A pinprick of darkness evaporated, revealing a beam of light before it was covered by the fluid still soaking the sheet. She traced a finger along its inside, the cool wet fell was surprising. She slipped her hand free of the would-be cloak, her fingers were inkless, and that still made no sense.

She breathed and ceased fidgeting with the sheet. She glanced at Mensha, illuminated by the light poring through her hood, his chocolate skin took on a new richness. There was something otherworldly about the way his face hung suspended in the darkness.

“Will you lead or should I,” he asked his voice muffled the sound eaten by the fabric around her head.

She thought of the light illuminating his alien visage. “You,”

He turned and vanished, logic told her it was a trick of the light, but her senses told her a different story. Her hand darted out and she caught his shoulder. He hissed, the wrong shoulder, “Sorry, Sorry! I was surprised.”

“It’s fine, what’s wrong through.” The cloak clipped his voice. His nose and half his face slid from the dark as he turned.

“This thing is messing with my senses, how are you okay.” Hiding her queasy fascination.

“Ah, well I can smell you,”

She sighed that shouldn’t be so reassuring, “At least one of us is fine.”

With a hum, he turned back, and she sighed. Her robe tugged, “Come on,” the pull strengthened.

“Thanks,” she said and followed the tug, as it led her from the unlit room.

She could barely anything the lights above apparently less luminous in this place. Only her and the thin strip of ground visible through her lowered hood. She couldn’t see herself, the thought found ground. Couldn’t hear save her breaths.

The only sense binding her to the unseen world was the tug on her cloak, and the occasional change to the sidewalk as her soundlessly pounding feet carried her. Everything else was cool and dark. She dropped her breaths to the slow deep cadence of controlled panic. She dragged her unsteady light into a low even shine and cleared her mind of all save steps and blades of grass pushing through stone.

She didn’t know if any roving shades looked them over or if the skittish shadows glanced warily at the light leaking from her down-turned head. All she knew was that as Mensha led her into a shop’s storage room and she shook free of her meditative trudge was that the sight of spilled plastic bags had never been so beautiful. Her gaze roved across tall mused metal shelves, and the dark lights above them.

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“Are we close?” she said and tore the sheet off her shoulder as he closed the door, still a silhouette if one specked with spots of brown cloth.

“Very, a few hours maybe one,” He said unbothered by the hours under the sensory deprivation hood. Judging by his absent sway it may have helped.

“And we’re stopping why?” with a stretch luxuriating in the sound of a fallen can knocked by her feet

“There are a lot more shades here, particularly the aggregative ones, and the thing that’s hunting them, I can smell it all over the place.” He removed his hood and pointed at small patches on the dark cloth. “Were a bit conspicuous even with the robes, and I’m astonished these people got this deep, without any new bodies.”

Her basking stuttered, “Bodies?”

“I meant corpses” he tilted his head.

“I’ll take that as encouragement.” She said and stared at her won cloak, numerous small blotches covered, like sawdust over a black sea. She sighed, “We’re going to re-dye them.”

“Yup,” he said and peeked out the backroom door before quickly shutting it. “Does your phone still have battery?” He said and slipped his own from his bag. How he found it under that hood with one hand she didn’t know.

“Yes?” she said and pulled out her forgotten device, she winced at the power supply’s deep red.

“Good, I want to show you what we’re dealing with,” he took the offered device and pulled the hood over his head. “Please wait,” he said and was through the door before she could respond. Her heart stopped and she could scarcely breathe, for the scant minute he was gone.

He slipped inside, and the feeling vanished as abruptly as it came. She slumped against a shelf, she was developing, no she had attachment issues. Another item to her list of problems. She sighed and looked at the video Mensha was showing her.

It was a black screen save for the city’s light silhouetting buildings. She focused and noticed a different grain of darkness in the screen’s middle. Two large waves of shadows passed into the frame from opposite directions, shades. She waited for the approaching violence but the groups slipped by each other. Neither slowing an instant.

The video ended and Mensha handed her the dying phone.“Are those the aggressive types?” she asked taking a calm breath, as the problem manifested.

“I think so,”

“How obvious are we with the cloaks as they are now.” She said and retrieved her mostly dark fabric.

“Me not very, but you glow.” She slipped her hand into the garments, her light seeped through the small holes.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can fight a dozen by myself,” she hissed.

“You aren’t”

“You’re injured,”

“But present,” she glared at him, at the smiling man.

“Stop sidetracking,” she said and scratched her head in hopes of digging an idea free. “Any ideas,”

“I’m thinking we could try separating them but can’t think of how,” his shoulders slumped, “beyond that don’t fight them in the streets.

Did they need the cloaks, a very thick blanket might work? Except it wouldn’t block noise, and in a road full of silence footsteps were deafening.

“What if we grabbed one and ran,” Mensha offered though his words lost confidence as he said them. “No, sane problems and they might chase.” He muttered.

“Feels like we’re plotting a murder.” She sighed finding no insight.

“Murder, no I think a skirmish or kidnapping is more appropriate.” She ignored the word kidnapping, but his other suggestion struck a cord.

“I have an idea though It’ll take some prep.” She smiled brightly, “How do you feel about organizing a siege.”