Rain poured, flooding the sidewalk and forming small rivers that followed runoffs to the storm drain. There’d been no warning of the incoming storm, save a few dark clouds on the horizon that overtook the sky in little more than an hour.

Weather is volatile in Texas. Anyone who’s lived here for longer than a week can tell you that. But it was different now. There were no more emergency push notifications, no more rain in x minutes heads ups from satellites we no longer had access to. Lightning spider-webbed the sky, striking somewhere on the far end of the city. In the fading luminescence I caught my reflection from a puddle as I stepped over, jagged lines of the lending my hooded visage a sinister air.

Up ahead, a large framed man stared anxiously up at the sky from beneath the coverage of an oversized, navy-blue golf umbrella. He held the umbrella in one gloved hand, and a calico-colored cat in the other. I barely picked out his words through the storm. “This enough air for you, Shiva?”

The cat wiggled free of his grip. Just a hair too slow, Buzzcut fumbled the catch. The cat plunged straight down and landed with a slosh in a soaked section of grass that lined the sidewalk. It stared up at its master in abject betrayal.

“Oh no, the consequences of your own actions.” Buzzcut muttered and moved to cover the cat with his umbrella.

“Meow.”

“Going to be reasonable if we go inside now? Stop bouncing off the fucking walls?”

“Meow.”

Buzzcut crouched, likely intending to scoop up the cat. I reached out with directing the cat’s attention to the hooded stranger walking in their direction. To its simple mind, I suddenly smelled like tuna and catnip, and looked incredibly friendly. It broke from Buzzcut and bounded towards me.

“Dammit. Grab that little shit!” Buzzcut called.

I crouched down, and the soaked cat all but leapt into my arms. Buzzcut jogged over to me, half-grunting thanks. “Never calms down unless he gets time outside.”

“My dog’s the same way.”

Talia growled in the recesses of my mind.

“Count yourself lucky you’re a dog guy. System litter’s all clay based.” Buzzcut held his hands out. I awkwardly held the cat out toward him. When he took it, I “accidentally” reached past his glove and contacted bare skin.

“Clay litter is… bad?” I asked. It felt strange, holding a conversation with the man who had hounded me pretty much since the beginning. But saying nothing would be more suspicious.

“Oh yeah. On account of the silica. Numbnuts here breathes in too much silica dust, it’s a one-way trip to cancer town.” Buzzcut scowled at the cat, who swatted at his nose playfully. “Taking a dip in dirty rainwater after a drought can’t be much better.”

“Have a good night.” I walked away.

“Hey!” Buzzcut called after me.

I stopped, keeping my expression strictly calm as turned back, even as my heart raced in my neck. Even though I’d kept the mask’s single target setting, I didn’t know when the diminishing returns would kick in, or how quickly. “What?”

Buzzcut pressed a button on the umbrella’s grip, and it snapped shut. Rain pelted his thinly shorn head. “No telling where he’d have run off to if you didn’t grab him. Take it.”

I nearly blew him off before I noted the serious expression. This was important to him, somehow. Tentatively, I reached out for the umbrella. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Buzzcut smiled. “Hoodie ain’t doing shit for this weather, and I got others.”

“Thanks.”

“Stay safe.”

“You too.”

I watched from beneath the coverage of the umbrella as Buzzcut carried his cat inside. If that was the only exchange we’d ever had, I might have liked the man. But it was hardly our first exchange.

Buzzcut was a ranking member of the suits. He’d had every intention of killing me in that alley the night of the bounty. While Jinny died, he stood by, watching, just like the rest of them. And he’d taken Nick.

Whatever I did to him was justified.

Once I was certain Buzzcut wasn’t watching, I doubled back, darting into the neighboring house with a for-sale sign in the front yard.

/////

I-I-I-I-I-I—

Cameron toweled Shiva off within the confines of the tub. The part of his mind that never shut up reminded him that this was her third bath this week. She hated it, and if he wasn’t careful, even the premium oatmeal pet shampoo he stocked up on would eventually dry out her skin.

