I’m at the far end of the parking lot of a nondescript administration building, the same one I’d escaped out of a mere month or so ago. It’s nearly five pm, according to the digital clock on the dashboard of the sixteenth passenger van. There are lots of different vehicles in this lot, so I blend in just fine. The lot is bigger than I remember, providing parking for six other buildings in the vicinity. Something I didn’t realize before, since, you know, I was focused solely on escaping back then.

I’ve had binoculars pressed against my eyes for so long I can feel the rubber padding imprinted on my face when I put them down. I’ve been sipping on the last of my warm Red Bulls and gas station nuts packs for the past nine hours, getting antsy, so when I see figures start to emerge from the building, my heart jumps a beat.

I count the faces as they go their separate ways, all heading to their respective cars.

“Not Jim … you’re not Jim. Nope, definitely not Jim. Oh, she looks like someone I threatened once,” I say to myself as I crunch on nuts. “Oh, yep, I definitely threatened you.”

Finally, Jim comes walking out … with Asian chick.

I put the binoculars down and squint, blink a few times, then put them back up. The guy looks happy. In fact, they both look happy, something I’d never thought I’d say about doctor … whatever her name is. But there they are, smiling. Are they … holding hands? No, there’s no way.

I watch them exchange a little peck on the lips then split, heading for their separate vehicles. Jim, I notice, has a new electric vehicle. Most of the cars here, I realize, are electric. I’m not surprised, with how scarce gasoline—and just about everything else that requires a logistical supply line—is becoming thanks to the world slowly ending.

The pole shift was Earth’s cancer, and we’re the festering bacteria trying to survive on a dying corpse.

As Jim hums away, I start my engine, casting a quick glance at my passenger seat. Beneath a bag of tools and nuts lie three guns and a box of ammo. Following him isn't hard, but making it seem like I'm not following him is the real challenge. I remind myself that my goal is to learn where he lives, not confront him. Not yet.

When he stops and turns, that's when I move.

This part of town is dominated by old red brick homes. There's a small grocery store and a local restaurant/bar, but the houses overshadow the flat landscape. Trees are sparse, mainly clustering in small copses in parks next to schools. At one point, I feel like I'm getting too close, so I turn into a driveway and wait until he's just out of sight before reversing and slipping back into cat-and-mouse mode.

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I momentarily think I've lost him, but then I spot the tail end of a white vehicle that must be his. I follow, crossing my fingers, and there he is. He makes one more turn to the right, and I prepare to follow when I realize it’s a cul-de-sac. As I pass the entrance to Geode Circle, I count five homes. I catch him pulling into a driveway at the far end, disappearing from view.

I know where Jim lives.

—•—•—•—

In the morning, I wake with a start. I parked along the street and slept in my van, where I've been living for more than a week now. I gulp down the rest of my Red Bull, rub my eyes, and check my driver's side mirror. I'd positioned it to give me a clear view of Jim's home. My clock reads 5:32 AM. His car is still there. I almost drift off while waiting for him to leave, which he finally does at exactly 6:30.

I give it a few beats once he's out of sight before cautiously pulling into the cul-de-sac. I make a pass by his home, scanning for outdoor cameras but finding none, at least none that I can see. The neighborhood is quiet, with no one in sight. One house looks completely abandoned, with a pile of construction material in the driveway. I decide that parking in Jim's driveway won't attract attention, so I take the risk and get to work breaking in.

All the windows and doors are locked, so I break a small back window panel just over the doorknob. These old homes have quaint window paneling with small panes making up the whole. The back door opens easily, and no alarms go off. The stark contrast between the top-secret security of the hallways beneath the city and the seemingly peaceful, ordinary life above is striking.

The interior of his home looks like something out of the 90s. There’s even eggplant wallpaper in the dining room over there. My guess is that this wasn’t Jim’s choice of home. Either that, or he just didn’t care what it looked like.

It’s not small, but it’s not big, and has all the basic amenities if, maybe, with a few modern conveniences. Like a well stocked kitchen. The fridge is the first thing I investigate—thoroughly, I might add. Only to discover that Jim has a strange fascination … cheese. He has all sorts of different kinds here. Something I’d have to ask him about later.

“Hello,” I say, as I devour a plate of salami and gouda. “Just making sure no one is here,” I yell out to the empty—hopefully empty—rooms of the home.

I swallow and wait for a reply that never comes.

Check. I am, in fact, alone.

After chugging a bottle of milk, I shut the fridge, and put my shotgun back over my shoulder. Time to check out the rest of the house.

There’s three bedrooms, two baths, and a living room. Nothing special at all. Quite boring, actually, that is until I discover the door to the basement.

The door is locked. The reason why someone would lock a door inside their own house could only mean one thing: Secrets.

Taking a few steps back, I aim my gun at the doorknob, turn my face, and blast the side of the door into splinters. I take a moment to consider the dark stairway. Rarely, in movies, did anything nice and cheerful happen at the bottom of a dark stairway. I considered waiting on the couch until Jim got home and let him show me around at gunpoint. Or …

I find the switch on the wall and the stairs illuminate. They look like normal stairs. I look back over my shoulder, out the windows. It all looks clear enough. So I go down.