Grave Cold

By Shannon Knight

Nyle doesn't want to be there. But something is very wrong in the District of Portland, and the cold call of death forces his arrival. If he can't lay the dead fast enough, his long life, begun in Anglo-Saxon England, will end.

 

Portland's electronic walls do more than keep the mutants out. The government is using them to block Nyle and his kind, the ravens, who roam the world, freeing the dead from their bodies where they remain trapped till a raven's arrival.

 

Cait, a Portlander working as a beautician, has her own troubles, dodging the GM (genetic modification) police and struggling with rent. But the dead are invading her dreams. Nyle tells Cait that she's not genetically modified. She's a necromancer.

 

In the District of Portland, the dead are being trapped indefinitely and used as energy sources. Nyle and Cait must stop the technology from spreading before the abuse of the dead becomes a worldwide menace and they themselves end up on a laboratory table or trapped in a machine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winter Moon Press
• Release date: May 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987639344

Book preview

1

Nyle didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to contort his face into acceptable expressions.

His boots crunched the grit beside the highway. The tree line had stopped over two hundred yards behind him, but he was still surrounded by the stumps of a tree graveyard shrouded in thorn vine. Rose heads hung like splatters of blood amidst the rambling trip lines.

The District of Portland remained both Stump Town and the City of Roses.

But something was wrong. It was so wrong that the penetrating cold had stretched out from this city all the way into his isolation, calling him.

The wall ahead of him extended out of sight in either direction. It was sheer, made of some kind of metal. Forms moved back and forth across the top of the wall near where the highway gates stood. The wall was a slight comfort. He had been told that everyone used electronic barriers these days, but this wall could almost be medieval.

The glowing red bead on his chest, however, could not. Judging by how steadily it had been positioned over his heart since he’d stepped out of the trees, Nyle figured it was a mechanized device. Great.

As he neared the wall, a mountain of a man stepped out to meet him. He wore mottled body armor speckled with electronics and had a head that reminded Nyle of a bull. Maybe that was because his neck seemed as wide as his skull.

Palm scan, bull man said, holding up a gray screen.

Nyle was gratified to confirm that they still spoke English here. He hadn’t traveled south since long before genetically engineered contagion had exploded in the heartland. Winds carried the pollen of plants engineered to resist insect and animal predation into the towns and cities where the masses breathed it in and began to change. Most just died. Word was that south of the Canadian border should be avoided, as if a political divide could halt nature. Not including the animals, prior to the wall, Nyle hadn’t seen much difference.

Hello. Tell your supervisor that a raven is here, Nyle said.

Place your hand on the screen, the man instructed.

Nyle stretched his lips into a smile. The wasting of time had begun right along with the facial contortions.

I am not in your machine, he said. Tell your supervisor that a raven is here.

The man blinked, scanning Nyle’s leather wardrobe.

Show me your hands, bull man said.

Nyle flashed his palms. He wasn’t holding anything.

No. The backs.

Nyle obediently flipped his hands over.

The sentry scowled. Palm scan, he repeated.

Nyle sighed. I have diplomatic clearance. Contact your superior.

We have a 4-4-1 requesting info sent to a supe, bull man said. He calls himself a raven. No GM marks. Refuses palm scan.

Nyle turned back to the wall. It was at least thirty feet high, and the gate was almost as tall. He wondered if it continued even higher electronically.

The guard straightened. Yes, sir. He turned back to Nyle. You some kind of supra?

The sentry became intent again, listening to his device, so Nyle didn’t bother responding.

Besides, there was something strange about the gate. It was different from the wall.

They want to see you. He unstrapped a gray block from his thigh and began swiveling dials.

Something was definitely moving in the gate.

Hey, stay still. I’m holographing, bull man said.

Nyle glanced back at him as he walked to the gates. The man muttered angrily but continued to focus on his knobs and dials.

A gray mist curled down the gates like a shadow in the sunlight. Nyle watched it gather at the base, forming and re-forming. The cold increased until his fingers hurt.

He was absolutely looking at his business, but he’d never seen the like before. Something really strange was going on in the District of Portland.

Two faces materialized and dispersed in the shadow. The faces stayed flat with the metal of the wall, mouths soundlessly opening and closing. Nyle lifted a hand.

No touching the gate!

Two more guards, both wearing the same body armor, stepped out of a panel in the wall.

