Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.

     From The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.

Morning came like a thief, stealing away the shadows and leaving the world bleached and barren. The land that stretched out before me was as alien as it was unforgiving. Blood-red rocks scorched under a relentless sky, their jagged edges softened by millennia of erosion until they were little more than stony remnants of some ancient fury. Joshua trees, twisted and gnarled, stood as the last sentinels to a dying world, their arms outstretched as if pleading for mercy.

But mercy was a thing long forgotten here, in this place where the earth itself seemed to thirst for blood.

I squinted against the glare, scanning the horizon. It had been years since I’d passed through this desolation, but time had done little to change it. If anything, the West had grown even more hostile, the sun more unforgiving, the air more brittle and sharp, like the edge of a knife.

In the distance, mountains rose like the bones of some ancient beast, worn down by eons into rounded stumps of rust and ochre. They weren’t the towering, snow-capped Rockies of my youth, but their presence was no less ominous. These mountains, domed by a cloudless sky, were dying too, slowly baking under a sun that had long forgotten the concept of mercy. Behind me, the horizon stretched out in a long, unbroken line, where earth met the sky in a union of despair.  High above, clouds gathered, a ragged assembly of gray and white, their bellies heavy with the promise of rain that would never come, casting long shadows that did nothing to lessen the heat.

For months now, the sky had been full of false promises, teasing the land with the hope of rain that never materialized. It was a cruel joke, a reminder that hope was a fleeting thing, as insubstantial as the clouds themselves.

The filling station was a distant memory now, as distant as the girl I had left behind there. It had been swallowed by the miles, the heat, the endless march of time. Everything that had happened there— the gunfire, the blood, the last sighting of them— had been consumed by the desert. But the memory of the Blackfingers, their ochre-smeared handprints on the sun-bleached wood, was something I couldn’t shake. Those upside-down signs, that final warning— all burned into my mind, as permanent as the scars on my soul.

A glance behind told me the coyote was still there, I could feel her presence like a shadow at my heels. Bone-thin and mangy, her golden coat now dull under the harsh sun, she had been trailing me ever since the filling station. I could imagine her head down, tongue lolling, paws cracking, and bleeding from the unyielding ground, but she didn’t give up. Maybe she understood, better than I did, that sometimes survival was a matter of sheer will.

The coyote was headstrong—too stubborn to die, just like me.

As I walked, memories began to flood back, unbidden and unwelcome.

I thought of my childhood, the banks of the Mississippi, green and lush, the air thick with the scent of water and life. That was a world away now, a place as distant as the stars themselves, unreachable and almost forgotten. Still, I could almost feel the cool touch of the spring rains on my skin, the whisper of a breeze in the tall grass, the gentle caress of a morning dew.

Then, the memories shifted to darker times— to grey stone towers stained with blood, to battlefields soaked in the red of fallen friends. Those were days of war and betrayal, of oaths sworn in blood and broken in secret. Polaris had guided me then, a cold star on the edge of the world, while Mercury, elusive and triumphant, glinted in the night sky, its light too brief, too distant.

And there were other memories, of caves and dark places, where nightmares were born and fears took root, places where light had never touched and where they had always been.

The present came crashing back, dragging me out of the past and into the harsh reality of now. The vow I had made, the promise to hunt them down, every last one of their kind, was all that kept me going. ‘They’ had been hunting me since the beginning of time, long before man walked the earth, before the first light broke the darkness, and long after the final dark had fallen. For years, they had remained hidden, shadows on the edge of dreams, whispers in the night. But now they were real, all too real, and the world was paying the price for its disbelief.

This was my world, the only one I knew, but I had been told there were others—worlds that lay beyond the edges of maps, beyond the sight of ordinary men. In these worlds, the cardinal points had no meaning, distances were illusions, and time was a fickle thing. My father had taught me to navigate these worlds, using a sextant to find the hidden roads, the paths that were older than the earth itself. He had called them the King’s Roads, though others had names for them— fairy paths, ley lines, the Convergence of Stars. With the sextant, I could mark my place among them, even as the world shifted beneath my feet.

Three days before I crossed into Arizona, a raven had given me a gift—a pocket watch, dropped from the sky like some dark omen. The bird had been following me for days, circling high above, perching on fences and telephone poles, cawing out to me with a voice that echoed in the empty places of my mind- ‘Time… time…’. On the third day, the raven had let me approach, its black eyes watching as I reached out. It had dropped the watch into my hand before taking flight, leaving me with a tool, a weapon, and a curse.

