The Dead Scout's Handbook of Afterlife Survival

Epilogue: The Badge of Fire Safety

Cayden's shoes rattled the rooftops like a snare drum. The beat paused as he launched himself while a flickering and buzzing light passed into and out of existence in an alley below. A bang startled the night as Cayden landed on the next rooftop. To the right, the red lights from Club Igneum smoldered under the haze of smoke caressing the crumbling walkways. For a moment, before landing, Cayden spotted his target. He first noticed the man and what transpired on street level, three blocks south, two blocks east, and three minutes past. Now, he was on a B-line to the rail station.

Cayden had taken the job, and Cayden had picked the uniform for the people he worked for. Fire users weren't so bad, despite their image of dingy poverty hidden under an especially gruff mask. It was an image he hoped to change. The squalor of their district showed what happens when the rest of the world turns their backs. Litter chewed at the edges of the streets, potholes dug into the roads, and cracks cut apart even the graffiti covering the brick and metal walls of the district. Still, Cayden appreciated his neighbors, and he even admired his superior, Misty, a freight train of a woman who wore her displeasure with the subtlety of a category V hurricane.

Then, there was Martha. She wasn't kidding before. The day after Cayden moved into his apartment, she moved in next door. Rebecca kept in touch via paper airplanes that made it into Cayden's open window every night. He would send emails back. Sergei, Sam, Cayden, and in spite of Sam's best efforts to prevent her from joining, Jessica, drank together every Tuesday. Everyone seemed to like Cayden.

The wind buffeted his uniform as Cayden stumbled on his next jump and hopped to his feet. He wouldn't let this one go. Definitely not this one. Sputtering, he hopped over a vent, coughing steam in his face. The man below took his last turn needed for the station. It was a straight, quarter mile shot from there. Cayden picked up the pace.

He hadn't seen Sarah. Keeping tabs on her was easy though. Martha, Rebecca, and oddly, Sergei, seemed to always have the answers he wanted. A couple months ago, Sarah moved into the Kosa District, the 'District of the Mind' as they called it. It wasn't so much a district as stacks of marble and condescension. Sergei said the people there are the 'types to bring an entire set of silverware to eat a bowl of soup.' Sarah wasn't that way and Cayden knew it. From what he understood, Kosa had a lot of books and minimal noise, which sounded a lot more like her. She got to keep her books, she got a warm place, and she did find something fluffy to pet in the form of an Iglett. While Cayden hadn't seen one before, from what Martha described, it was a shiny, gray weasel with a giant, puffy coat, the texture of a baby chick. It was all perfect for her and Cayden wouldn't want it any other way.

The footsteps below stretched to shuffles and scrapes covering the man's raspy wheezes. Cayden lunged forward and nearly failed to make the next gap between roofs. His heart raced as he slammed into the dilapidated brick wall, his arms clutching the roof. Pulling himself up, he made quick work of the gap between himself and the man below.

He missed Charlie. In fact, as much as he still depended on Martha for advice, Charlie would have the words Cayden needed now. Buffoonery aside, Charlie was present in an undeniable and unrelenting way that nobody else had ever been for Cayden.

The wind ripped by Cayden's well-trimmed hair and smooth cheeks. He huffed in each mouthful of air with relish, exhaling doubts, regrets and fear. Pulling ahead of the man below, Cayden skidded to a stop.

#

Avi's lungs couldn't keep up. He needed to inhale more than his heavy frame could take in, and with each expulsion of air, he edged a tinge closer to expulsion of his dinner with it. Avi needed to make this train. If that wasn't enough to motivate his small legs to carry his stout frame, it also felt like he was being followed. But he checked down every street, at every intersection, and found himself to be alone by every measure he could take.

The last train was departing and with it came the last ticket out of this hell hole. It wasn't easy coming by money here, yet miraculously, he had done it. Now, he had plenty to keep a roof over his son's head, and ample to keep Miley's bowl full. It was enough for a couple years, and that was as much as he could have hoped for as a weak schmuck in a land of heroes. He owned this day, he would make this train, and he would arrive home with the money and a bit more hope than days past.

A shadow lunged off the rooftops in front of Avi, landing in an inhuman crouch, dust puffing off the dingy, dim streets ahead. The streetlights flickered, illuminating the sweat streaking down the figure's face and parting the soot patching cheek and brow. The man stood to reveal khaki pants and a matching khaki collared shirt. A noir sash ran from the man's right shoulder to his left hip and one, small badge shone from the dark fabric. Around the neck, flames blazed endlessly along a red scarf.

Avi's chest pounded. He heard rumors about this man, and suddenly, the rent and the roof and the ceramic bowl meant very little. The figure approached, boots clopping on the empty roads of the fire district. Avi tried to apologize for his frantic running but only a whimper drew from his lips. Smoke curled around the stranger's nostrils as he stopped several feet from Avi and extended his right arm. Avi trembled, wondering what power the pyromancer chose to kill him.

"Is this yours?" he asked. Still holding his breath, Avi managed to tear his stare from the man's face and down to his arm. In the man's hand, a leather square rested placidly.

Avi's shaking fingers clasped the wallet and opened it, alternating rapid glances between the man and the contents of the wallet. Inside was the picture of his son Karl and their dog Miley. It still contained his paycheck and Avi realized he must have dropped it when he triple checked that the money indeed existed. Avi looked up and met the man's eyes. Avi smiled at him. It was a natural smile, the kind that doesn't take any thought or care, the kind with no debt or strings attached, a big smile from a small favor that took no effort for Cayden to return.