by The Eurostar
Edulcore Cicciotto:
What a day.
In the morning, we became lost in the mist when we tried to find any clues about the mysterious man stalking us. Turner suspected it was someone from the EPS. I don't believe it, because after taking the tracking chip from him, Walker shouldn't have any way to find us. He kept saying that I still don't understand how many resources Walker has. I believe that they, the EPS agents, are all overestimating Walker.
After all, Crasher and that Nadia have far superior means than that of the EPS. I am not able to imagine who could they are, but still they seem to work for the good of the metahumans, without harming the norms. Who knows? After all, what happened today reassured me of my choices and of my beliefs, the ones that always separated me from Walker.
It was around noon when we arrived near a log cabin at the rim of the forest. Just outside the door, there was a corpse, the dead body of a man in his fifties, torn to pieces from the action of what could have been a wild animal. At least that was what we thought at first.
Then, we found them: footprints. Big footprints. I looked at Turner, but he didn't say anything. He, too, was worried.
The footprints were following the footpath we had to walk in order to descend the mountain. Then, in a steep and rocky part of the track, they became less evident to the point they disappeared altogether. The sun was hitting the hard surface, making it hot as fire. We had to take off our shirts.
We were, at that point, walking on a narrow ledge on a rockface when the unexpected happened. From above, a furry man jumped over us, howling and growling and roaring. I remember being thrown off the ledge, and falling, and then nothing.
I didn't know how much time passed when I opened my eyes. Turner was near me. "I wonder how you could have survived," he said. I got up, and he showed me the point from where I fell off the ledge. It was at least two hundred meters straight down. It took two hours for him to reach the place of my fall.
And I had not the slightest bruise.
"Are you cold?" Turner then asked. I looked at him, unable to understand the joke, since the atmosphere was still very hot. But it was no joke. Turner pointed his finger to my arms. My skin was like goose flesh.
We slowly reached the point from which I fell down, on the footpath. The corpse of the Bigfoot was there, killed by the usual shot of lighting produced by Turner.
"See? The Bigfoot doesn't exist, Cicciotto," said Turner.
It was his black eyelids that explained the truth. It was a victim of the Pathogen.
"Maybe it one of the ones I infected at the SideShow. So that I can have also his victims on my conscience," I whispered.
"The Pathogen was proven to be harmful only for normal humans, Cicciotto. This can't have been a metahuman," Turner said coldly.
I looked at him. "Who said that? Walker? He doesn't know all. The Pathogen is lethal over norms, but on metas makes the metagene to manifest at full potential. It's a catalyst for the Class One metas, but it also made them mad."
"How do you know?"
"I have seen that in the Revolution," I whispered.
Turner looked at me deeply but didn't say anything. He knew that I was still not ready to talk about it. We buried the madman under a pile of rocks and resumed our walk toward the foot of the mountain.
And now we are still walking.
"Maybe the stalker was on the Bigfoot's tracks, not ours," says Turner. "If it was really one of the ones we infected, Walker would have known about him and would have sent someone to stop him from killing norms. Maybe it was Tweed, or even Steve Richards."
"Anyway, he spotted us. We should take some unexpected turn. But not before we reach Bellingham. We need to buy food," I respond. And then, an idea suddenly hit my mind.
"Turner, what do you need to buy a car in America? Besides the money, I mean?"