fingerless glove and slip it over my hand. I then double wrap the cable around my hand and begin to pull. The ladder doesn't budge. "A little help!"

Hollywood and Jenny grab me and begin pulling. I feel the burn of muscle as they pull my body. Just as it feels like they are about to rip me apart, a sound and falling debris falls from the ladder's direction. The ladder plunges downwards. We all jump back and the ladder stops about seven feet from the ground. It worked.

"Give me a boost." I rub my shoulder.

Hollywood interlocks her fingers and I step from her hands to her shoulders. I grab the first rung of the ladder and pull out my extraction tool. I remove the head and pull out the bolt. The steel head appears undamaged. I lower myself down, and while on the ground, put the gear back in my bag.

We all make our way to the top of the wall and find an identical service ladder on the other side of the wall. However, this time, we have access to the mechanism that lowers. I remove a pin and turn the crank handle, smoothly lowering the ladder.

We quickly descend the ladder and arrive at the entrance of the subway. The area is vacant, free of camera pods. "Quickly!" I say leading the way down the stone staircase to the boarded entrance.

An identical red and white sign is displayed. Hollywood removes a crowbar from her bag and walks to the entrance.

She walks past us and jams the bar between the wood and frame.

The nails shriek, as inch by inch, they release their grip on the frame of the entrance. She inserts her fingers and begins pulling. "Forget that. Help!"

"Help? You sure? I chuckle.

"Lilly Rose Aura!" She yells. "Alright." I grab an exposed edge and pull. Jenny jumps in and the nails no longer hold. The right side edge of the board pries open. I jump to ground, scraping my elbow.

Four bats fly out of the entrance. All of us hit the ground, except for Jenny.

"Between me and the moonlight flitted a great bat, coming and going in great, whirling circles," Jenny says in a creepy accent.

That girl has lost it.

"I think we can get in now," Jenny says removing the brass flashlight from her bag.

We slide through the entrance. Jenny twists a clockwork cog at the bottom of her light, and dual white beams shine forth. "I won't even ask where you found bulb lights." I grin admiringly at her bizarre creativity, as we began following her into the tunnel entrance.

I pull out my crossbow, turn on the light scope, and load a bolt.

"In the marketplace I overheard a rumor that one in five N.O.R.A. assignments is a suicide mission. That is how they keep the missions secret. No witnesses," Jenny says, leading the way.

"You and your friends at the market have wild imaginations, sis," Hollywood replies.

Hollywood slides a studded headband above her pigtails. She twists something and two of the studs begin projecting light.

With her left hand, Jenny pulls out the stainless-steel spray nozzle from the side of her bag and points it ahead. The serpentine hands of the copper gages read maximum pressure.

Hollywood extracts a simple stake.

"Ok, now what? Jenny asks, picking up her pace.

"Well, where do you store a bus full of kids in a subway? I would guess probably on subway cars. Yes, and check this out." Hollywood looks at her tablet.

"The SEPTA computer systems are still online, but they shouldn't. The systems have been inactive since the epidemic. I should be able to hack into this ancient system."

There, I'm in. This doesn't make sense. The subway cars are still broadcasting GPS signals and some of them are moving. "How is that possible?" Hollywood asks in deep concentration on the screen.

"Most of the activity is around the 69th Street terminal. Oh, and even better, I have readings on one of the cars. Twelve passengers aboard." Hollywood checks her tablet.

"How exactly do you think we are gonna get there?" Jenny asks.

"Subway cars, of course. I've already hacked into a working car about a mile down this line. Follow me." Hollywood takes the lead from Jenny, nudging her out of the way as she passes.

Jenny usually prefers the lead. She gives Hollywood a look. We follow the rail down a tunnel branching to the left. Our beams of light mix in an unusual swirling of blues, whites, and pinks as we advance. "Look out!" Prudence yells.

I turn. "Hollywood, six-o'clock!"

A streak of grey comes upon Hollywood as she drops and flips the person in the air with its own momentum, an impressive leg lift.

As the figure goes airborne, Jenny unleashes a stream of liquid blasting dead center into its torso. The body bursts into flames and drops to the walkway. Steam hisses from outlet valves at the top of Jenny's pack.

"A glad strange light broke over his face and dispelled altogether the gloom of horror that lay upon it." Jenny begins her Dracula prose but is suddenly interrupted by Hollywood.

"Shut up Jenny. We need to hurry," Hollywood says getting to her feet, picking up her pad.

We run past the burning nightcaller and follow Hollywood, lights pointing all around into the shadows. We run up to a subway car with a red stripe running across the top. The number 9012 appears in white letters above the front of the car. The door to the car is sealed. Jenny grabs a crowbar from her pack and begins prying it open. I jump next to her help. It moves an inch.

"Move aside weaklings, check out some real muscle!" Hollywood walks next to us as the lights in the subway car illuminate. The front and middle doors slide open.

"Lilly Rose, behind you!" Prudence yells.

I turn and impale a nightcaller through the chest. Seven nightcallers streak in and surround us from the distance. My throat tightens up and a chill runs the length of my back. We stand, surrounded. Hollywood jabs her stake around, trying to ward off the circle of female nightcallers.

"It looks like lunch has come to us, Amelia. I didn't know we could get delivery down here!" a nightcaller says.

Jenny twists the nozzle on her soaker and points it straight into the air. It mists down around us. An approaching nightcaller with short blonde hair extends her arm into the mist. Her hand erupts in flames and she emits a hideous shriek.

Other nightcallers, unaware of the last one, enter the circle of falling mist also begin shrieking as they burst into fireballs and run away, leaving brilliant trails behind.

They scatter. The subway door pops open. "Get in!" I yell.

I jump in the subway car. It smells terrible - a mix of stagnant air and rotting trash. Hollywood shuts the doors with the press of her tablet. The scratching and banging outside the car quicken my pulse. "I don't think all of them left..." Prudence says, sitting in a seat by a window.

"I don't suppose anyone knows how to drive a subway car?" I ask.

Jenny runs to the front and jumps in the driver's booth. "I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and could feel the hot breath on my neck." Jenny she pushes the silver lever forward.

The subway car begins to accelerate and the front lights turn on.

