8.

Black-winged bodies perched in every tree, on every rooftop, and across each mound of rubble, gauging my movements with harsh, alien-throated cries. Some left their roosts to strut beside me. Others dropped into my path, bobbing their heads and rustling inky feathers like officious sentinels.

Crows. Everywhere!

When I nudged one aside with the TerraCycle, it pecked at the wheel before flapping off with a rasping caw. Another spied something shiny and swooped in for a closer look, landing on the bike’s crossbar with wings outstretched, talons slipping across the metal.

I froze, unable to retreat. The rest of the flock gathered behind me, shifting and inching closer. I held my breath as another bird tried and failed to find its footing on my bike. After one last flail, it flew off, triggering a round of hoarse commentary from the others.

More birds closed in. Agitating this many could get ugly fast. Their beaks weren’t just long—they were strong enough to tear. People called them a murder for a reason. And I didn’t like the look in their eyes: black, glassy, and depthless.

While they debated my fate, I waited. Sweat tracked down my nose and soaked the pits of my shirt. The trek through the woods had plastered my clothes to my skin. Twenty yards ahead, the main street sat within reach, but around me the light dimmed, and a creeping chill rose from the ground.

A distant rumble silenced them. The flock lifted over the trees like a single shadow against the glaucous sky. Glad to see the backs of them, I took a swig from the soldier’s canteen to soothe my throat and settle my belly.

I shoved the TerraCycle through weeds and over a pile of rotting timbers, emerging at the edge of a deserted street. Silence blanketed the town. No breeze stirred. No birds called. Darkness gathered in doorways and behind broken windows.

I switched my goggles to night vision and kept going. No matter how empty the place looked, the sensation of being watched crawled along my spine and scratched between my shoulder blades.

Something scraped the pavement behind me. I yanked out the pistol and turned in time to catch a flash of eyeshine. Before I could fire, a small black shape darted between my legs. I looked down and found it circling my boots.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” I said. “Sorry, but I have nothing for you to eat.”

A cat, larger than the scraggly one I'd seen earlier, mewled up at me. Its ears were unmarked, its coat clean and well-kept. This one hadn’t been living rough. Someone had cared for it.

It trotted ahead, but then stopped to glance back. The meow that followed sounded a lot like, Come on.

After everything else I’d dealt with, conversing with a cat didn’t feel strange.

I followed it past splintered fences and heaps of garbage to a low house with a pitched roof and a covered stoop. It didn’t match the ruins surrounding it. Where nearby buildings sagged, this one’s roof still held. Most of its windows remained unbroken, although none gave off light.

The cat leaped onto the stoop and pawed at the bottom of the door. It inched open, allowing a crack wide enough for the cat to squeeze inside. After preparing the bike for a quick getaway, I pulled out the naginata, crept to the door, and peered inside.

Inside, paw prints and muddy boot tracks led toward a narrow hallway outside a screened room. No light showed through the fusuma, but I heard a gurgling sound. Then the metallic clink of something shifting.

A heavy thud followed. The cat hissed in response.

Crouched outside the screen, I waited. Time crawled, devoid of footsteps or human voices. Wary of the protracted silence, I finally said, “Look, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just looking for a place to spend the night.”

When no one answered, I slid the screen aside.

Steam billowed out, fogging my goggles. I saw only the outline of a large, decidedly un-catlike shape ahead.

Trouble always had a way of finding me. Expecting a sneak attack, I swung hard and wide.

The blade swept through empty air. My back thrust punched a hole through the fusuma. Still, nothing moved. No voices rose. No return strike followed. Who or whatever stood in front of me hadn't flinched. I struck again, cutting through it from top to bottom. One part rustled. The rest hit the floor with a dry crackle.

A human body didn’t make those sounds.

I wiped the steam from my goggles.

A half-empty box of rations sat on a low table. Torn black-and-gold packets littered its surface. More unopened ration packets lay on the floor.

Much like the men who’d been eating them.

There were three males in all. Two teenage boys with limbs as limp as rag dolls sprawled across the tattered seating cushions. Partially chewed portions of their last meal floated in puddles near their swollen cheeks. The third, who might have been their father, stared at the ceiling with blistered lips and wide, uncomprehending eyes.

Behind him, in a tiny kitchenette, a pot lid rattled. The noise I’d heard earlier was water boiling on a camp stove for a tea they would never drink.

The sound of shattering glass sent the cat scurrying for cover.

“Are you sure it’s this place?” a gruff male voice asked.

“Reo said it was a shithole,” a woman replied.

The room offered nothing to hide behind, and the ladder to a loft stood too near the kitchen. I dove back behind the fusuma seconds before a beam of light swept over the room.

“Wow, he wasn’t wrong,” the man said, then whistled through his teeth. “Hey, since it’s getting late, why don’t we just torch the place?”

“No, Kaito. We have to put them in the pit with the others. Doctor Mazawa’s orders were explicit.”

Orders? I peered through a slight tear in the fusuma. Two soldiers in grey camo fatigues stood over the bodies. Like Kei, both were tall and dark-haired.

