Chapter 5

The temperature has dropped significantly while I've been inside. Black ice formed on the ground, there's a thin veil of it on the pavement, the sidewalk and the grass. Fragments of crystals catch in the wind and refract the neon light flashing above my head. Snow flakes are falling, giving me the vague sense of being in a psychedelic snow globe. My tailbone is throbbing and my palms hurt from the sudden impact with the ground. I rub my hands together, getting little bits of asphalt and dirt out of my flesh. Now, where did my gun end up?! I'm looking around for it as I stand. If this was a movie, I'd have fallen gracefully, my gun still in my hand having rolled just before I hit the ground, ready for action. But this isn't a movie, and I'm not made for this crap. Dad used to call me Grace when I was younger, small wonder. My bones creak and both my knees pop as I stand up, brushing my hands against my thighs, ridding myself of the last of the grit. My butt's wet from my short stay on the ground. Fantastic. I look to my right where i think my gun must have skittered when i fell. Between the flash of the sign and the hour of night, I'm having a hard time laying eyes on my black firearm. I catch a glimpse of something a little shiny, half under the roll away dumpster edged up against the side of the building and a retaining wall. I amble over, a hitch in my stride, still recuperating from my adventure. I bend down, knees popping again and my lower back straining from too much misuse in one night. I take a knee and bend myself in half, my right hand balancing my weight on the side of the dumpster while my left hand makes a grab for what i hope is my gun. It is! My fingers take hold of the ice cold metal and I stand up, the weight of it comforting and familiar in my hand. I look it over, angling it in the light of the sign in the background: it's scratched pretty bad, but as I stare down the sight across the barrel, it doesn't look compromised. I guess I know what I'll be doing when I get home. Gun cleaning. Again. I sigh, and shaking my head I start to walk down the sidewalk, West, back toward home. I'm unzipping my fanny pack, my thumb already racing inside to depress the scanner when I sense something near me. I pause. My thumb scan completes, and the ear cans around my neck start to send out their chaotic pop. I'm scanning the area, but never turning around to look behind me. I'd have heard the door to the club open and the cacophony that follows, I wasn't far enough away yet. Instinctively, I start to smell, in earnest, the air around me. I'm not detecting any rot, no smell of blood or decay. But still, I can sense it. There is something out here with me, and it may not be alive.