"It seems to be fairly limited, the routes we can take, but I can get us to the other subway car." Hollywood slides her finger over her tablet.

"I'm using what looks like some type of emergency autopilot, but it only has three routes."

"How did you gain control of the car?" I ask Hollywood.

"I have an app called 'PhillyHack'. I usually just watch traffic cameras with it, but last week I found a backdoor used by Crisis Management Services designed for catastrophic emergencies. Stoplights, light rail, and subways can be set into emergency modes. The subway's emergency mode was designed to return on autopilot to its home station."

"Sis, that sounds very boring!" Jenny says, rolling her eyes.

"Jenny, that sprinkler system thing you used back there is amazing! How long can that mist run for?" I ask.

"About seven or eight minutes," Jenny says as she sits restlessly on a blue plastic seat adjusting the nozzle on her sprayer. "But that's a defensive tactic. I'd much rather run in, blazing on heavy stream."

"So what is our plan? A group of students that large will be guarded heavily." I hold onto a silver metal pole next to a broken seat.

"When our car stops, we will need to run to the other car before out scent gets around. I'll open the other cars doors, and we run, and grab the students," Hollywood says. "And we wing it. There are too many variables, but if we break out the students and run back to our car, I could get us back to JFK Blvd. We should be arriving in about two minutes. Be ready to go the moment the doors open. It will be straight sprint for the other car."

The lights outside the car's front window become brighter as our destination comes into focus. Prudence stands up next to me. "Lilly Rose, there are so many of them. Be ready."

The car begins to slow as Hollywood taps buttons on her reflective screen. "Ten seconds and I'm blowin' the doors."

The doors fly open in time. We fly out, sprinting to the subway car ahead. A slender female nightcaller streaks in our path. Hollywood throws a fistful of ash dust in her red eyes, and stakes her through the heart.

We arrive at the other subway car.

"That was way too easy," Jenny says quietly.

"Well I don't think they were expecting a full out assault inside their underground lair," I reply.

In front of the car, the doors are open. We storm the subway car. Two nightcallers barely have time to stand when Jenny soaks them in blue flames. I jump back. The smell is awful. "They know we are here!" Prudence looks me in the eye.

Hollywood taps furiously on her pad. "The doors are not closing! They are set to manual release. We need to close them from here. Hold them off!"

Hollywood grabs her knife, jumps over a seat, and smashes open a locked panel next to one of the air conditioner vents. She then cuts the exposed wires. I run to the back of the subway car to guard the rear. Nine humans circle a console. They are bound and gagged, and are not moving.

"No way we are getting back out with them comatose! There are too many of them!" Jenny yells as the subway car violently shakes from the nightcallers.

A nightcaller rams the side of the car and then streaks right into the bolt I fire into him. I start the reload. It takes forty seconds to reload, at my fastest.

Nightcallers streak from the darkness, luckily most head toward the front where Jenny is. Bright blue flashes of burning run from Jenny's nozzle. Three streak off on fire, while six more run past them, towards our subway car.

Three appear outside in front of me. One slaps away my crossbow. I grab for my stake just as my door closes. "Thank you! Can we use this car to make our escape?" I yell to Hollywood.

She looks at her pad, trying to keep her balance from all the shaking.

"There is only one route this car can take, but we shouldn't."

"Do it, any place better than here!"

In a tear of metal and crash of glass, the emergency door rips off the back, and nightcallers flood in. Prudence jumps under a row of seats.

"Jenny hold them off!" I yell.

"Hollywood, do it!" Jenny yells. She unleashes a powerful stream of liquid that engulfs five nightcallers in fire. Steam plumes hiss from the top of her pack.

Two nightcallers streak past her. I dive for my crossbow and in one rolling motion, I drop one with a shot to the torso. The other flies at Hollywood. She bicycle-flips the nightcaller and drops her tablet. She then pulls out a stake as I reload my crossbow with a broad-head bolt. Jenny flames several more nightcallers.

Hollywood lunges at the nightcaller she flipped. The nightcaller slashes her arm. Blood splatters against the window next to her. Hollywood goes down to one knee. She suddenly lunges forward with a fist full of ash sawdust to nightcaller's face. The nightcaller grabs its smoking eyes. Hollywood strikes with a stake through its heart.

"Hurry up! I'm almost out of steam." Jenny yells.

"Lilly Rose, press the green icon." Hollywood holds her slashed arm.

Three nightcallers get by the weak stream Jenny is firing. I slip on my protective sunglasses and dive for the tablet, firing a flash bolt at the roof.

The room goes white, every one and thing on the subway has their hands covering their eyes.

I land by the tablet and press the icon. The subway car hisses, lunging forward. I jump towards Jenny and grab the nozzle. I spray the remaining nightcallers. They streak out of the back of the subway car, leaving light-blue trails in their wake.

I run to Hollywood. "Are you alright?" I ask softly

"You slime lurcher -- freaking warn us next time!"

"Jenny, come over here."

"If I can find you," she replies, stumbling towards us.

I grab the nozzle and spray Hollywood's arm. The liquid soaks her arm and she screams in pain. White smoke rises from the wound, Hollywood drops to the ground, her eyes tearing in pain.

"You know the drill: the poison was infecting the cut and I sprayed it with Holy Water. You knew it was coming." I bend closer to look at the cut.

"Yeah just like you saw this coming." She reaches around her belt and throws a handful of sawdust in my eyes.

Everything goes black. A burning black. I lose my balance and fall over backwards, tripping over Jenny. I hear Jenny laughing hysterically. I cough as the sawdust stings my eyes.

"My eyes recovered just in time to see that," Jenny was barely getting the words out between laughs.

The blinding sting doesn't last long. I wash my eyes out with my canteen and walk toward Hollywood. She is resting on her back. She's gonna pay for that someday.

I pull a first aid kit off the wall and grab a few things from out of it. My left hand presses Hollywood's shoulders to the ground. I straddle Hollywood's stomach and hold her arm down. I rip the top of the antibiotic package off with my teeth and look at the packet. Best if used by August 2007. Hmm -- close enough.

