Chapter 34: Old Dogs, New Tricks

“You talk in your sleep,” Nefaria mentioned in passing, scribbling in her journal. “1:1. Again. 1:1. Again.” Accidentally encouraging Jongdae’s imagination. She could tell: “10 nights in a row—I’m not deaf.”

“Nightmares; ghosts, goblins, and ghouls—typical manifestations of residual childhood trauma,” Jongdae openly admitted. Petty insecurities dwindled in light of recent Ozcat escapades. Picking excess scales off skewered meat, he added, “Don’t be a Wendy Worrywart.”

“Assumptions, conjectures, conspiracy theories,” Nefaria jeered, "are you capable of making anything else?” 

Jongdae offered up the night's delicacy: "Unidentifiable reptilian tail. Medium rare.” Insulated tin foil worked only so many wonders. “K’s still breathing so—non-toxic,” he reasoned.

Tender love and care for K’s torn tendon ended at free treats. Separating from the Seasonal Hunt’s main pack meant less well-rested eyes, more night watch shifts. Thinking bigger was a risky business, but Michael the mass murderer couldn’t afford the hesitation that accompanied skepticism. Past this place, the Screen Sea, is another Haven; Jongdae wanted to believe it—he staked Minseok’s life on it. 

Breathing in the southern coastal air, Nefaria’s exhale followed her first bite—lizard breath, “You’ve got a talent here.” How she sounded overshadowed what she meant. Pity sprouted for the weedy flower transplanted against her will. “I’m sorry,” Jongdae almost confessed. 

“I’m not big on knocking,” Minseok interrupted his piss-poor apology for the second time, ducking under the bowed entryway. “Mind taking over?” He made the metaphorical baton touch to Nefaria. She exchanged it for unfinished unidentifiable reptilian tail, assuming his post outside the Black Coat’s treehouse. 

Trading naps—naps; sleep: synonymous—till Fall morning air currents ushered in a toxic fog became routine after the 10th shift change. Rolling waves outside the manmade treehouse mimicked the rise and fall of K’s tarpaulin-covered chest. Jongdae heard Nefaria’s hums through the brittle driftwood.

“11,” Minseok corrected. “Fay miscounted.”

Noxious gas engulfed the forest floor faster than expected. K took the lead; all he needed was direction. The sky was a web of intertwined branches and vine. Rainbow beaked birds spotted the tightly knit canopy. ScRAwK, the undiscovered bird piped; squawking to raise the sun.

They reached higher ground, and Nefaria collapsed from heatstroke. Emergency first aid revealed burns blistering an angry red. Her body was on fire. Low level radiation seeped through her pores. 

“Give her time,” Minseok advised. A combination of shade and nightfall cleared up the blemishes marring Nefaria’s neck. Fever dreams ceased by dawn. She sang in the Screen Sea’s sunset. 1:100; sheer will worked wonders.

“Ironbacks,” Nefaria labeled chattering primates. Sheet metal, road signs, clipped chains: makeshift armor pushed orange fur into starbursts, framing tiny faces. “Surface world appraisers.” She clarified in nefarious terms, “Scavengers.” 

Iron nests dotted the treescape. Teeny thumbs twiddled with ill-fitting clasps; builders extended bridges towards developing real estate. Spike-studded warriors sat scattered, sluggish. Fruit-hefting harvesters batted not a curling tail at intruders. Ironbacks perceive society differently.

Curious children descended onto the four Black Coats, weaving into pockets, collars, hems. AhHH, they screamed when one found K’s Tower-issued hunting knife—a shriek of glee. Hitting it on a stone separated handle and blade; they hadn’t an interest in plastics. The knife was swiftly added to the growing metal metropolis. 

Nefaria kept further body scans at bay with layer upon layer of winter clothing.

“I called her Rose,” Jongdae related, “my motorcycle.” 

“Funny things: coincidences,” Minseok smiled. Twirling cracked goggles round his finger, he figured, “She’s in a better place.” Motorcycle parts formed the interior of the moderately-sized Ironback nest. “The Society’s doubled down on northern exploration; she’s safe for now.” They were further south than Black Coats had ever been before. 

Hot. Humid. Horrible. The Hortum advises against discovering new worlds. 

“Ours, maybe.” Jongdae traced the patchwork wall. Laika; Anubis; Garmr: embedded dog tags read—tombstones of homo homo sapiens past. “These names ring any bells, K?” he asked.

Peeling sunken eyes from bent knees, K obediently identified, “Fenrir.” Vanilla-scented jealousy sent Jongdae’s nostril’s flaring. Emergency sirens blared in a distant memory brought ever closer by recurrent nightmares. The truth became clearer with each step south.

“Mother or father?” Jongdae pried open K’s fetal sleeping position. 

Affection swirled in blown pupils. “Mother,” K mumbled. Legs to chest again. Love: shinier than an Ironback’s iron back. 

“My parents died in a car crash,” Jongdae buffed out the mismatched seams of his lie.

He could see the dome. Apex glittering above the tree line. Hexagonal shielding holding true. 33 days from its North American sister. A Haven—not any other name. 

The taste of sweet victory drove K up steep, ancient steps. Nefaria chased the son, shedding jackets, scarves, sweaters. Brothers by name fought for the right to see it first. Contorted statues lining the way here knew better—thought bigger. 

They reached the top in seconds. Foothold limited by a collapsed entryway, bodies pressed together shoulder to shoulder. Gasping breaths mingled to drown out crumbling rock. Minutes of silence precluded any mention of a Plan B. Passing cloud cover refused dog-shaped constancy, and wax wings melted right off. 

Staring at the hollow dome, Jongdae spoke aloud, “We found it.” It: long-sought; scarcely found; “home.”