“Why bother? They’re not going anywhere.” The one called Kaito nudged the man’s head with the tip of his boot. “You’re sure we got all the other Otakoga, or whatever they called themselves?”

“Resistors and traitors are the only names these bastards deserve!” she spat on one of the dead boys. “No, they’re the last ones, I assure you.”

“Too bad Reo couldn’t stick around to help with the heavy lifting,” Kaito mumbled, then began dragging the largest man away by his feet.

“Oh, stop grumbling. We’ll meet the rest of the Sweeper Team at the Hakuna rendezvous tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait.” She rubbed her hands together. “Those mountain clans won’t know what hit them. Now, hurry up. I’m hungry!”

Their words chilled my blood. Not just because Mazawa had ordered the extermination of an entire clan, but also because I’d driven way off course. The Otakoga and Hakuna lived due north of the holodome. Though I’d gained valuable information—if I ever found someone to share it with—I’d wasted an entire day!

Once the female soldier left the room, I quit my hiding place and stole outside. Curiosity piqued by a soft whirring sound, I slunk along the side of the house.

In the backyard, a large freight shifter idled above the scraggly weeds. A pile of bodies lay on its flatbed—all male, from those I could see. Where were the Otakoga women and children? What had the soldiers done with them?

The whir turned to a steady drone. I hit the ground a split second before the gruesome cargo conveyance turned, splashing its lights across the side of the house.

I didn’t understand why Mazawa was targeting outlying clans, but suspected the Hakodate would make his hit list sooner rather than later.

The soldiers’ freight shifter skimmed over the barren ground, its cargo of death swaying with each subtle change of altitude. I kept my distance, staying close to the tree line as I followed on foot through brambles and knee-high grass.

They stopped at the edge of a sparse woodland. Moonlight revealed a clearing ahead through gaps in the trees. I crouched behind the trunk of a withered pine, watching as they unloaded their grim cargo.

“More for Doctor Mazawa’s collection,” Kaito said, hauling a boy’s body over his shoulder.

“How many did we get today?” Hana asked.

“Fourteen here,” Kaito answered, returning with another body. “Thirty, including the ones in the pit. That’s the entire clan accounted for. But there’ve been so many, I can’t keep track of ’em anymore. They’re worse than fleas, you know? Kill one, and three more pop up.”

I crept from tree to tree, keeping to the shadows. As I drew closer, the air changed, carrying the scent of fresh loam and another, more distinctive aura of copper and rancid meat.

The soldiers stood at the edge of a massive pit, at least four meters deep and twice as wide. Kaito shoved his burden over the edge, then returned to the shifter for another. Hana stood nearby, tapping something into a tablet.

Also near the pit was a metal cage. Inside, two soldiers in rumpled New Edo tunics leaned against one another, their faces contorted and their eyes vacant.

“Them next?” Kaito pointed to the cage. “I think Shio’s looking hungry.”

Hana looked up from her device. “No. Unload the other traitors first.” When he didn’t move to obey, her hand moved to a pouch on her gun belt. “Are you questioning a direct order from the Doctor General?”

“No, Special Liaison Hana,” he stuttered.

My head snapped up. Special Liaison—the same rank as Kei! Was he involved in this, too?

“It’s just… they failed the directive, so I thought…” Kaito trudged back to resume unloading his grim cargo.

Hana tossed the tablet aside and moved to the back of the rig. “Remember how he begged when we sentenced him? Swore he’d follow orders next time if we’d just give him another chance.” She nodded to the taller man, laughing.

“You’ve overstepped your bounds, Hana,” Shio said, slurring his words. “When Mazawa hears of this—”

“Your orders were simple. Kill everyone in the village, not spare the crying clan brat because it reminds you of your fucking niece. See how that worked out?” She strode to the cage and prodded him with a metal bar. “Feeling sick yet? We gave you the latest variant. Rapid-cycling.”

“You have to admit, it’s an efficient system,” Kaito said, panting. “One disobedient soldier becomes ten kufugaki. Ten kufugaki create a hundred more.”

I gripped the tree trunk, watching this methodical horror unfold. The soldiers used their betrayed comrades as infection vectors while feeding them poisoned villagers. A perfect system: the dead feeding the infected who created more dead. A vicious, never-ending cycle! The reports of nokuru outbreaks weren’t accidents or natural spread, but calculated attacks! Mazawa wasn’t fighting the infection; he was weaponizing it against anyone who resisted!

“That’s why Mazawa’s a genius.” Hana tossed the tablet aside and hurried over to him. “Here. Let me help.”

“What about them?” He gestured toward the pit.

She shrugged. “Let nature take its course. The kufugaki will finish transforming the new arrivals, and when the Hakuna refugees come this way, they’ll find a nasty surprise. Now, hurry up. The sooner we finish, the sooner we get to eat.” Hana strode ahead.

From my vantage point, I could see most of the victims in the pit: dead men and live women and children. The smallest child couldn’t have been more than five or six. I couldn’t save them. But I could stop these soldiers from creating more kufugaki traps.

Like fleas, were we? Well, even the smallest fleas can bite!