I squeeze the packet over the length of the wound. She squirms under my body. I hold her in place the way she did at the cabin when the nightcaller was trying to hypnotize me. I smooth the antibiotic in circles. I then wrap the arm in a stretchy bandage, fastening it with a metal clip. She lays silent. I roll off Hollywood and Jenny hands her the tablet.

Hollywood raises an eyebrow, completely ignoring me, and presses a few icons. She slides her finger around the screen.

Strobe-like contrasts of bright and dark flash through the windows from the outside as we pass through the surrounding tunnel. Jenny and Prudence walk to the students, bound in a circle. They are breathing, but not conscious.

Jenny ducks down and rubs the peaceful face of Sara Parks with her pink lacy-gloved index finger. "There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul thing that we has so dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction is yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we has seen her in life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity." Jenny gently slides her finger down Sara's forehead.

"Would you stop it with the freakin' Dracula!" Hollywood says, facing the students.

She pulls out an ammonia capsule and breaks it open. Slowly one by one, she places it under the noses of the students. Each student coughs and begins to move back to consciousness. She talks to each of them. Memory loss is one thing each student has in common. Not one has a clue what happened.

"Twenty minutes," Hollywood says stoically.

"Twenty minutes 'til what?" I ask.

"Until all molten epic death breaks loose."

"Where exactly are you taking us?"

"You said any place would be better that back there. Any place is actually District 45, a.k.a. Nightcaller HQ." Hollywood studies her screen.

"Where in district 45?"

"Right in the freakin center of it..."

"Can we stop this ride then, before we get close?"

"Great idea, wish I had thought of it first. If we stop five miles ahead, we can take a service ladder to the street. We would need to travel ten blocks above ground to get out of the quarantine zone. However, it will be near nightfall when we get up there," Jenny says.

"Where would we come up?"

"2nd street station," Hollywood says.

"Dist 45 2 NDST UBUS"

I text. I don't have a signal, but it will be sent once one we get out of the subway.

I walk to the back. Sara is sitting up. She recognizes me. "Lilly Rose!" She jumps up to hug me.

"Shhh..." I whisper, holding her.

"We need to have the students ready to run for it in five minutes," Jenny says to me as she pulls a small water pistol from her bag.

"Back up."

I walk by Hollywood, and though infection was avoided, her shirt is soaking with blood. "You've lost some blood. Are you up to the sprint?"

"Yes sweet cakes, I can hack it, just be ready yourself." She holds her shoulder.

Jenny gives the students instructions. Many are shaken and panicking, but she lines them up in a row, and we look ready to go.

The train slowing and the feeling in my stomach means it's go time. The subway car stops and the doors hiss open. Hollywood yells and Jenny guides the students in a line, running. We make a break for a metal ladder leading up to light. One by one, the students climb the ladder into a access tunnel. As I follow Hollywood, trailing the group, her tablet slips from her bag. I catch it barely between two fingers and slip it in my bag. She pulls the last of the students up the ladder as a buzz goes off in my pocket.

"Message sent" whispers into my ear. We must be close enough to the surface.

I scream as my eyes water. Sharp pain digs into my ankle and pulls me back down the ladder. I turn to see something pulling me down. My head hits the iron ladder and everything goes into a stinging blackness.

A photographic tablet highlights his sunlit hair, glowing eyes, and flawless complexion. I pick up the tablet, staring into his eyes. They begin to glow red as fear embraces my body. The tablet drops to the floor. There rests Wes, lifeless on the dark wooden floor. A bloody finger from the smoke points to his body.

"You don't have much time left," Eponya shrieks.

My eyes open to silence. I'm in a moving subway car.

"I still don't see why we can't just kill her now." A voice mumbles from the seat in front of me.

"She's with N.O.R.A. The Mistress would like to address her privately," says a deep Romanian voice.

My hands are bound behind my back with a fibrous rope. I know I can reach my hunting blade and slice the ropes, but I will wait. Sweat runs down my neck.

The subway car hisses to a stop. The rusty doors slide open. In near darkness, and bumping a few corners on the way, I'm shoved past a rusted door and down a stone hallway.

My arms are shaking. I keep forgetting to breathe. A shove forces me to the floor of a room. "The Mistress will see you shortly," The Romanian voice says as the door slams.

I reach with my fingers and unzip a small pocket with my fingers. I slide out the blade, and inch by inch, saw off the rough ropes from my wrists.

My hands are free. I bring my thumbs to my temples and rub circles on them. The room's details wash into view in purple. A green canvas cot rests in the corner. I walk across the stone floor and sit on top of it.

The door begins to click, and I hide my wrists behind my back, pretending they are tied. My knife is inside my fist and ready to strike. Fear runs through my body as the metal door opens with a rusty creak.

A slender woman, face covered in a hood and dressed in form-fitting pearl silk, enters the room. Her figure is lovely, pop-star like. She pulls up a wooden chair in front of me.

"Are you the Mistress?" I ask.

She is speechless for a moment. She then removes her hood. With cold and smooth fingers, she grabs my chin and looks deep into my eyes. The nightcaller influence shines from her eyes, but has no effect on me. When I recognize her, it takes every single ounce of self-control I have to hold back my knife.

It is none other than the Wes-stealing diva Deala Rae. Green vines of nightcaller influence pour from her body. Dozens of them flow at me, circling my shield of purple. The vines cannot make it through. It seems as though nightcallers can't tell when I'm blocking their influence. I don't think she realizes it either. I need to act entranced or I'm dead. I refocus and hide my fury.

"You will tell me the nature of your mission, agent, the mission in direct violation of the treaty." She is stone faced.

"Yes, mistress." I say calmly. "We were removing the students from your possession and returning them to N.O.R.A. The students were taken from restricted hunting areas. This was a violation of the treaty."

"No. The glowing humans, your new weapon against us, were the violation. They killed five of my children last month in the middle of district 45. The students were simply retribution. They were gifts to the London Order, who will be visiting shortly."

"I know nothing of this," I reply in an even tone, though scared.

"Last month, after midnight, the glowing humans dressed as my children and attacked. They had the strength of our kind, but they smelled of human flesh. Some used light weapons, projecting from their bodies. We were defenseless against them. We did kill one as the group fled. The body was that of a human. The source of the light weapon is a mystery to us."