I hadn’t questioned my fortune or the meaning behind the gift. I had learned long ago that nothing came without a price. The watch was a means to measure time and distance, to find my way in a world where both were as treacherous as the land itself.

That had been ten days ago.

Now, the pocket watch felt heavy in my hand, its face reflecting the merciless light of the sun. I flipped it open, watching the second hand tick away the moments, each one a reminder of the relentless march toward an end I couldn’t see, but could only feel in my bones.

I trudged onward, the land shifting beneath my boots. The Joshua trees whispered secrets in a language I couldn’t understand, their shadows stretching long across the ground. The mountains loomed closer now, their ancient faces etched with the passage of time.  I found my mind drifting back to the girl, to the filling station, and to the coyote that still followed me.

She had been a child, caught in a darkness, not of her making. Her death weighed on me, a stone in my chest, a reminder of what this quest was costing me. Every life I took, every Blackfinger I hunted down, chipped away at what was left of my humanity. But there was no turning back. The vow I had made, the promise to my father, and the memory of those I had lost, drove me forward, even as the land tried to break me.

I glanced back, seeing the coyote as a distant speck against the barren landscape. She was a constant companion now, a silent witness to my journey. Maybe she understood, better than anyone, the nature of the hunt, the relentless pursuit of a goal that seemed just out of reach.

The air grew cooler as I neared the mountains, a welcome relief from the sun’s brutal assault. The shadows lengthened, the day slipping toward night. I needed to find shelter, a place to rest, to gather what strength I had left.

I found a cave at the base of the mountains, hidden behind a tangle of thorny bushes. I pushed through, grateful for the sanctuary. Inside, the air was cool and still, a refuge from the world outside. I set up a small fire, watching the flames as they cast their flickering light on the walls.

As I sat by the fire, my thoughts returned to the raven, to the gift it had given me, and to the meaning behind it. Time was a precious thing in this world, a resource as dangerous as the land itself. The raven had given me a way to measure it, to navigate the paths that lay ahead, and to find my way in a world that was determined to see me lost.

Beyond the grotto, stars appeared, tiny points of light in the vast darkness, a reminder that even in the deepest night, there was still a way forward. Tomorrow, I would continue the hunt. Tomorrow, I would face whatever waited for me. But tonight, I allowed myself a moment of rest, a brief reprieve in a world that had forgotten what peace meant.

I closed my eyes, the crackle of the fire and the steady tick of the pocket watch my only companions. The hunt would go on, but for now, I would sleep. And in my dreams, I would see the faces of those I had lost, and I would know that my quest was not in vain. I would find them. I would bring justice. And maybe, just maybe, I would find a way to make peace with the ghosts of my past.

****

The sun beat down like a hammer, relentless, unforgiving. I stumbled to a halt, the heat pressing down on me until it felt like the very earth was conspiring to break me. My breath came in ragged gasps, and the asphalt beneath my boots soft, like a warning from the devil himself. The temperature had climbed past a hundred and ten, maybe more. The air hung heavy, with no breeze to carry away the stifling heat. I knew if I didn’t find shelter soon, death would claim me, slowly and cruelly.

My vision swam, the world around me a haze of blinding light and suffocating heat. Then, in the distance, a shadow—a promise of reprieve from the sun’s merciless gaze. I veered off the highway, legs wobbling beneath me, and made for that distant shade. Somewhere between the mirage and the heat, I found it: a small grotto, carved into the rocky outcrop like a sanctuary for the damned. I collapsed inside, the cool darkness wrapping around me like a shroud.

Time lost meaning in that place. I lay on the cool stone, teetering on the edge of consciousness, and somewhere in the depths of that delirium, she came to me. An old woman, her face a roadmap of the land’s hardships, craggy and sun-beaten. Her lips were stained deep ochre from peyote, her eyes gleaming with visions only she could see. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of the desert, dry and ancient.

“They’re comin’ for you, boy,” she rasped, her words echoing through the grotto-like the cackling of some ancient crow. Her voice was a croak, worn by time and suffering. She wore a pelt, brown and lean, like the coyote outside, and her eyes shone with a light that wasn’t entirely human.

“Skinwalker,” I managed to croak out, trying to wave her away with a hand that trembled uncontrollably. “What do you want from me? Why do you haunt me?” The words came out as a whisper, barely audible. In the old tongue, she was yee naaldlooshi, a harbinger of sickness and death.

