11.
Mist enveloped me, a clammy curtain glowing with an unnatural, feverish light. It pooled low across the ground, twisting in sluggish tendrils that obscured even the closest landmarks. I squinted, struggling to see, but mounding, distorted shapes warped my sense of scale and distance. Some distant part of me panicked, but the mist drowned every sense of direction, blurring the world into a featureless gray landscape.
Renata...
My name rippled through the haze, warped and distant as if shouted through deep water, each syllable slipping away before it could reach the surface.
Get up, Renata!
The voice sharpened. Closer now. My body rocked gently, though no hand touched me. Shadows churned at the edge of my vision, formless but weighted with intention. Something stirred the air, and with it came a scent: the cloying sweetness of wild honeysuckle, thick enough to taste.
“Aya?” I croaked into the fog. “Is that you?”
Wake up, Renata!
Her command tore through the fog in my mind. I jolted awake with a strangled cry, the world pitching into focus in sharp, uneven flashes. Something heavy pressed against my legs, hard and cold. I pushed at it, hands slipping over smooth metal.
The TerraCycle had fallen across me, trapping my legs against the ground. Gradually, my thoughts cleared, and I remembered heading to the barn. Near where I’d fallen, the freight shifter’s lights still winked through the gloom, red and gold signals against the smothering murk. I pushed myself up on one arm into a half-sitting position.
Movement flickered at the edges of the mist. Slivers of reflection glinted—eyes, dozens of them—cutting the gloom in sharp, watchful arcs. Cats. They flowed out of the mist like wraiths to encircle me in a wide, deliberate ring. Some sat erect, poised with the frozen dignity of statues. Others crouched low, tails twitching, and ears pivoted to catch the faintest sound. Even the corpses strewn nearby failed to break their discipline; the circle held, precise and unbroken.
The night’s heat ebbed, leeched by the mass of feline forms. Each cat bore its own rugged features—sleek short-hairs, shaggy mongrels matted with burrs, battle-scarred strays with tufted ears, and narrow, heart-shaped faces. Pale giants with scarred noses crouched beside tiny, sharp-eyed sprites. There were so many! Too many. Where had they all come from?
On the surface, the village looked harmless enough, a patchwork of sagging roofs and broken streets that time and poverty had gnawed to its bones. But after encountering the crows earlier, this living wall of cats hinted at something darker. Their numbers defied logic. Insufficient time had passed since Mazawa’s slaughter for such breeding. Had the Otakoga meddled with powers beyond their control, an onmyōji among them summoning supernatural entities in a desperate bid to shift the balance? A staunch disbeliever in yōkai, I now considered the impossible. Magic, however much I resisted the notion, seemed the only explanation.
A rough tongue rasped across my cheek. I flinched, but then laughed when I spotted a familiar black cat. “You again,” I murmured, scratching it behind the ears. “I see you brought an army this time.” The cat purred and pressed against me, its body a small, warm comfort.
I shifted my weight, although every joint protested. My leathers peeled from the asphalt with a slow, gritty rip and a faint squeak as if fused to it for days.
The cat flopped onto its back and pawed at the air. I rubbed its belly, working my fingers through its matted fur, until a low growl stirred from somewhere nearby.
It sprang up and slipped back among its cohort as if obeying a command. Hackles bristled, ears flattened, and every feline eye locked onto something moving in the darkness beyond the circle.
A snort tore through the mist, followed by a rhythmic scrape. Were those hooves or claws?
I wriggled free and scrambled to my feet. Could it be a moon bear? A boar? Neither’s presence would be welcome. I wrestled the MBL from my waistband, hoping it had enough charge to handle this latest threat.
A dark shape emerged from the mist as I hunkered behind the cats. Wild-eyed and wary, nostrils flared. Shredded, blood-stained strips of velvety flesh dangled from its slender antlers in thick ribbons. When it caught sight of the cats, it pawed at the ground and snorted.
The cats tightened their formation, and a collective sound rose from their ranks. Guttural at first, it became an angry screech, a yowl that sliced through the night like a hot knife.
The buck rolled its eyes, every muscle quivering. It pivoted and bounded back into the forest, disappearing into the mist as quickly as it had appeared. A sika deer—I sighed with relief, grateful it hadn’t been something more predatory.
With the threat gone, the cats dispersed. I hauled the TerraCycle upright and dragged it down the last stretch of street to the barn. Whispers stirred through the long grass, carrying the heady scent of wild honeysuckle—a sure sign of rain.