"I don't know of the things in which you speak, Mistress. Those glowing humans, and weapons of light."

"That, agent, is not what I was expecting to hear." She runs her cold icy finger, dragging it across my lips. "You look tired child. Rest, my new child. Tonight, you will be my guest."

She stands in a graceful manner. She glides out the door. The metal door closes as the eerie sound of its rusty hinges raises the gooseflesh in my arms. Does Wes know she is a nightcaller? Does he know what a nightcaller is?

I slide my bag under the bed, and lean back just at the breaking point of fear mixed heavily with exhaustion. My body falls to the side, the feel of the canvas rough against my face. I take a deep breath of stale air and close my eyes, surrendering to exhaustion.

I awake upright in a chair. I'm wearing a skimpy dress with lace. The neckline plunges beyond anything I would ever wear in public. The raised textures of the gown sparkle in the spotlights of the stage. I quickly rub my temples with my thumbs and wash the scenery in purple.

A symphony, its members dressed in black tuxedos and silk dresses, begins to play. The stage has several recessing levels and raised platforms for the conductor and the vocal soloist, Deala Rae. She stands in her high-collared silk dress and points to the sky with her eyes closed. How am I going to compete with a nightcaller?

The arena containing the audience and stage is immaculate. Gothic stone carved ornately about the walls. The mythological beasts and grand scale architecture support a holographic roof of scrolling clouds and stars. The illusion looks just like the real night sky.

Soft gentle strings began playing as the Mistress ironically adds warm angelic notes. Players hold instruments I had never before seen. The strange instruments add deep layers of complex textures, transporting me sonically to places my musical palette has yet to discover.

She sings in a foreign language as she looks into my eyes. Her lyrics then transition into English as her nightcaller influence envelop the room, encircling all but my shield and me.

The slow movement of the concerto brings a sense of romance into my heart. If only Wes were sitting at my side. Opening drumbeats in the timpani begin a subtle rhythm, and Deala Rae, blonde hair blowing in the artificial winds, sings.

The virtuosity of the players and the power in the Mistress's voice brings the tension and build to an electric peak, and holds the audience and myself breathless. And, the final verse...

An explosive relief to the tension sends everyone in the audience to their feet. The build and intensity have my heart racing as I clap furiously with the audience, despite my disdain for the Mistress.

After the show, Deala Rae's private guards escort me back to my damp cell.

The metal door shuts. The guards walk down the hall, and silence. A detail catches my attention.

My red shoulder bag. It's still under the bed. They didn't bother to confiscate it.

I have my crossbow. However, the chances of shooting my way out of here are slim. I'll just keep pretending.

To relieve the fear and nervousness, I pull out the old worn leather journal and continue my story.

An interesting remembrance enters my mind -- a memory. I have Hollywood's tablet. Grabbing the bag from under the cell's bed, I unzip it in one motion and pull out her tablet. I push the power button and a glowing pink skull appears with the words:

"Please wait, now loading"

I know I can't connect to the Interweb down here, but I should be able to connect to the subway's computer network as Hollywood did earlier. I click on the "Philly Hack" app and several options appear. I click a promising folder labeled "communications."

Only one app is in that folder: "Random Chat."

Hollywood, why? Random chat is lame! Well, it's this or nothing I suppose. I run the app.

\--------

Welcome to Random Chat (say hello)

Me: Help call the police. I'm trapped in the subway, district 45

You: Male or Female

Me: What???? Call the police

You: Male or Female

\--------

\--------

Me: Female! Now call the police!

You: What are you wearing?

Me: Are you serious, I'm hanging up!

You: Chill... Tell me what you are wearing and I'll do that favor for you.

Me: Fine, black tank top and camo pants...

\--------

­

\--------

You: mmm

­\--------

This perv is really beginning to ignite my rage.

\--------

Me: Hey call the police idiot, it's important.

\--------

I type in the GPS location of the street above.

\--------

You: Are you hot?

\--------

Stupid creeper.

I hear the sound of footsteps approaching. I shut off the tablet and throw everything under the bed. Footsteps slowly get louder in approach of the door. My heart races. The footsteps stop. A sound of sliding metal resonates about as a slot at the bottom of the door opens and a tray slides into the cell. The slot slams shut and the footsteps walk away.

I slowly make my way to the tray, which smells aromatically of food. This is probably not on my ration card, though it smells amazing, I know better than to eat it.

No sounds come from the hallway, so I pull out the tablet again. I open a folder labeled "3D GPS" and click on the app of the same name.

Yes! A 3D map of here . The flashing dot is me and it shows two exits from my room. Two?

I follow the map. It shows the bed is the second exit. I slide the heavy bed slowly out of the way. The floor underneath is covered with layers of dust.

Dropping to my hands and knees, I sweep the dust away. The outline of a hatch with a pull handle appears from under the layers. I lift the handle. Lights flash along the outline of the hatch. It rises slightly and slides open to the left. Glad the thing is automatic. It looks like heavy metal.

I rub my temples with my thumbs and concentrate as purple waves flow into the opening, illuminating a rusty metal ladder. Knowing that time is not on my side, I grab my bag and make my descent down the cramped passage. I climb down several hundred feet before I find the bottom. A tunnel goes only in one direction. The musty tunnel has a very low ceiling. I crouch my way quickly through the tunnel. I grab the tablet and check the "3D GPS." A mile to go and before some type of tunnel that goes directly to the surface.

I look up and continue jogging. A transparent boy jumps in front of me. I scream jumping to the side. The ghostly boy walks to a wall of the tunnel. "The book..." he whispers and fades into smoke.

I stop and look at the tablet. It looks like a door should be here. I step toward the damp wall. I examine the wall and come to a small circular star shaped indentation in the wall. The pattern looks just like...

I pull out Alex's gold star charm and insert it into the groove in the wall. Red lights surround the charm and a small door opens. "Thank you, Alex," I whisper.

I step into a room, housing rows of old leather-bound books. It looks like a chapel. A layer of dust covers almost everything in the room. I wonder when someone last entered this chamber. I walk quickly to the front altar. A metal flask with a cross, usually holy water, sits next to a book with an illustration of a rose and a lily branded into the leather. A creepy coincidence, I hope.