She didn’t answer. I turned my gaze to the road outside. My lips were cracked, my skin blistered from the sun. I couldn’t tell if what I was seeing was real or just another trick of the heat.

I fumbled for my pack, dragging it closer. The patches and scars sewn into it told stories of travels long past, of roads taken and battles fought. But all I sought now was the canteen, and when I found it, the damn thing was empty. Mocking me.

The old woman’s voice cut through my despair. “Seen it in a dream, I have… you too, I reckon.” Her words were cryptic, delivered with a spit into the dust. I groaned, too weary to care.

The soil inside the grotto was as dry as the bones it housed. I was dying, and I knew it. The old woman shifted, her movements barely more than shadows. The coyote reappeared, its fur glinting golden-red in the fading light.

“Your life I do not seek,” the coyote said, its voice a dry rasp that scraped against my ears. It bit down on my wrist, and I felt the hot trickle of blood. I struggled, weakly, but it held fast.

My hand found the grip of lex talionis, my pistol, but my strength was gone. I couldn’t even raise it. So this is how it ends, I thought, not with a fight, but with a whimper.

“Relax,” the old woman—or was it the coyote?—cackled, a sound like rocks grinding together. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. I could’ve taken you at the fillin’ station.” I remembered that moment, the coyote watching me before the bullets flew and the world turned red.

The pain in my wrist burned, searing up my arm, and I tried to push the beast away, but it only tightened its grip. “Get away from me,” I gasped, feeling the fire spread through my veins.

“Do you think you can banish me so easily?” she mocked. “We’re bound now, you and I. One blood, one bond, one purpose.” Her words stung, as sharp as the bite that drew blood.

I laughed, a harsh, broken sound. “A dalliance,” I spat. “This is what you offer? I’m dying, you old bitch.”

“And yet, I’m here to offer you life,” she replied, her voice laced with something close to pity.

The pain in my arm and the fire in my veins were all that tethered me to the world, but time slipped again. When I opened my eyes, the coyote was gone, replaced by the old woman. She held an earthen vessel in her hands, the clay pot’s contents thick and pungent. She pressed it to my lips.

“Drink,” she commanded.

I resisted at first, but my body betrayed me. Poison or not, I drank, driven by the thirst that clawed at my insides. The liquid was bitter, and it burned going down, but I swallowed it all.

Memories surged—green fields, rivers running wild, and the scent of rain.

A world I’d lost a long time ago.

I pushed the vessel away, but the old woman only pressed it closer.

“Accept what I offer,” she urged. “Let us be one.”

Skinwalker. The word echoed in my mind. I drew lex talionis, the weight of it heavy in my hand. The line was drawn, and she knew it. She pulled the vessel away, her eyes hard.

“You hide,” she said, setting the pot aside.

“I stay alive,” I replied, my voice a whisper of defiance. “I do not hide.”

“And yet, here you are,” she grinned a feral smile that showed too many teeth.

Her words were true, bitter as they were.

A sound at the grotto’s entrance drew my attention, and I saw a figure there, familiar and ghostly.

“Elijah,” I breathed, confusion clouding my thoughts. But Elijah was dead, long dead. The old woman shook her head, her smile sad.

“That would be somethin’, wouldn’t it,” she said. “He too was shunned, hunted like an animal. Always it’s been this way—speak the truth, and the world’ll hate you for it.”

“Elijah confronted,” I said, knowing why he was dead.

“Aye, but he didn’t hide. He faced his demons, his fears, and in the end, he was victorious.”

I closed my eyes, feeling like I was arguing with my reflection. When I opened them again, Elijah was gone, and the old woman had changed. She was small now, childlike, but her words carried the weight of the world. Whatever she’d given me, it had brought me back from the brink.

“Enough,” she said, her voice final. “Survival’s simple—hunt or be hunted, kill or be killed. It’s that plain.”

“Nothing’s that simple,” I muttered, but she only shrugged.

“This time, maybe it is,” she said.

I managed a smile, though it hurt to do so. “You’re my lhiannan sidhe,” I said, “my angel of doom.”

She laughed, a sound like bones rattling. “I’ve never been called such a thing, but it could be as you say.” Her words gave me strength, and I felt the fire inside me burn brighter.

“You saved me,” I said, holstering my weapon. “But I don’t know if you’re friend or foe.”

