Kriegspiel [Sequel to The Turing Test]

1. Stay Safe

"Thirty dollars and fifteen cents."

I swallow as my gloved fingers fumble with the money, trying to separate the bills quickly, but trembling too hard to be successful in my haste.

Get in. Get out. Get back. Don't be seen.

"Sorry," I mutter. I offer a tight smile, even though I know he can't see it under my scarf. I finally peel away two twenties and hand them over the counter.

"It's cold outside." The register springs open, and I wait for my change without meeting his eyes. "Better hurry home. Don't want to be outside at this time of night, not these days."

"Yeah." I take the change he hands me, shove it clumsily in my pocket, and then grab the plastic bags on the counter. "Thank you. Have a good night."

"Stay safe."

I hurry out of the small corner store, pulling my scarf even tighter as the wind hits me. I wish the cold was the only reason, but now it's mixed with fear that if it comes unraveled, someone will see my face. Every warm pool of light from the streetlamps, instead of offering comfort, chases away the protective shadows. I only feel safe in the dark.

I wish I could hug myself tight, even though it wouldn't change anything. But instead, I trudge along, three heavy bags of groceries held awkwardly between my still-sore hands. I cringe as their handles dig into the folds of my fingers, but I keep walking.

Get in. Get out. Get back.

I step into the night between two streetlamps and take a deep breath before the next one throws me back into the light.

Don't be seen.

I shiver as I count my steps. Each of them rings deafeningly loud on the sidewalk, and then on the asphalt when I step off and into an alleyway. At least the light doesn't follow me here, but I feel it leaning in from the street, trying its hardest to out me.

My breaths come quick and sharp now as I crouch beside a manhole cover. I bite my lips and yank it off just enough to slip through, wincing at the echo of grating metal. But the man in the store was right: No one wants to be outside this late anymore, and there's no one around to hear it.

I slowly lower myself into the hole, feeling around with the soles of my shoes for the rungs of the ladder inside. With the grocery bags hooked uncomfortably on my arm, I cling to the ladder with one hand while I pull the cover shut with the other. Then I begin my slow, careful descent. Finally, my feet hit solid ground with a wet slap, and I'm meandering through the city's sewer system with nothing but a flashlight to guide me.

I make a right turn, and the water recedes to an all-permeating dampness. The trickle of it fades behind me as I walk, and I finally emerge onto an abandoned train track. Dodging the splinters of track jutting out of the ground, I follow the tunnel until I hear the murmur of voices. Warm orange light dances on the walls ahead, and I flick the flashlight off, jogging the last few feet into the neglected station ahead.

"There you are."

Scuffs echo in the half-light as I lift my shopping bags up onto the platform. A woman's figure leans down to grab them, and I hoist myself up next to her.

"Ronnie."

I spin around as Davis hurried to my side, his hand already reaching for mine. Our fingers lattice together perfectly and then he pulls me into a hug. I burrow my face next to his ear, suddenly weak as the adrenaline from the mission recedes.

"What the hell is this?"

We break apart and turn to the source of the noise.

"Maven," Davis warns.