"Take the book and run," the voice whispers in my ear.

A small chill runs down my back. I take the book and flask, run out the door, and continue down the tunnel. Rats scurry about my feet as I advance.

A noise from behind me shakes the ground. I'm sure my absence has been discovered.

I run as fast as I can in a crouch and finally enter a large hall. I sweep the room with my crossbow while I follow the flashing dot on the tablet to the part of the map that goes to the surface. I see a ladder leading hundreds of feet up the wall to the ceiling.

Screams from behind me cause my breathing to quicken. I turn and see streaks in the distance approaching my direction. I turn to the ladder, which seems like a bad idea, trying to out-climb nightcallers. Just as I am about to climb, the words "service elevator" over a button catch my eye.

I press the button. A hatch opens and I jump in. I press the up arrow, and the door closes just a banging sound hits the door. The small service elevator rapidly ascends. I check the tablet. I'm heading to the surface.

The door opens and I jump out. I run down the dark street, heading uptown according to the GPS. I pass some buildings, burning orange barrels lining the streets.

I'm grabbed. A man in a black trench coat is lifting me by the collar. "Bad part of town to be lost in, little girl," he says.

"I work for N.O.R.A.," I yell.

"N.O.R.A.," he laughs. "Then, I should torture you first and then drain you."

Red, blue, and white flash off the walls, accompanied by the sound of a police siren. "Is there a problem?" asks a voice from a megaphone.

The nightcaller drops me and I run to the police car. I open the passenger side and jump it. "I thought I was dead, I must be the luckiest girl on the planet! I take deep breaths.

"We don't patrol this area, ever. Someone reported a person fell into a subway tunnel here."

"Yes, that was me. I climbed out. I think I'm alright."

The creeper actually kept his word.

Dark figures approach the police car. "This is not a good part of town, can we go?" I ask.

The car accelerates and a loud impact comes from the top of the car. We speed off down the road. I think some company has tagged along.

"May I roll down the window?" I ask.

"Sure," he replies, paying more attention to his computer.

I roll down the window, quietly reaching into the bag. I slip off the top to the metal flask. As the officer looks to his left, I swing my arm with the flask out my window. Liquid splashes the roof of the car. A scream of terror comes from my direction and I see red flames on the street in my side view mirror.

The officer turns quickly to me. "What in Sam Hill was that?" asks the officer as I raise my music phone card to my ear.

"Oh sorry, that's my Halloween ring tone. It's very loud." I try to sell the impromptu story.

"I don't get you kids sometimes," he says shaking his head as he looks forward at the road. 
March 21, 2093

My pulse quickens. "Lilly Rose," a voice whispers. "My voice calls to you. Listen."

My heart races as I feel an urge, a desire to follow.

"Follow your desires."

The voice is coming from all around. I don't know where to go.

"Come to me. All you have to do is wake up."

I need to wake up. I know how. However, I know when I have this urge, it's dangerous. I should not wake myself up.

"Lilly Rose, wake up," says the voice.

I can no longer resist. I begin trying to change my breathing, trying to gain control and wake myself up. Then, butterflies float in my direction, hundreds of them. As they come closer to me, the voice begins to fade until the voice is gone.

The butterflies circle me. They remove the desires from within my heart and replace them with a sedated sense of peace.

I awake. Shark texts me at five in the morning. She will be in the area tomorrow evening after sunset. I sleepily reply with my day's schedule. She will be at the ration station.

The paint also arrives this morning. Each bolt has it own separate paint kit in the main box. I take the paint to my room and set up each bolt on separate prop sticks.

I press play on my music card. The shuffle brings one of my favorite songs:

I could write you up a list

Put all the pretty things on it

But I trust

You're going to recognize

You're gonna be who you're gonna be

With a little bit of help from You and me

And I know

You won't even think twice

Once you've got it

You can never stop it

We're back again

To a new beginning

I take the first bolt and I name it "Alya", after Eponya's servant. I brush long strokes of sea green and ultramarine blue, forming the crystal-like waterfall. Puffy whites and grays form the impacting waters at the base of the falls.

The second bolt I name "Daeron". I alternate blue and orange diamonds, twisting in parallel to the base of the bolt.

The third bolt I name "Chorus" after the singing wilderness. I paint slicing red vertical lines with alternating green ones. Spiraling around before the tip in gold paint is the verse: "What on Earth makes a sun rise, or the stars shine."

The forth bolt I name "Kateyonok". I write "Silas" using International Klein Blue in thin, springy letters. I snake intertwining violet and yellow vines down the remaining length of the bolt.

The fifth bolt I name "Eponya". I paint the bolt jet black, and add two lava red dots for eyes.

The sixth bolt I name "Hollywood". I paint the top and bottom quarters of the bolt black to represent her two pigtails. I then add a majorelle blue strap leading to purple pizzazz stiletto heels.

The seventh bolt I name "Wes". I pull out the most expensive paints and begin to detail interweaving hearts, Venetian red and twilight lavender painted over a dusky sky. A few white stars peek out of the background.

Ten hours later, I emerge from my room, starving. I board the transport and head over to meet Shark. I sit at the small table for two, browsing my touchpad. The headline on my touchpad is maddening. "John Velos Wins Narrow Election for State Governor Race."

How can that be? Something is foul about that whole situation.

I click the link and a video plays. I feel a chill. "Greed is not a bad thing. We are a wealthy state, one of the wealthiest in the nation. Why should we give it all away to the lazy workers in the other states? If they want money, they can earn it!" The new governor stops to let the audience cheer as the camera pans in on his new silver Mu class bracelet.

Shark walks into the ration station. I give her a hug and we sit down at the table. I tell her about school, Wes, the chase outside the mall. I leave out the part about Eponya.

"You must be careful. Whispers say that a faction of rogue nightcallers is responsible for the disappearances. These rumors also speak of them turning mutants and sensories - very grim if true. Something is not right, as this is too out in the open for normal nightcaller ways." Shark watches me take a bite into a buttery crescent roll.

"I think the nightcallers were scoping out in the mall and waiting for me afterwards. I remember one of them mentioning something about me having potential. I dismissed it as a pick up artist speak, but now it sounds like something more. I do work for the agency. I should have flashed my ID badge." I sip some raspberry juice from a ration bottle.

