In the wake of the chaos, John and Cassandra had taken the first train they could find out of town. The other stations in the city had been more or less abandoned after what happened. And with the police now more focused on the thirty-three dead than their own manhunt, it wasn’t hard to slip through.

Thirty-three, John repeated the figure in his head. Thirty-three people, innocent people, were dead because of him.

Cassandra sat across from him in the sleeper cabin they’d bought, watching him with obvious worry.

“. . .If he got away, we can find him.” Cassandra assured.

“We?” John replied, the anger and fatigue that had been building up slipping into his voice. “I told you, I got the one that killed your mother.”

“Those people back at the station, those were people’s mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers. He’s got to pay for that.”

And that just drove the point home for John.

“I’m as much responsible for those people dying as he is.”

“I’m the reason you went after them,” Cassandra insisted. “It’s my fault too.”

“No, you’re not.” John took a breath. A part of him couldn’t forget the image of her jumping on that man’s back. All it would have taken was a moment, just a split second and she’d be gone. These things didn’t hesitate to kill. He was an idiot for bringing her along in the first place.

John leveled his eyes on the girl.

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for me. I wanted answers. Answers about the woman that made me into. . . this.” John gestured towards himself. “You can’t stay with me. You said it yourself, things don’t end well for people like you when they’re involved with things like me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Cassandra insisted. “I’m staying with you until that thing’s gone.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“He could come after me right now!”

John covered his eyes with a hand.

“He could be anyone, anywhere by now.”

“We’ll find him.” Cassandra gave him a reassuring smile. “I know we will.”

John didn’t respond. Cassandra’s smile fell as he turned his attention outside.

They spent the next few hours in silence.

It was when Cassandra woke next that she found John missing. A roll of cash laid was out on his seat, the words “take care of yourself, kid” scribbled onto a note at her side.

She sat upright, looking out the window to the station beyond. She saw John. He was on the platform, already fading into the distance as the train rocked her back and began to pull away.

John leaned on the table in front of him, badge in hand as he spoke to one of the station’s clerks.

“. . .What’d you say this fella looked like?” The clerk asked.

“Brown suit, bowler hat,” John responded. He’d burned the memory of the man he’d seen after the massacre into his mind, for all the good that would do him.

The clerk thought for a moment, before shaking his head.

“That’s not much to go on. Sounds like half the people I see come through here.” He glanced up at John, a look of concern crossing his face. “You all right pal? You look like hell.”

“Yeah,” John answered. “I just need something to eat.” He glanced around. “You know where I can get a newspaper around here?”

Cassandra sat in a run down home. It wasn’t the worse place she’d been in by far, but the city was still new in her eyes, and the prospect of making money wasn’t looking bright. She didn’t want to waste what she had on something like rent. Not when she still needed to eat.

An older man and woman sat across from her, the man scrutinizing her while his wife set a cup of tea in front of her.

“Thank you,” Cassandra offered, taking the cup as politely as she could manage.

It wasn’t the first room for rent she’d come across, but she’d liked the look of the two. Especially the woman. She reminded her of her mother.

“It’s nothing dear,” the woman replied. “And you’re sure your parents know to find you here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just talked to them yesterday. Should be joining me in a few weeks.”

“How much you offering for the room?” The man interjected.

The woman smacked his head a moment later.

“Seven dollars a month is fine,” the woman declared. “Six if you help with the chores.”

“That. . . sounds fair.” Cassandra said.

The man huffed, turning his attention back to the newspaper in his hands. Cassandra noticed the story on the page beside him, an image of the train station, and the bodies that lay strewn about it. The fact that thing was still out there, Cassandra had expected to be sad, or even afraid. Instead, she was angry, angry at herself, angry at the world, that something like that monster existed in the first place.

The woman must have noticed her looking, she gave Cassandra a worried glance.

“Grim business. World’s gone all to hell. People found dead all over the place.”

Cassandra nodded absently, before an idea hit her. She gestured to the paper.

“Are you done reading that?”

“Yeah,” the old man replied. “Take it.”

Cassandra smiled, the beginnings of a plan forming in her mind.

“. . .Do you have any old issues?”

John sat with his back against a wall, pulling a knife from his chest. Beside him, a dead thug lay still, strands of smoke still pouring from his eyes. John noticed the prostitute beside him, just inches away, eyes open in death, and a still bleeding cut over her throat.

“Sorry,” John said, “-should’ve gotten here sooner.”

As he stood, he found the black dog waiting for him at the mouth of the alley, tail wagging.

John scowled.

“What the fuck do you want? I don’t want any part of you, or your master. Get out of here, go!”

The dog didn’t move. John reached down, taking the thug’s knife and launching it at the dog. It yelped as the knife hit it with surprising force. It gave John a long look, then padded away.

John let out a breath, then, started in the other direction.

The train ground to a halt, doors opening to let people out onto the platform. John stepped out, moving through the quickly thinning crowd only to find Cassandra waiting for him on a bench, a cup of coffee in her hands.

“. . .How the hell?” John muttered.

Cassandra’s tired, half lidded eyes locked on John, and a smile lit up her face.

“Found you!”

She rushed up to him, offering him a paper cup.

“I tried coffee. Liked it. Got you one too.” Her words were rapid fire as she shoved the steaming cup into his hands.

John stared down at her, unsure how he should respond.

“. . .How?”

Cassandra moved back to her bench, retrieving a newspaper.

“I learned it from you! Except instead of looking for people committing crimes, I looked for bad people they found dead – you know, without any injuries.” She tapped an obituary near the top. “You move north at the top of every month, that’s a bad habit.”

“. . .I already told you, staying with me is –”

“Dangerous,” Cassandra interrupted. “Yeah, I know. Don’t care. Look at this.”

She shoved another torn page towards him, holding it for him to see.

“That bad guy, he’s got to eat like you, right?” Cassandra pointed a finger at the obituary in her hand. “And you showed up in the paper, so I fugred he would too.” She smiled. “And I think I found him.”

John looked at the page, skeptical.

“I got the man the killed your mother, if I try chasing this guy again, he’s going to kill more innocent people just like last time.”

Cassandra shrugged.

“Seems like people die if you don’t. That’s kinda what he does. We just gotta be smarter.”

John moved to a bench and sat, head in his hands. Cassandra just stared at him expectantly.

After a moment, he spoke.

“Why the hell’d you bother finding me? I can’t protect you.”

“Don’t need to.” Cassandra moved up beside him and sat. “But I want to stay with you all the same. I want to help people. To make up for. . . what happened.” Cassandra paused. “I think you want that too. And. . . I don’t want to be alone. . .”

John let out a breath, staring hard at the girl. She didn’t shy away from him, there wasn’t any fear there, she just looked at him, expectant.

He sighed.

“. . .What did you find?”