There was no sign of violence, no evidence of what had killed them. It looked as if whatever was responsible had disposed of them quickly. It had the appearance of plague.
Panther searched the camp all the rest of the day and into the next, prowling through discarded containers and debris, desperate to find the cause.
He did not think he would find any peace until he solved the mystery. But nothing revealed itself. When it finally became apparent that it wasn't going to do so, he broke down and cried, kneeling amid the bodies, rocking back and forth until he felt emptied out. Something changed inside him that day, something that he knew would never change back. Everything he had believed in was turned upside down. Preparation and skills alone weren't what would save you in this life.
What would save you was luck. Pure chance. What would save you was something over which you had no control at all.
He buried his family–his mother and brothers and sisters— ignoring the protestations of his companions that he was risking his own health by touching the dead, refusing to listen to their warnings that what had killed them was almost certainly contagious. When he was done, he said good–bye to the others, who had chosen to stay in the city and to seek admittance into one of the compounds, salvaged what he could of weapons and supplies, packed them on his back, and started walking north.
Weeks later, he arrived in Seattle and found Hawk and the Ghosts and his new home.
For the first week after he became a member of this new family, he was willing to talk about what had happened to him. After that, he never spoke of it, consigning it to the past, a part of his life that was over and done with.
But Hawk could tell that he hadn't forgotten it; he simply kept it locked away inside, white–hot and corrosive. The pain and anger were always eating at him, and he had yet to find an effective means of dealing with them, of healing himself so that he could put the past to rest.
Sometimes it seemed as if he never would.
Hawk glanced over at him now, at the dark intense features, at the restless, troubled eyes. Panther caught him looking, and he glanced quickly away.
The trek through the city went swiftly and without incident. They encountered no Freaks, no other tribes, and no obstacles that slowed their passage. The day stayed dark and the air damp. Mist rose from the pavement and clung to the buildings, cloaking everything in gauzy trailers. Before long, the skeleton of the Space Needle came into view over the tops of the buildings, its ragged spire lifting skyward like a torch gone dark. Once, people could take an elevator to its top to an eating place and view deck that looked out over the whole of the city. But that was back in the days before hand–cranked generators and stairs were the best anyone could hope for, when there was citywide electricity and the elevators still worked.
It must have been something to see, he thought suddenly. Not the city–you could still see the city if you climbed to the viewpoints on the hills that surrounded it–but the population that made the city come alive, all the people and the traffic and the movement and color before everything fell apart.
Their destination appeared ahead, a broad two–story building with its plate–glass windows broken out and its facade scorched by fire and scoured by the elements. Hawk had found it by accident on a foraging expedition two years earlier: a storage and distribution center for chemical supplies, including purification tablets. The stock was too extensive to carry out in a single load or to try to store in the limited space of their underground home. But the tablets were precious and difficult to find in a time when retail outlets had long since been pillaged and emptied of useful goods. So he had taken what he could pack on his back and hidden the rest in the basement behind a cluster of empty packing crates. So far, his secret stash had not been disturbed.
They walked to the front of the building and stood looking through the broken–out windows for a moment.
"So what's the plan, Bird‑Man?" Panther asked in a singsong voice.
Hawk ignored him, casting about the shadows and the mist, listening to the silence and trusting to his instincts. He peered down the streets where they tunneled between the buildings and through the misty haze. Rain dampened the pavement, leaving it slick and oily, and the air smelled of metal and old fish.
He glanced at Candle, who met his gaze and shook her head. No danger so far, she was saying.
He turned to the others. "Fixit, you wait just inside, out of sight, and keep watch. The rest of us will go get the tablets."
They climbed through one of the window frames, avoiding the door, which was barred and chained. Inside, the building opened through layers of deep shadows and long, hazy streaks of gray light to a jumbled collection of shelves, tables, counters, boxes, and debris of all sorts. Leaving Fixit at the front wall, Hawk took the others toward a half wall that separated the front and back of the store. Inside the half wall, a trapdoor opened onto stairs leading down into the basement. Once again, Hawk hesitated. He didn't like the feel of the entry, never had. Then, brushing aside his fears, he switched on his solar–powered torch and started down.
The stairs ended in the very center of the basement, which was ink–black and musty and spread away in all directions to walls only faintly visible in the dim light of Hawk's torch. Packing crates were stacked against the back wall, concealing the supplies they had come for. The wall to their left was partially collapsed, leaving a black hole that opened into the basement of the cavernous adjoining warehouse. The hole was ragged and slick with moisture, and the room beyond so thick with shadows that it was impossible to see anything. A deep, pervasive silence hung over everything.
Right away Candle said, "Something's down here." She pointed to the hole in the wall and the impenetrable blackness beyond. "In there."
Everyone swung about to face the collapsed wall, prods coming up defensively. They stood motionless for a moment, listening. Nothing happened. No movement, no sounds. The seconds ticked away, and the basement seemed to grow stuffy and warm.
Finally, knowing he had to do something, Hawk started forward to take a closer look.
Candle grasped his arm instantly, pulling him back. "Don't go in there!"
Hawk looked at her in surprise. "What is it?"
She shook her head. Her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes wide with fear. She could barely make herself answer him. "We have to get out of here. We have to get out right away."
The way she said it made it clear that she felt there was no room for argument. Hawk looked at the others. "Go back up the stairs, right now."
"Wait a minute!" Panther was right in his face, his voice an angry hiss.
"We came all the way across town to turn tail and run? You want us to leave the tablets behind?"
"Go back up the stairs," Hawk repeated.
"Go back up the stairs yourself!" Panther snapped, and wheeled away.
As the others watched in disbelief, he started toward the back of the room and the deep shadows, ignoring the looks directed after him, oblivious to Candle's hiss of warning. Hawk started to follow, then stopped as he realized he could not turn Panther around without risking a confrontation that would likely do more harm than good. Not knowing what else to do, he swung the thin beam of his torch after the retreating figure to help light his way. Panther reached the piles of crates and moved through them, neither hesitating nor hurrying.
Then, abruptly, he disappeared from view.
Hawk held his breath and waited. He glanced left quickly. Within the black hole of the collapsed wall, everything was still. But the shadows of the room seemed to coalesce into something huge.