"Don't think that all vampires regard your agency so highly. Did you know your precious agency experimented with Black Typhus on nightcallers? A branch of your agency had a special division that one of my -- um -- servants was a member. He was working on a nightcallerism vaccine for your agency. Some of the newly turned nightcallers actually showed signs of fighting off our venom. This new strain used in the vaccine mutated and became airborne. The airborne disease had a worldwide fatality rate of 95% in just twenty-nine days. Most of the humans involved in the project died. Yet, some nightcallers that have not forgotten your agency's attempts to wipe out the whole of the nightcaller kind."

"Shark, I never knew - about the agency and the outbreak."

"After the great catastrophe, and after the discovery of mutants and sensories, the London order of nightcallers made a decree that mutants and the like are not to be turned, only killed to be fed upon. It would be suicide for nightcallers to target mutants. The London order would hunt them down with unbridled force. To make matters worse, some unconfirmed sources have hinted that research of the vaccine has resumed." She watches me carefully as I lift a warm brownie to my mouth.

"Aren't you at least going to pretend to eat, to blend in?"

She smiles at the suggestion. "There are seventeen people in the room not eating. I don't believe I will be too conspicuous." She slides her gloved finger across the smooth metal table.

Outside the station, and as a reward for the paint, I hand Shark the drying case containing the bolt I named Hollywood. She peers through the clear case. "Superb detail, down to the straps and buckles. I will treasure this." She inspects the bolt from every conceivable angle.

I smile at my good friend.
March 22, 2093

Soft flowing washes of sienna and violet fly northward and guide me down the flowing streams of springtime. My heavy eyelids peer into reality. I close my eyes again and enjoy the comfort of a new blanket Aunt Leah bought for me.

The sound of knocking pulls me out of a delightful rest. "Lilly Rose." Bud slowly opens the door to my room.

"I have a surprise for you, get dressed." His voice is hoarse.

"What is it?"

I'll be in the kitchen." He jingles his keys as he exits the room.

With my right arm, I pull the warm covers off my body. I get goose bumps from the chill of the morning. My feet touch the wooden floor as a deep breath of air fills my chest. I walk towards the closet. I grab an orange shirt from the closet and my track shorts from the bed.

I walk into the kitchen and smell burning candles. Everything seems normal, except my notebook tablet is sitting on the kitchen table. "What's going on, Bud?" I ask as I walk closer.

"Take a closer look at the screen." Bud gestures to it.

Bud pulls out a chair and I take a seat in front of my tablet, rubbing my eyes. My eyes widen. I jump out of my seat when I realize my Interweb signal meter is at full strength. "Yes! How?" I turn to him with excitement.

"Do you remember that crane at the entrance to the center? Well it turns out the Governor, who started the rehab center, approved the construction of a signal tower for the center. All of the buildings in the center, including our cabin, have Interweb access."

I shut off the tablet. In one motion, I grab it, and run back to my room. "Thanks Bud, you are the best!" I glide across the floor in my socks.

"You're welcome, Lilly Rose. Will we ever see you again?" Bud asks as I turn the corner into my room.

"Probably not!" I close the door behind me.

I jump on my bed and open up my Interweb browser. My homepage is set to Popso, my favorite social networking site. The laptop automatically logs me on.

The inbox has nineteen messages. I forgot to update my status before I left. It still says, "Training for Saturday's shoot".

A pop-up window appears with a picture of Wes and Deala Rae on the Talent Hunt touring circuit. I make a fist. I nearly take a swing at the notepad, but memories of my last tantrum bring control back to me.

The caption says that the Talent Hunt tour is auditioning in Chicago for new contestants. I close the window and continue reading my Popso page. Oh well, it is probably a good idea to start answering these messages.

One by one from oldest to newest, I begin answering an assortment of questions from my friends back home. I find Hollywood on the site and send a friend request. I spend the entire morning sending messages and using instant chat before work.

After a great day reconnecting, I fall asleep.

A sound. My eyes open. The room is dark. I rub my temples with my thumbs, and the room floods with brilliant illuminated purple. Then that sound again. Tapping.

"Lilly Rose -- Lilly Rose," a familiar voice whispers from the window.

I pull the blankets off my legs. I find myself walking towards the window. Lightning flashes against the dark wall. My heart pounds against my chest as I take slow steps towards the window.

In full view, hovering in the window is a familiar nightcaller colored in shades of purple. My eyes widen. I am getting better at distinguishing what the actual colors are when everything looks purple. By the shades and tones of her form, she has dark flowing hair and the color of her dress is white. She presses her hand to the window, revealing her porcelain-white skin. "Lilly Rose," she says softly. "Place your hand on mine and look into my eyes."

I step to the window. I raise my arm and place my hand on the cold glass, covering the outline of her hand, gazing deeply into her crimson red eyes. "Now say my name..." she says.

"Eponya," I whisper, fascinated by the beauty of her gaze.

"You are so lovely." She stares deeply into my eyes. "Let me come inside Lilly Rose. I wish to be inside with you."

"No..." I reply.

Her words are as elegant as before, but this time things are different. The words, though beautifully spoken, have no pull on me -- no control.

"Invite me inside..." She whispers.

The tangling vines of her influence surround me. The vines cannot get through my vision.

"No." I repeat, looking down, breaking her gaze.

"How can you deny me? How is it possible? Well know this, my desire for your blood has increased tenfold," her tone is louder and more desirous.

I look up and she is gone. Sleep escapes me as reality and fear catch up. My heart continues to race. I quietly pull out my journal. The nightcaller's presence in my mind is still fresh. I capture the thoughts before they fade.
March 22, 2093

A light switch clicks in the hallway. I open my eyes. Hannah looks left and right into my room half-asleep, I continue squinting in her direction. She walks towards me.

"Look what Mommy got for me," says Hannah.

Hannah, in her pink-and-white flowery Judy Moody pajamas, stands in front of me with a clear card in her hand. "Oh, is that a touch text card?" I ask, rubbing my eyes.

"Yes!"

"Do you know my number?"

"Yes, Mommy gave it to me"

"OK send me a text so I can have your number."

"K!" She jumps up and runs out of the room.