“One can be neither,” she replied, patting my leg. “Those that seek you will find you in time. Run ahead of them, prepare. Where earth and sky meet, you’ll find your shelter. Rest now, for you’ll need it.”

I wanted to argue, but she cut me off. “Know this—after tonight, you may seek me, but you’ll not find me.” And with that, she faded into the shadows.

Sleep claimed me then, and in my dreams, I stood in a high place, looking down on the desert, red and green and unforgiving. The sun hung low, dipping toward the horizon, and a figure approached—a boy, pale-haired and ancient-eyed, with a man beside him, twisted like a shepherd crook.

“Why do you seek your doom?” the shadow asked.

“I seek answers,” I replied. “I seek justice.”

The shadow scoffed. “Justice for whom? Until Polaris rides the shoulder of the world, you’ll find no answers here.”  The boy and the shadow moved on, leaving me alone with the fading light and the vast, empty desert.

***

When I awoke, dawn had broken, cold and indifferent. The grotto lay silent, empty of the night’s apparitions. The crescent moon still clung to the sky, a ghostly remnant of the night, chased westward by the encroaching sun. Beside me, the earthen vessel lay shattered, remnants of a past I couldn’t quite grasp, and my canteen, inexplicably full, sloshed with water.

I couldn’t make sense of it, not really. The night’s visions were as intangible as smoke, slipping away as I gathered my belongings, checked my weapon, and stepped out into the harsh morning light.

The grotto faded behind me, a distant memory, as I resumed my march down the endless highway, thumbing for a ride that wouldn’t come. The miles stretched out, an unyielding expanse, the sun bearing down with searing intensity, while the wind, that ever-present harbinger of desolation, whispered promises of death in my ear.

After a time, I came across a rusted sign, leaning drunkenly to one side:

Betatakin Cliff Dwelling

The road twisted on, west, then north, then east, the miles blurring one into another. I followed its course, my boots kicking up dust as the land unfolded before me in skeletal desolation.

And then, there it was. The place I’d been led to, as if by the hand of fate itself. The remains of an ancient Navajo village, crumbling under the weight of centuries, its bones laid bare beneath a massive clamshell of rock. The overhang loomed hundreds of feet high, twice as wide, a monument to time’s inexorable passage. The ruins clung to the rock, their clay and daub structures battered by wind and sun, the graffiti of a forgotten century marking them with garish streaks of blue, red, and black.

The ground was littered with the detritus of those who’d come before—crushed beer cans, cigarette butts, shards of broken glass, bits of paper. All of it relics of a time when the living had passed through, leaving their marks as thoughtlessly as animals marking territory. This is where the trail had led me. This place, these ancient ruins, where earth met the sky. The directions were given at the filling station and confirmed by the old woman’s cryptic words.

I had seen the map, etched into the flesh of a dead girl, her back a canvas for some madman’s design, lines and coordinates carved into her like a curse. It had led me here. But to what end?

And why?

As I stood there, surveying the desolate expanse of scrub and stunted brush, the yawning canyons that stretched into oblivion, the thought struck me with grim clarity: what a perfect place for an ambush. And suddenly, it all made sense.

I hurried forward, every sense on high alert, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign that they were already upon me. Perhaps the old woman was a liar, a pawn in their game. In this world, nothing was certain, not even the truth. This was a land of tombs and open graves, where nightmares wore the faces of men, and where skinwalkers and shamans pulled the strings from behind the veil, their ancient rites as old as the earth itself.

I reached the ruins and scouted a position. An hour later, I had found my place among the stones, hands, and knees scraped raw, dirt caking my skin, and sweat turning to mud on my brow like some primitive war paint. They were close—I could feel it in my bones, a predator’s instinct.

Secure behind a crumbling wall of stone, high above the desert floor, I drew my father’s sextant from my pack. I aimed for the crescent moon, and then the sun, both hanging in the sky like distant gods. I calculated my position, noting it in my journal—a journal that still carried the scent of a girl I had once loved, her memory etched into every page. I checked the time, then recalculated, comparing the figure against the ticking hands of my pocket watch.

Fifteen seconds. Somewhere along the way, I had gained a precious fifteen seconds. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Combined with the time I had already accumulated, even accounting for the lost minutes in the grotto, I was left with a full minute thirty to work with.

I had a chance.

An hour later, they arrived.