But with everything being so goddamn dirty, there wasn’t really an alternative. He’d need to be more careful with her.

As soon as Cameron loosened his grip on the towel, Shiva leapt over the ceramic wall of the tub and paused in the doorway to yowl at him.

Cameron rolled his eyes. “Right. You’ve got it so hard. You get to fuck off and gnaw on a sofa leg while I’m stuck cleaning up your mess.”

“Meow.” Shiva flicked her tail and stalked away.

“Whatever.”

With a sigh, Cameron set to work. First, he removed the mesh covering that prevented fur from clogging the drain, dumping the contents into a waiting plastic bag and tying it off, tossing it into the bathroom trashcan. He pulled on latex gloves and scrubbed the still-wet surface with a mix of Clorox, water, and vinegar he’d found to be most effective, making even, counter-clockwise circles down the right side to the center, where he’d stop, lifting the rag to the opposite edge and clean the left in the same manner, drawing all the filth and grime towards the center. Once it was all drawn together, Cameron wet a new rag and pulled it down the center, feeling accomplishment as the particulates of dirt and dust accumulated at the reflective metal ring before plummeting down the drain.

He repeated the process twice more before he finally felt satisfied.

Standing, he wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead and washed his hands. When he looked up at the mirror, he froze.

The letters I K N stood out in the fogged section of the mirror.

What the fuck?

Cameron closed the door, then turned the sink’s faucet all the way to the left, increasing the temperature of the water. He did the same with the bathtub and walk-in shower, creating more steam.

Only after the mirror fully fogged did the message reveal itself.

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

An icy chill traveled the full length of Cameron’s spine. What the fuck was this horror movie bullshit? It wasn’t anyone from the guild. If someone from the guild was coming for him, it would be direct, extreme, decisive. And they sure as hell wouldn’t warn him they were coming.

What would it even mean, anyway? They already knew who he was. Unless—

Cameron shut his eyes. Panicking wouldn’t help. Aaron had come straight to him once the dome settled, used Cameron’s influence to help organize the jailbreak. If the guild knew who he really was, he’d be dead already.

The most plausible explanation was sleepwalking. He did weird shit in his sleep. It was part of the reason he refused to stay onsite. The quarters segment of the underground compound wasn’t much different from gen pop, with the exception of better toilets. Full to the brim with of hungry motherfuckers that would pounce at the slightest sign of weakness, all capable of curb-stomping their own mothers if it meant getting a leg up.

But his subconscious mind was crafty. Before he’d switched medications, he’d often woken up and found himself in places he shouldn’t be, in the middle of making food. He’d even found sticky notes scrawled in his handwriting, left in the damndest places.

Looking for evidence that supported his theory, Cameron opened the small metal trashcan at the base of the toilet. Beneath the bag, he found a discarded bottle of rubbing alcohol—still half-full—and a handful of cotton balls at the bottom.

Somehow, discovering the means he’d left the message with gave him some small comfort. Small being the keyword.

There was a dirty smear on the bathtub. Cameron cleaned it one more time. When he exited the bathroom, he pulled the door shut behind him, absentmindedly turning the knob three times.

Click. The latch stuck on the third twist.

“God damn it!” He roared, opening the door and slamming it shut. The latch clicked. Compulsively, he turned the knob thrice more. Once again, it stuck on the third turn.

Cameron stomped down the hallway, throwing open the door that led into the garage, and flicked on the light. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the light flickered on. He stared at the bulb.

Is it just going out? Or is it faulty wiring?

One thing at a time. It was already after midnight, but it wouldn’t take long to swap the bulb after he’d finished with the bathroom door. Of course, if the wiring was shot, that was going to take a lot longer to fix, but it was better to cross that bridge when he came to it.

Cameron grabbed the gray toolbox from its place, careful not to upend the meticulously organized contents within, and pulled the door shut behind him. As always, he turned the handle three times, ensuring it latched.

The latch caught on the third pull.

/////