BUZZ BUZZ

I grab my phone from the charger. It's a text from Hannah.

"LA LA LA LA".

I place it back on the charger. I pull the sheets and comforter off of my legs, and turn off my notebook tablet's screensaver.

Back home, I would always leave the notebook tablet on so I could check on Popso whenever I walked by. At the top of the page is a new message in the inbox. As I click the inbox with my finger, a message awaits from writersblock23.

You hang with a strange bunch Lilac. They did not seem too happy that you ducked into my trailer last night. You left a school ID and some change at my place last night. I checked out your name on Popso and saw your profile picture. You look better in person. Your picture doesn't do you justice. So how exactly do you want me to get your things back to you?

Cheers,

Mr. Darcy

My body freezes. "Wes Ashby is actually looking for me." I squeal.

A million different thoughts race in my mind, incoherent flashing images and possibilities. It takes every bit of my willpower to force my hand to touch the reply box and start typing. "How about you personally deliver them?"

Thoughts race through my head. Wait -- what did I just do? What is he going to think of me? This is the reply of a lifetime. I should have thought of a better response than that. I can't send a second reply and sound like some obsessive stalker fan.

Well, who cares, after the way he blew me off at the signing. Though he was a bit more understanding when those thugs that were chasing me in the alley and I jumped into his tour trailer. I spent the day at school catching up on the homework I didn't do at home.

After school, I walk down the dirt path of a fenced parking lot, and through the front metal door of Juno's Gems. I have credits building in my account and I haven't had time to shop for anything lately. Walking slowly through the front door, my eyes focus on the ceiling. Brilliantly-colored patterns of slate green and royal blue weave and turn in every direction. I follow the emerald green track lighting leading to the clerk's register. The clerk is a large man with no hair and a pale complexion. He is wearing an off-white tee shirt covered by faded firebrick overalls.

"It's been so slow today. When shall the hordes of customers, who will come from the faraway land of wheat and pastries, stop by to shop the delightful wares of this patron? Oh by the way, welcome to Juno's, what can I do you for?" asks the shopkeeper, talking in the middle of a yawn.

"That was fairly profound sir. My name is Lilly Rose, and my friend says to ask for Juno," I say, still amused by the shopkeeper's ponderings.

"Nobody talks to Juno, sorry. Maybe I can get help for you."

"Big J told me to ask for Juno, and unless you are Juno this conversation will end shortly."

"Big J... how is the old man?"

"Who wants to know?"

"The name's Juno, it's nice to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, where is Big J keeping shop these days?"

"His shop is in West Texas in the south part of Odessa." I could see the shop in my mind.

"Yeah the old man hated all the rain, doesn't surprise me that he picked that spot," Juno says, laughing. "So what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a hunting knife."

"Do you have a license?" He folds his arms, a condescending look on his face.

I hand him my license and he looks it over.

"Boy the ration station must be starving for trackers," he laughs.

I give him a look as I fold my arms.

"Oh no offense. This way."

We walk through a red curtain into a small storage room. He pulls out a case from a locker and opens it. An unorganized rusty metal desk sits in front of us. Several multi-colored knives lay, ready to choose. Some of the knives are fixed blades, while some are folding. Juno has a great selection of skinning knives, gut hook knives, and clip point knives. The color selections are amazing, shiny marble and opals, with emerald greens and ruby reds.

I spot an amazing sheath, dark red and brown glossy leather with deep champagne stitching tracing the edges of the sheath. The center of the sheath feature six comet shapes filled with small blue-grey cells bordering ivory white lines.

I also have my eye on a fixed blade with silver embossed leaves on the handle. The leaves surround flowering patterns of sapphire blue and red-orange flowers. "I like this one, in the far left corner." I point to the knife.

"An excellent choice, this D2 steel blade can really take a beating and won't break on you."

"What is the price?"

"11000 credits."

Wow, that's expensive. "Will you throw in that sheath with this blade and take 9000 for both?" I ask, smiling with an innocent look.

He erupts into heavy laugher. "The idea is the content, and the format is simply the packaging. I like you! Your bargaining posture is meant for my industry."

I have no idea what he just said.

"I'll do it. For Old Big J, I'll do it."

"Thank you!"

I'm so glad he said yes to the lower price. It leaves me with just over 2000 credits for the remainder of the week.

"The sheath is for a different knife, but they should fit together." He says.

I swipe my pay card at the checkout.

"Thank you, do you have a card?"

"Of course," he says as he opens a black leather pouch connected to his old belt, and pulls out a digital card. "Let me know if Juno's Gems can serve you again."

I place the card in my back pocket and head to the front exit.
March 28, 2093

BUZZ BUZZ

This one is from Hannah. She happens to be in the next room.

"MOM WANT HERB SNOW"

Hannah walks in the room.

"Herb snow?" I ask with a silly grin on my face.

"No Lilly Rose, she wants herbs now, not herb snow," Hannah says folding her arms and sticking her tongue out.

"I'm up for gathering some herb snow."

"Lilly Rose!"

We walk down the green hill from the cabin. A dirt trail winds its way to Great Grandma's house. At the bottom of the green hill is a border of very high trees. The dirt path winds its way to the sixty-foot wall trees and around some thick brush.

Leah wants us to collect a few bags of fresh herbs and roots from Great Grandma's state granted garden plot. I made sure to bring my phone for the walk. I prefer to wear a dark pair of jeans to avoid being cut by these bushes, but I will just have to be careful in these shorts. We make our way through some of the denser parts of the trail.

"Can you get started on picking?" Hannah asks. "I left my gloves at Great Grandma's."

"Do you want me to walk you the rest of the way?"

"It's Ok, the house is right over there."

"Well then, it's time to pick some roots."

Entering the gate to the plot, some recognizable roots immediately stand out. Trying to be quick about it, I begin pulling and cutting the roots, and placing them in my bag. Everything looks good, so I pick up the pace and throw handfuls of the roots into the bag.

As I carry about five pieces of root to one of the bags, about a half dozen crows fly out of the field. A noise startled them. The roots drop from my fingers onto the ground below, and I pull the hunting knife from the sheath strapped to my leg.