Affirmative, bull man said. He turned to Nyle. Orders are that you return to wherever you came from and send somebody else.

Nyle felt the cold sliding up his hands like frost gloves. The faces in the wall were inexplicable. He saw no wounds of warfare or plague.

He blinked as the sentry’s words penetrated the fog of his thoughts.

Excuse me? Nyle asked the guard.

It’s straight from the Lieutenant General. Bull man shook his head. I don’t know who you are, but you got their attention. You’ve been forbidden access to the District.

You said they wanted to see me, Nyle said.

The sentry tapped the gray block that he’d already re-strapped to his thigh. I sent them your holograph.

Nyle stared at the contraption as he processed the information.

If you resist this ruling in any way, you’ll be marked, bull man continued. The Lieutenant General requests that someone else be sent.

Someone else? Nyle tried to think of a plausible reason for their request. This time he couldn’t stop himself from remembering the Black Death. So much suspicion. So much ignorance. They’d barred the ravens in some places. He remembered the very first time, standing with Bingen outside of Dubrovnik in the Republic of Ragusa. The city walls, over five yards thick, stood proud and strong beneath a perfect blue sky. Inside danced the Black Death. The people had been wise to introduce quarantines but not to exclude the ravens. Still, Nyle wasn’t aware of ravens being barred from cities since the Age of Reason.

The frigid cold had worked its way up Nyle’s forearms. He was still standing less than a foot from the gate. He looked from bull man to the two other guards and sighed, letting his shoulders drop. One gun lowered slightly. Nyle turned slowly to the wall, meeting the wide eyes of the two shadowy individuals. One was still trying to speak, but no sound came. They both looked desperate. Nyle figured he’d only have one chance at this, and that might be destroyed if he asked questions. So he raised his hands and placed one palm on each shadowy forehead.

Power kicked, and he felt a tremor slide through his body. The contorted faces before him changed to surprise and dissipated into nothing at all.

A projectile slammed into the back of his arm. Nyle turned to the sentries, reaching up with his now warmer hand to pluck a dart from his flesh. His hand was glowing a pale blue.

Drop the weapon, bull man said.

Nyle pulled up his sleeve and found that his arm was glowing as well. He’d never experienced anything like this before.

Drop the weapon. You’ve been marked, but no further harm will be inflicted unless you attempt to enter the District of Portland, threaten us, or threaten any of D.P.’s inhabitants. You holding that dart is a threat.

Nyle dropped the dart.

Bull man looked grim, but the other man appeared utterly horrified. Nyle turned to him.

Do you know what I am? he asked.

The guard glanced nervously at bull man. You’re a marked man.

So he was bothered because Nyle was glowing, not because he had been banned from the District. Terrific.

Good luck finding another raven, Nyle said as he turned back to the rose-rambling tree graveyard and started walking.

But he knew he couldn’t just walk away. The cold called too strongly for that.

2

I know you’re not asleep. Come out, sweet cheeks.

Cait’s head felt like it was stuffed with shredded wheat, her eyes scratchy and dry. She’d effectively blocked all light with her blankets, but she couldn’t block sound. She absolutely was not going to engage this creep in conversation.

You know why you can’t sleep? You got too much clothes on. Take ‘em off, buttercup. Eddy waited for a response. Why don’t you just let me lick your back?

Cait yanked the pillow off her head and snarled.

That got you up, Eddy said, leering down at her. I’m up, too.

Get. Out! Cait snatched a jangly necklace from the carpet beside her and launched it at Eddy. He dissipated before it reached him. The jewelry smacked harmlessly into the opposite wall.

An elderly woman stepped forward to take Eddy’s place. Her tailored dress didn’t fit in with Cait’s rundown room.

It’s very crowded, the woman said.

A child appeared beside her, slipping his light hand into the woman’s darker hand. His leg was covered in dust and blood.

Have you seen my mom? he asked. The tear tracks were stark on his dirty face.

The woman gave him a reassuring squeeze. Cait looked at his face, wondering if she had seen any women lately who looked like him. Even if she had, what could she do?

Cait opened her burning eyes. She yanked herself to her feet, retrieved the necklace from across the empty room, and tossed it into an open duffel.

Faust looked up from licking his paw, blinked a cat smile at her, and resumed his cleaning.

You’re a good boy, Fausty! she said.