Of the ten who started this godforsaken journey, only three remained—two men in tattered blue jeans and stained tee shirts, and one woman in a vintage red dress. Dust clung to them like a second skin, their bodies marked with the evidence of their struggle. Cuts, bruises, gouges—silent testimony to the violence they had endured to reach this place. I crouched among the ruins, watching them, hidden within the skeletal remains of some long-forgotten dwelling. It had taken me an hour to find this spot, just right for what needed doing. Taking on one of them was bad enough; all three at once would be suicide.

As I’d expected, they halted as soon as they crested the last hill before the ruins. The woman, a sharp bark of a voice cutting through the silence, called out. The trio huddled together, murmuring in low tones, then split apart. The man with red hair and a face burnt to a blistered crimson by the relentless sun stayed close to the woman. I marked him as Red. The other, with midnight-black hair, broke off to my right, angling to flank me. I named him Raven. Their plan was clear as day. The woman and Red would charge straight ahead, while Raven circled, hoping to catch me from the side.

Damn. I’d hoped they’d come at me as a group. My hand found the grip of Lex Talionis, the cold metal a lifeline as I pressed the barrel to my forehead, the chill biting into my skin. Think, damn it, think.

Back at the gas station, the girl had caught me off guard. Out here, among the ruins and the desert, I needed to turn the tables. I needed to catch them unaware.

A flash of insight struck like a bolt of lightning. I stashed my backpack and took off after Raven, leaving the woman and Red to climb the series of ladders and trails that led up to my position.

I’d faced their kind before—men tough as iron and just as determined. They fought like cornered wolves, but they bled and died like anyone else. Their young girls were the same, fierce and ruthless, ready to gut you from groin to gullet if you blinked. But the women—their mageia—were something else entirely. Dangerous and unpredictable, too damn close to their undead goddess for comfort.

I’d crossed paths with two of these mageia in my time—once in the ruins of New York City, near Central Park, and again outside of Omaha, Nebraska, amidst the tattered remains of a traveling circus. Both fights had been hell, and I’d come out the other side, but not without scars. The only thing in my favor now was that this mageia, the one in the red dress, was young. I just hoped she was young enough.

I kept my head low as I sprinted between two crumbling walls, a sheltered walkway between one level of ruins and the next. I vaulted over rusted trashcans, their sides caved in and contents long scattered, dodged chains, an overturned bench, and two faded “Walk This Way” signs. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I paused for just a moment to collect myself before I took off again.

I rounded a series of low structures, their insides crawling with shadows, when Red appeared out of nowhere. We both froze, caught off guard by each other’s presence.

Red had done well to cover the distance in such a short time.

The woman was nowhere in sight.

His cheeks were hollow, skin gaunt, and blistered from the relentless sun. Like all of them, he was packing ancient iron, stolen from the graves of long-dead gunslingers.

Without a second’s hesitation, Red drew and fired, his motion quick as a rattlesnake strike.

The triple clap of gunfire rolled across the ruins, reverberating off canyon walls, and echoing out into the vast, empty plains.

In hand, ‘Justice’ inked in blue across my knuckles, Lex Talionis still smoked, its barrel wickedly hot, a serpent’s breath in the cool desert air. The weapon had spoken with a finality that left no room for argument. Red lay before me, sprawled across the trail, ruddy streams of blood bubbling from beneath him. His eyes were wide, mouth gaping in a scream that would never sound. He twitched once, a final defiance, but my shot had been true. The bullet had found its mark just beneath his left eye, a tiny black dot that exploded out the back of his skull. The second shot had caught him square in the chest, just below the sternum.

In less than a breath, he moved no more.

I’ll give him this much—he’d gotten off the first shot, the shell so blisteringly close it singed the hair by my ear. But like love, war, and hand grenades, close didn’t count. Not today.

The echoes of thunder still reverberated off the canyon walls when the sound of dislodged gravel reached my ears. I spun, quick as a whip, diving behind the nearest stone—a massive rock, its shape like some ancient beast, worn by centuries of wind and rain. An errant shot careened off its side, scattering dust and debris around me.

Raven had found me.

This was as good as it was going to get. His shot had come dangerously close to calling my bluff, not to mention ending my life.

No time to react. I yanked the pocket watch from my vest, wiping the dust from its yellowed crystal with my thumb. I pressed down on the upper stud—one indent for seconds, two for minutes. I’d never dared press it three times. But now, with sweat stinging my eyes and Lex Talionis in hand, I hit the stud and began the countdown.