Outside the barn, the fire still smoldered, coughing thin, bitter plumes of smoke into the misty air. Enough heat remained to steam the last of the itadori, though the shoots wilted to leathery strips on the stones.
But in the end, hunger won out over presentation or taste. I choked down the bitter mess, grimacing with every chew. When the last bite stuck in my throat, I kicked dirt over the fire, wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and pushed the TerraCycle inside. To deter intruders, I wedged a broken beam against the barn doors. It was a sorry excuse for a barricade, but it would have to do.
Near the stairs, half-hidden behind a footlocker, I found a charger. While my TerraCycle began sucking life from its coil, I searched the rest of the barn, picking through the gear the soldiers had left behind. It didn’t take long to find a working GPS unit still clamped to the frame of an all-terrain bike. I worked the rusted mount loose, pried it free, and powered it on just as the first fat raindrops hammered against the roof.
The device squawked before I could even sit down. “Your location is here,” it droned. A color-coded map flickered onto the cracked screen. My position blinked—a lone white dot—threaded by a red route. Clusters of blue triangles bristled around Mount Hakuna’s base. Troops, I thought. Fewer here than those near the New Edo Holodome, but enough to signify a military presence.
After fumbling with small controls that seemed made for a child, I hesitated before speaking into the device. Although the Sawagi outpost near Aokigahara’s eastern border was my intended destination, broadcasting this could reveal my plans. Mazawa needed to believe I was still following his orders.
Sawagi wasn’t just any settlement—it was a lifeline for those who needed to vanish. What began as a dilapidated shantytown atop a sunken city had evolved into a haven for smugglers, scavengers, and shōkōhin—the untouchables of this world. Its true value lay in a subterranean network of still-habitable buildings and streets that stretched for miles, offering sanctuary and access to the black market networks I desperately needed. No outsider knew Sawagi’s actual boundaries or even its original name; earthquakes and time had erased these from memory.
The remnants of an ancient fort also lay near Sawagi, but I couldn’t recall its name, no matter how hard I tried. Eventually, I gave in, settling for the most obvious location. “Show me the fastest route to Aokigahara.” This way, if anyone was listening in, they’d think I was still compliant.
Seconds ticked by. Then the unit crackled. “Aokigahara is here,” a robotic voice clipped.
A thin red line appeared on the screen, although calling it a line was a massive overstatement—the proposed route intersected paths with a few soldier-blue clusters. Even one was too many, but bypassing the city was not an option. I had to get to Sawagi since it was also a frequent stop for some freebooter friends of mine, the Shinu.
The Shinu were more than scavengers or bandits; they were information brokers controlling key supply routes. Their leader, Tetsuo, one of my oldest friends, knew more about Aokigahara than anyone I knew. If the Madman of Motosu existed, Tetsuo would know where to find him. If he didn’t, I hoped he could remove the kill switch in my neck. But finding Tetsuo’s whereabouts, like entry to Sawagi’s undercity, wouldn’t come cheap.
While thunder grumbled outside, I dumped the contents of my pack on the floor. It didn’t take long since Squaddie Hiro had put nothing to eat in it at all. He’d even tainted the canteen’s contents, which looked but didn’t smell like lemonade. The little bastard!
After stuffing the tablet and wristlets in the pack, I added some MBLs from a nearby footlocker. Near the stairs sat a stack of coolers marked “For Military Use Only.” If an army traveled on its stomach, it looked like the soldiers came prepared for a feast! I guess slaughtering so many innocent people whipped up an appetite.
Instead of food, however, the cooler contained a tray filled with bottles of sterilized water, vials of white powder, and assorted syringes. If that powder was what I suspected, it looked like this contingent had been marching on more than just its tummy. But hey, at Sawagi, there’d be a market for this!
According to its label, another cooler contained liter bags of cloudy, yellow fluid—an electrolytic enhancement. Not appetizing in the least. Hoping to find sustenance, I raided more coolers. What I didn’t eat, I could always barter. But the next two contained even more of the stupid electrolyte crap. What did these soldiers live on, anyway?
Thwarted and disgusted, I pulled the poncho-hooch from the bike’s storage. I’d just settled in when an itch flared at my neck. The spot had grown since I last checked—now a grape-sized welt, rivaling the world’s worst mosquito bite.
Gingerly, I traced its edge. The device—Mazawa’s insurance—felt like a countdown clock ticking under my skin. I’d been lucky tonight. But I couldn’t afford another reckless mistake. If I made Sawagi look like an innocent supply stop, maybe Satoshi and the others wouldn’t pay the price.