Cait tripped around the counter, tapped the spigot, waited the necessary fifteen seconds for any accumulated flora to flush through, then splashed water on her face. God, she was tired.

If Grandma Catty wasn’t coming, and she couldn’t sleep, then she wasn’t going to sit around alone with dead people.

Compacts, tubes, and applicators lay tumbled across the chipped Formica counter. There wasn’t a sink in the bathroom, so Cait used the kitchenette. She methodically layered make-up, hiding her insomnia and adding a bit of pink to go with her hair, which she twisted up in a chignon. She had only dyed it a few days ago. The baby pink looked flash. Pink was also fun and innocent. Not the hair color of someone terrorized by haunts.

Cait grabbed a pair of turquoise feather earrings, long enough to hit her shoulders, and added them to her ensemble. She still looked like hell, so she dabbed smoke-colored glitter around her eyes. Yes, nothing said spook-free like glitter. She hammed a practice smile in the mirror, adding a cheeky wink.

Looking better than fine! she told her reflection.

Cait opened the cabinet, reaching back behind the sink for her magnet clip of money. She frowned, removing a couple plastic cards and returning the rest to her hiding place.

Don’t worry, Faust! she said.

Surely if she could just keep them housed and fed that would mean something. But it was hard to care much when she was this tired. Sleep would be good no matter where she got it.

Cait texted Elise, Morning! I’m off to Borderlands. Check Fausty if you’re up for it?

Elise would be sleeping the rest of the innocent. She muted her calls at night, so Cait felt fine shooting a text whenever. Elise might not be up to an outing and even less a climb up her flight of stairs. She’d been really messed up by a post-viral illness three years ago. Post-viral, the doctors said, but nothing seemed post about it. Still, Elise loved Faust and would swing by if she could.

Cait set out multiple bowls of food and water just in case. Faust was busy making himself comfortable in an open bag of her clean clothes. She’d be back before he even noticed! She threw him a kiss.

Cait dug through the bag of gloves hanging on a hook on her door and selected a pink satin, fingerless pair, pulling them on to hide the glowing violet double-helix on the backs of her hands. She’d received the marks in third grade after her teacher had died and Cait had announced to the class that her teacher’s replacement was a child molester. Her dead teacher had told her, but she hadn’t shared that. The GM police had been waiting at Grandma Catty’s house when she got off school that day.

Cait swung her massive silver purse over one shoulder. She juggled a duffel and Grandpa’s rifle as she stepped outside, palming the sensor by her door in the process. Nothing happened. Cait frowned, removed one glove, and hit the sensor again. Nothing. She locked the door manually and headed for her truck, an ancient yellow junker that ran on gasoline. She couldn’t always get it to start, but she’d learned enough about the dinosaur to coax it into life most of the time. She’d named it the Gremlin after that old movie full of hell-raising furballs. Cait threw her stuff in the Grem and dialed her landlord.

Roderick.

Hi, Roderick. It’s Cait. The alarm is out again.

And you’re calling me in the middle of the night for this?

Cait rolled her eyes. He would’ve said something similar no matter when she’d called. It’s the third time this month. And I knew you wouldn’t answer if you were asleep.

Roderick grunted an affirmative. Look, I’ll get it fixed.

Ooh! He was acting like a real landlord. Her rent fund was short. Maybe her craptastic studio could work in her favor for once.

Three times in a month! she emphasized. A rent reduction would be appropriate.

Roderick coughed out a laugh. Listen, freak, if the alarm goes out one more time, you’re evicted.

The call dropped.

Shit. That was unexpected. Asking for a reduction had been a bad move. If he evicted her, she wouldn’t get her deposit back, so she’d have to earn enough for that before she could hunt down a new place. Which would mean living in the Gremlin and playing parking games while borrowing Elise’s shower. Faust could stay with Elise. Probably. The blank on her rental history would give her trouble, too.

Shit!

She would get through this night first. Eviction didn’t seem as heavy a threat when she knew she hadn’t secured the next month’s rent yet. She shook her head and started the Gremlin—it worked on the first try.

Caitlin was named after her grandmother, and for the longest time, she’d thought that was because everyone knew she would be her favorite. Her grandmother liked to play tricks and would tell Cait other people’s secrets or have her drop obscure notes where her parents would find them. It wasn’t till much later that Cait learned she was named after her because she was born the same day Grandma Catty had died.