Time ceased, at least for everyone but me. In this moment, it became a map, folds within folds, where between one second and the next lay all the time in the world—or my case, one minute and thirty seconds of non-time. My father had taught me how to walk the King’s Roads, how to navigate this barren land of suspended moments.

I scrambled forward, backtracking through the ruins, a cool breeze sweeping past. I aimed to run into the lady in red. If I could get her and Raven together, I might stand a chance of ending this quickly. They say Lady Luck’s a fickle mistress, but I’ve never had any use for her.

Screw luck.

Ten seconds in, I nearly collided with myself, passed myself without a glance at eleven, and ran smack into Raven at eighteen. He was no longer ahead of me but circling, hunting me still. Since I could do nothing while on the King’s Road, I toggled the stud—

Raven knew exactly what had happened. Before I could level Lex and fire, he hammered it from my grip, his hands clamping down on my wrists like iron. We went down in a cloud of loose gravel and dust, knees and elbows striking rock, fists colliding in brutal fury. Sweat poured, and the world rocked with every blow. Blood bloomed across my face, numbing as it spread. My vision blurred, but we kept fighting, kicking, and grappling in the dirt.

A sudden sting made me recoil—Raven had a knife, a wicked thing that left a three-inch gash across my right bicep. It bled like hell but was shallow, more pain than damage. Lex lay in the dirt and rock a good four feet away, might as well have been a hundred miles… Raven would gut me before I could reach it.

He was licking a split upper lip, his left eye swelling shut. Neither of us spoke—what was there to say? It was time to go Darwin. We squared off, circling each other, waiting for an opening, knowing the other would pay dearly for any mistake. I still had time on the pocket watch, but why waste it? The lady in red was out there, and she wouldn’t waste a second.

So it came down to this, man against man, sweat pouring down our faces. I dared not blink, eyes locked on Raven’s. I’d dotted his right eye with a solid punch, and eventually, he’d have to blink. When he did, he’d be mine.

The timing was everything. The first blink, I held back. On the second, we circled, his left hand testing me, sweeping out. The third time he blinked, I struck. Grabbing his knife hand, I twisted with a crack, then drove the blade up under his chin. The knife slid into his throat, slicing through the grime and into his brain, silencing him for good.

I’d like to say it was quick, that one moment he was alive and the next he was gone, but that’d be a lie. We struggled, bloody drool on his lips, eyes flaring, hands clawing. It took everything I had to hold him there, to keep the knife buried deep, to maintain the pressure. Grunting, I twisted the blade forty-five degrees, and the light left his eyes.

Raven arched his back, hands reaching out as if to catch himself from falling into the abyss. I lunged for Lex—and a tattered, scuffed high heel slammed down on my wrist, crushing my fingers and wrenching away my grip.

Towering over me, impossibly tall, the lady in red was a flash and swirl of crimson. A hammering kick to the side of my head brought darkness, a distant place where pain had yet to find me. Then it came, rushing back with all the light and noise of the world.

I lay there, struggling for breath, hand flailing for the gun. But the lady in red had other ideas. Barking a laugh, she picked up Lex and set it atop a shattered wall ten feet away. Her movements were so quick I could barely track them.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, gathering my feet beneath me. Blood ran freely from the head wound she’d given me.  I tasted copper on my lips.

She said nothing, just stared at me, her eyes black pits. In another life, she might have been beautiful—petite, coppery hair, high cheekbones, pouty lips. But now, she was one of them. Nothing in this world could fix what they’d broken.

Lipstick on a pig, and all that.

She reminded me of the girl back at the gas station, the one who’d tried to ambush me. The one I shot in the head. She, too, had been young. She, too, had been taken, changed—broken by them. The only thing that saved me then was that the girl had been too young to fully understand her powers, even with the symbols and words cut into her hand.

They don’t come out of the grave fully trained, thank God.

The lady in red bent down and slipped off her high heels. They clattered against the rock behind her. She meant business.

“Can we talk about this?” I asked, buying time, hoping to draw her away from the pistol.

She answered with a grin that split her face like a wound. Her hands clawed into fists, and the ground beneath her began to crack, the earth peeling back to reveal a darkness that reeked of grave rot and decay. I turned to run. Raven still had his gun; I just needed to get to him.

I didn’t make it three steps before the ground exploded beneath me, hurling me into the air.