I go closer to the sound. I turn into a tall patch of tall grass. Crows pass me as I jump. A six-foot figure slowly ascends from a crouching position, cloaked and holding a scythe. It is the Grim Reaper. Death himself.

"The abstract vegetable dips the defending crowd," his voice echoes.

I scream and run through the patches of grass, trying to remember where the entrance gate is. My instincts are correct and when I am clear of the red herbs, I come to the gate. I make record time getting to Great Grandma's with only a few brush cuts on my legs to show for it.

I open the door running in and slam it behind me. Great Grandma is sitting down at the kitchen table with Hannah, sewing a hole in a glove. "Quick, Death is in the field and I barely got away!" I say bent over trying to catch my breath.

Laughter comes from both Hannah and Great Grandma. "Oh you met Cecil," Great Grandma says.

"Cecil?" I gasp for breath.

"Yeah, Cecil should be out in the garden." She rises, continuing to work at the glove.

"You and Death are on a first name basis?"

"Oh yes, he takes care of the garden."

"The Grim Reaper is your gardener?"

Great-Grandma smiles at me. "Cecil was the lead costume designer for a theater company for twenty years before he retired. He is a really talented fella." She finishes Hannah's glove.

"Is he the only character I should look out for, or do you also employ Frankenstein's monster to prune the roses as well?" I ask, a bit more calmly.

Great Grandma laughs, but does not answer my question. As Hannah picks up her gloves from the table, I read the headline on an old bulky display tablet from the Greensburg newspaper: "No leads as fifth student goes missing"

There is also an old paper book with a worn leather cover opened on the table. Paper is illegal, so I tried to act as if I don't notice. In the end, I can't resist and read the inscription on the leather cover:

Oh the hooded ones prosper. Lightning lives and the crystal gateway gasps. Lightning repels them near a philosophy looms oh hooded ones. Hooded ones prosper until lightning swallows the power. Seek out the arithmetic behind the recruits.

Great Grandma notices me. What kind of gibberish is that I wonder?

"You see I have books young one, she says. "I will not let the government burn them. No matter how important or non-important they happen to be. With books, ideas survive when people don't. That's how they keep control: they destroy the ideas, bury them in the forgotten past."

"You know they leave things out of what they teach you kids, things that they don't want you to know," she adds.

"What is this book?

"These are old local legends, about the supernatural history of the area. Don't mind these tales," She picks up the book and places it into a locking glass case. Her hand shakes as she locks the glass with a brass key and places it in her pocket.

The titles of the books in the glass are visible, but not familiar to me:

Brave New World, Graceling, Fahrenheit 451, Hunger Games, The Count of Monte Cristo. None of those titles are in the book app shop. One last book however is familiar, 1984, the one Alex was carrying before he was killed.

I look away quickly. "Thanks again for the herbs," I says politely as she sits up, following us to the door. We go to the garden and quickly finish up -- with no signs of Death. 
March 31, 2093

It is a gorgeous day outside. Beams of sunlight project through the window and illuminate the floating dust particles in front of me. It is a perfect 68 degrees with, according to the sounds of the news channel blaring from the living room, gentle cool breezes.

Not as much as a trace of anything that resembles a cloud in the sky. So what is my problem with this? Well, I am sick today.

The kind of sick that forces me to starve myself as the sight of food is repulsive. My muscles feel like jelly, unresponsive and sluggish.

Bud took one look at me this morning and he knew I would not be going to school. Being from west Texas, I grew to dislike the sun. Nevertheless, in an area where it seems to be cloudy year-round, the sun is a welcome sight.

After Bud has gone to work, I fall asleep for, according to the wooden wall clock, two hours. I fetch my book and prepare to do some quiet writing.

I begin brushing the ink pen against the next blank page.

A noise from my bedroom window distracts me as I push my hair out of my eyes and look in that direction. I place the book and pen under my bed, and I waddle to the window as a tapping sound on the glass gets louder. I reach out my left hand to the pattern curtain and yank it open.

A pair of dark eyes peers back at me as I jump back. They belong to a crazed black crow pecking on the glass pane.

My heart flutters as the stupid bird somehow has mistaken the glass of my window for some juicy cob of corn. Judging by the determination of the bird, I am sure it is not looking for corn. I pound the glass with an open hand trying to scare the bird off, but the bird does not even flinch. I close the blinds and the sound stops.

I cautiously pull back open the blinds. No! My heart skips a beat. The dark-haired Eponya stands with her hand on the glass. She gazes into my eyes, and my mind fills with fog. "Lilly Rose," she says softly. "Time is up. Place your hand on mine and look deeply into my eyes."

I raise my arm, as I had the last time, and place my hand on the cold glass. My hand covers the outline of hers. I gaze deeply into her newly emerald green eyes. So beautiful -- she completes my very existence.

Her eyes are lakes of deep fulfillment. I feel her pulling on me. She looks so cold. I can't let her suffer out there. I must let her inside so she won't freeze to death.

Please no, I need time. I'm not ready.

"Now say my name," she speaks, gazing into my eyes.

"Eponya," I whisper.

"Allow me to come inside your room," she says in irresistible poetry.  I reach for the window latch, so excited that I am about to save her life. My heart flutters with anticipation for her entry.

Please no, a small voice pleads from a distant fog. I don't recognize the voice, and then it's gone.

"Open it."

I reach to the window and grab the silver latch... 

## Table of Contents

  1. Table of Contents
  2. Ashby Navis
  3. The cold passes 
  4. Subtle crosswinds 
  5. "WANT TOGO TRAC KING"
  6. I set today to check up 
  7. A hot desert breeze
  8. A smooth cobalt blue stone 
  9. I find some time
  10. I rub my eyes 
  11. Incense from a copper dish
  12. A loud noise startles me
  13. Hannah pulls up my sleeve
  14. My eyes open slowly
  15. Morning breaks
  16. Soon comes faster
  17. The next day Sara's parents
  18. Across a familiar brown path
  19. You Have Been
  20. Hollywood was right
  21. At Hollywood's suggestion
  22. 6:00 A.M.
  23. My pulse quickens
  24. Soft flowing washes of sienna
  25. A light switch clicks
  26. BUZZ BUZZ
  27. It is a gorgeous day