Of course, Cait knew Grandma Catty was dead. She just hadn’t known that she wasn’t supposed to be able to talk to dead people.

And that was why she was awake now. Sleep meant dead people, and there had been way too many dead in her dreams lately. Not only was it creepy to have a bunch of dead people she’d never even known when they were alive invading her sleep, but she woke up feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all—she wasn’t sure if she had. Sometimes she even thought they were around her when she was awake.

Buying one more coffee wasn’t going to change the fact that she was short on rent, and it would give her a spook-free place to hang out till the wall curfew lifted.

Cait stopped at The Electric Cup, stepping through the germicidal ultraviolet entryway and into the filtered air. The neon lighting made the backs of her eyeballs throb, which was weirdly ideal when the goal was to stay awake. Despite the hour, the stylish insomniacs of D.P. occupied several tables. Cait knew why she was awake, but she always wondered at the rest of the world.

She hooked her lemon yellow heels on the metal bars of one of the stools and flashed the barista her practiced smile.

Hey, Cait, the barista said. You’re looking great, as always.

His smile was so fake. He needed to practice more.

Thanks, Marty. I’ll take a triple cappuccino. Skim milk. Dry.

He reached for a jug of milk from the fridge below the bar. You know chemistry’s done better than that if you’re trying to stay awake.

Well, chemistry’s done enough for me. She drummed her fingernails once on the counter, and Marty’s eyes went to her hand. She didn’t think he was admiring her fuchsia nail polish.

Marty turned, hiding behind the espresso machine. Coming up! he said.

She shouldn’t have said that. Lack of sleep made her stupid, and she was distracted by the eviction threat.

I like the orange on you, she said when the squeal of the steamer shut off. You should come into the salon for a touch up. I could add highlights, too. That would look flash! Orange was a tough color to pull off. Cait hoped he’d take the diversion and let the previous conversation drop.

Marty touched his hair self-consciously. The roots are showing, aren’t they?

Most people wouldn’t notice, she reassured him. Besides, a darker base color looked interesting, too, but a comment like that was bad for business.

He set the glass mug in front of her, glancing again at her hand.

Cait’s mind drifted back to rent. If she hadn’t gotten sick earlier this month and missed a week of work, she wouldn’t be in this mess, but the less sleep she got, the easier it was to catch something, and with the rain and spore counts up, people were getting sick all over the place. She doubted anyone’s lung tissue was what it used to be. Work didn’t have the best air filtration system, either. Elise’s experience had taught Cait not to try and push through a sickness, masked or not.

Marty’s hand tapped a staccato against his leg. It made her think of a cat twitching its tail. He stopped when their eyes met and furtively glanced once more at her gloved hand. He wasn’t going to let it go.

We’ve known each other for a while now, Cait, but you’ve never told me what you are. His voice was tight.

Cait felt a wakeful rush of adrenaline. She tried to reassure herself that this wasn’t necessarily going where she thought it was.

I’m a stylist, Marty. She forced a smile, knowing hers had to look as fake as his this time.

Marty swallowed and looked away. The boss wants us to filter.

Cait felt the pain in the backs of her eyes begin spiking into her brain.

Look, she said, my parents didn’t pay for alterations, and I’m not some laboratory fuck up. At least not that she knew. I’m hardly a Weapon. I think you can safely allow me to drink coffee here!

God, she hadn’t been kicked out of one of her regular hangouts in six months! She felt her hands shaking and blamed it on the caffeine. She dabbed at her eyes, which were surely leaking from the lack of sleep.

Sorry, Cait. You’re fine when I’m here, but I thought I’d warn you.

She didn’t entirely believe him, but sleeplessness tended to make her paranoid.

No. I’m the one who’s sorry, she said. I just need some sleep.

She rubbed her temples. Marty looked chagrined. She didn’t think she’d disarmed the situation yet. Shit!

Really, Marty, there’s no need to be worried. All my genetic freakishness means is that I can’t sleep. I’m your perfect customer.

You’re a Dreamer! Marty whispered, revolted.

I said I wasn’t a Weapon! Cait hissed back.

Marty was wearing a familiar expression of horrified fascination. At least it wasn’t just horror. Other customers were starting to look their way. Cait hunched over her coffee.