I crashed down, choking on dust, fresh agony splitting my hands and knees, eyes blinded by debris. I scrambled towards where she had placed Lex, tripping, slipping over broken rock, a rumble in the distance growing ever louder and closer.

The lady in red was faster. She appeared out of the dust, a snarl twisting her features, and a wickedly curved blade flashing as she swung it at my head. I ducked, kicked out with one knee, and caught her in the side just as her blade hissed over my head. I could hear her cursing even as the dust cleared—amateur. Any seasoned mageia would’ve ended me the second she had my pistol. But inexperience is a bitch.

I saw my chance. The wall where Lex lay still stood. I reached up, even as pain lanced through my leg, something sharp driving deep into the meat of my thigh. I screamed, tumbling forward, hand reaching, reaching for Lex. I could feel her behind me, the blade wet with my blood. Her next swing would be my last.

Time slowed. Her blade became a blur. I saw her bone-white teeth, too many of them, far more than any human should have.

She’d eat me with those teeth.

As she screamed in a guttural tongue, something ancient and terrible, I fell backward, bringing my right hand to bear. I squeezed off three shots as I tumbled.

Thunder cracked, and her body jerked. The first bullet yanked her shoulder high, the second slammed into her chest, and the third snapped her head back like a broken doll. Blood and brain splattered the wall behind her. She crumpled in a heap.

My head hit the wall, the impact exploding behind my eyes, sunbursts of pain, darkness flirting at the edge of my vision. I lay still, the world around me collapsing in waves. Betatakin was falling, the ruin of it all coming down. What she’d started with her power, Mother Nature was finishing.

I forced myself up, leg screaming, blood running down my thigh. The lady in red lay still, facedown in a spreading pool of blood. I struggled to my feet, barely able to move- then she was there, the coyote, in all her dusty red glory, nipping at my boots, willing me to move.

I holstered Lex, stumbling towards my belongings, the coyote driving me forward, snapping and snarling. We cleared the ruins, just as the mountain began to collapse, rocks the size of trucks crashing all around. I was too slow, too crippled, and the world was coming down too fast. Every time I faltered, the coyote was there, pushing me on.

We reached an edge, the world dropping away into a black-blue river far, far below, white caps churning in the darkness. Behind us, the mountain continued to crumble, the air thick with dust and falling rock. I turned to the coyote, her eyes meeting mine, snarling as if she was daring me. “Guess we’re both screwed,” I muttered, scooping her up, fevered and rail-thin. Without another thought, I leaped into the void.

We fell forever, the coyote squirming, claws raking at me, teeth snapping. Then the icy water slapped us, stealing my breath. The world churned, disoriented, everything muffled, the current dragging us under. I fought to hold on, to kick to the surface, but I didn’t know which way was up, everything was dark and cold. My chest burned, screaming for air, for release. I let the coyote go. I had to save myself.

Something struck the back of my head, dragging me down, and my mouth opened in a silent scream as I lost what little air I had left. Panic seized me, everything turning black as I struggled, fought against the pull of the river, the overwhelming cold. My hands clawed out, reaching for something, anything to stop the darkness from closing in.

Then something grabbed my arm, yanking me sideways, pulling me free. I had no fight left in me, no breath to give. The blackness took over.

When I woke, I was facedown on a bed of river rock, black water draining out of me. I turned my head, and there she was, the coyote, licking my face. She looked so bedraggled, so miserable I nearly laughed, but instead, I coughed, choking on river water. “Guess we’re even,” I rasped. Not that it mattered if we ever were.

Later, as the bones of the wild hare the coyote had caught burned in the fire, I leaned back against a twisted tree, watching the river roll by. The same river that had nearly taken us. The coyote lay beside me, licking her paws. We made a good pair, her and me. I saved her life, she saved mine.

The storm was coming; I could feel it in the air, the taste of ozone, the way the clouds built in the distance. We had miles to cover, and not much time to do it. But tonight, we rested.

I stroked the coyote’s fur, letting my mind drift back, beyond the ruins, beyond the gas station, to the cave where this all began. Back when my weapon had been a blade, not a pistol.

Times change.

How far I’d come, the horrors I’d seen, the lives I’d taken. The world was ending, but mine was just beginning. And that was a good thing.

“It’s just you and me now,” I murmured, the coyote growling softly as she pressed closer.

I looked up at the sky, watching the darkness overtake the light, the storm brewing. We needed to move soon. But not tonight.

With the fire crackling, the coyote beside me, and the river rushing by, I drifted off to sleep.