Dreamers were able to manipulate the dreams of anyone sleeping around them. The exact proximity was up for debate but seemed to vary. They had been created to disrupt enemies’ sleep cycles and plant ideologies promoting desertion and revolt. But it didn’t take long before politicians had Dreamers manipulating their electorate, and companies were using them to promote their products. The District of Phoenix had created them, but the government had sold the patent. And then they’d gotten out into the public. The politicians said it was the fault of double-recessive genes. Apparently, in multiple districts they’d been breeding them rather than creating them in labs, and they’d let the non-productive ones loose to live as they pleased. Supposedly, they had been sterilized, but the world knew how true that had turned out to be.

Cait had a sneaking suspicion that the Dreamers were people just like her. But the disaster of their infiltration into the public led to the marking of all genetically modified individuals. They were color coded according to type. The ones with bits paid for by their parents had a demure double helix in glowing blue on the backs of their hands between the thumb and the forefinger. Weapons had great big glowing red double-helixes smack dab in the middle of their hands. Harmless known anomalies had yellow. Unknowns like her had violet. It wouldn’t help things if Marty knew her double helix was violet. Amongst other things, it meant the GM police quietly tracked her life, waiting for who knew what terrible manifestation to appear. Grandma Catty had helped her steer clear of their radar by suggesting she enroll in beauty school.

Girls especially are judged by their appearances, Grandma had said. Show them what you want them to see.

Cait found flash helped them not see past the surface.

Her phone said it wasn’t even five yet. D.P.’s wall curfew ended at six. Still, it would take forty-five minutes to get to the gates. Past the gates was old mining land. Hardly anyone lived out there or ventured out of their cars in the area on account of the mutants. Cait headed to the Borderlands whenever she had a couple days off and enough cash to spare for gas. Away from all the people, she could sleep like a dream. And with Grandpa’s rifle and Grandma Catty watching her back, she felt safe enough from the mutants. She’d only ever had to shoot one.

Cait decided she’d waited long enough. Just as she stepped through the ultraviolet light at the door, she saw Marty use a napkin to pick up her glass and drop it in the trash.

She wasn’t going to cry. She just needed some sleep.

3

Nyle walked at a leisurely pace through a forest of the Pacific Northwest. Rain pattered gently on the canopy, trickling down the lower levels to run through his hair. As he was still glowing, he headed away from the District of Portland rather than towards it. The waist-high ferns provided good coverage, but the forest was quieter than it had been on his way in. Undoubtedly, the wildlife was about as smitten with his new glow as Nyle was himself.

Nyle scanned the mossy trees, watching for predators. He’d killed a glowing bobcat the previous week; it had been the second bioluminescent mutant he’d come across since he’d started down. Phosphorescence was not the most traditional weapon or defense in nature. Otherwise, he’d noticed a pattern amongst the mutants. Their natural weapons were grotesquely enhanced. But the biggest problem with mutants was their unpredictability.

Nyle stopped mid-step, squatting down to examine the moist soil. A line of human footprints led west. There was hardly any tread on the soles. As he remained concealed within the ferns, a winter wren trilled. Nyle relaxed. The wren wouldn’t sing if anyone else were still in the vicinity. He rose to his feet and followed the tracks backwards.

Nyle didn’t have to go far to find a scratched up machine squatting amidst the trees. A trail of destruction behind it likely led to the road. The automobile had Ford written across the front and F-150 on the side. It was painted a pale yellow and rusting around the wheel wells. Nyle circled it, noting the bumper sticker that read Keep Portland Weird. A cardigan printed with parakeets was tossed in the cab along with a pair of patent leather high heels and a dog-eared copy of The Little Prince. Something with small canines had chewed on the cover. Nyle had always liked the golden snake in that story.

He might have found his solution.

Nyle followed the footprints back into the woods to an orange tent. Through the front netting, he could see a woman with pink hair sleeping inside. He didn’t want to wake her, so he sat down to wait, turned to give her privacy and allow her a clear view of his profile when she woke.

He didn’t have to wait long. The woman jerked upright, pulled a Browning 30-06 to her shoulder, and flipped the safety. Nyle raised his empty hands.

Calm, he said. I’m not a threat.

You a mutant or a convict? she asked. Her voice was hard, but her tousled pink hair contradicted the sentiment.

Neither, Nyle replied. He smiled, liking her combination of tough, rumpled, and pink.

Don’t fuck with me, the woman growled.

Nyle dropped the smile, letting the seriousness of his vocation slip into his eyes.

I am neither a mutant nor a convict. I saw your vehicle and was hoping I might be able to get a ride. I feel very fortunate that our paths crossed.

She considered his words. You’re a supra.

It was the same thing the wall guard had said. I don’t even know what that means.

She pressed her lips together. Show me your hands, she said.

His hands were already up, palms facing her, but he hadn’t forgotten the routine at the wall. He rotated them to show her the backs. He could see her own hands had something glowing violet on them. He'd need to learn about their new marking system.

You can put your hands down, she said. Tell me why you’re glowing.

He knew he hadn’t won her over yet, but hands down was progress.

One of the border guards shot me when I touched the gate.

Shit. Did he warn you?

He nodded, remembering the horror the guard had shown. I believe he did.

Bastards.

Keeping the rifle up, the woman crawled out of the tent. Nyle kept his body language relaxed. She was on guard, and he didn’t want her to see any reason to pull the trigger.

I’ll be back. Gotta pee. She moved rapidly, taking the gun with her.

Nyle wondered if she would get in her truck and leave. He hadn’t meant to scare her, but approaching a woman alone created tension. Too many men thought they owned women. In case she came back, Nyle stayed perfectly still and waited. The cold kept him company.

She came back.

What’s your name? she asked.

Nylewulf, Eadric’s son. Call me Nyle.

The woman took a bottle of something from the tent and applied it to her hands. Sanitizer, the bottle said. Then she held a hand out to him.

Cait Bergstrom.

The violet on her hand was a double-helix, like DNA. She had wanted him to see that. Maybe it was a warning.

He took her hand. Warmth broke through his ice. The temperature of his hand rose until it was warmer than hers. The sudden flow of circulation burned along his fingers. Nyle jerked his hand back.

Excuse me. He looked away.

Could she know who he was? She would want him to be there. Nyle couldn’t believe the odds that he’d stumble across someone like her.

Cait had pulled a brush from her bag and was fixing her hair. Did she really not know?

Will you give me a ride into town? he asked.

Nobody’s letting you in if you’re glowing! She sounded exasperated.

I can wait till the glow goes away, he said, still wondering if they had both just identified each other, or if it was one-sided.

Cait stopped brushing.

Holy hell, Nyle! They altered your DNA—you’re not going to stop glowing!

She didn't know.

I will, he replied.

DNA! This is the reason we’ve got mutants running around and GM police! If they weren’t so bloody quick to make alterations— You’re screwed. It’s from a moon jellyfish, and you can thank the District of Florida for coming up with it, although you’ve already seen how much D.P. likes it.

She pulled her brush violently through her hair a couple more times.

Rapid movement caught Nyle’s eye. He lunged for the rifle, turning towards the predator and firing in one practiced arc. Sound exploded.

It was a shame.

I wouldn’t eat that, Nyle said, handing the rifle back to Cait. It always felt like a crime to kill an animal and not eat it.

He was grateful for the animal distraction. He still wanted to get a ride from Cait, and since she didn’t know who he was, and she was so troubled by his glow, he would need to formulate a plan to get her to agree to the situation.

Great horned owl, Nyle said as they stood over the body. Both the talons and the beak were at least twice as large as they should have been. Look, Nyle kneeled down to pry the beak open. It’s serrated.

As large as it was, it still wasn’t big enough to make human its natural prey. It shouldn’t have attacked them. Nyle wanted a firmer understanding of this new world they were living in.

You’re going to get some kind of disease, Cait warned.

A disease didn’t do this. He picked up one lightly feathered foot to examine the massive, curved talons. They were impressive.

I didn’t even hear it, Cait said.

Owls are silent creatures. I’ll bury it so it’s less likely something else eats it. Nyle collected the fold-up shovel he’d noticed by the tent.

Jesus! Don’t touch the blood!

I thank you for your concern. He was already holding the owl by its legs. It couldn’t have planned to swoop off with such heavy prey, so it must have been aiming for their faces. Once it had brought them down, it could tear into them. They were still an illogical choice with so many smaller prey around. What was the point of these mutations if the end behaviors resulted in the animals dying off quicker than in their original forms?

Will you be camping here much longer? Nyle asked.

Cait shook her head emphatically. For a woman quick with a rifle, the experience had unnerved her quite a bit.

Then I’ll bury it right here, Nyle said.

The soil was soft and loose, so it didn’t take long to bury the