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me. I hope not.
    It’s better if they don’t.

MASON
    Cambie Street was quiet. Nothing moved.
    The engine of the motorcycle destroyed all that beautiful silence.
    It was late afternoon, possibly Sunday. Earlier, back at the house, Mason had noticed that someone had put a calendar up on the big stainless-steel refrigerator. They’d started crossing out dates with a neon pen. So many endless days had been lost. He couldn’t actually remember what day it was anymore. It’s not like he had anywhere to be or a certain date on which to do anything. He didn’t own a watch and he didn’t really care what time it was. Some of the others still paid attention to the time, but not him. As far as Mason was concerned, the world now worked in daylight and darkness. He’d have to assume that whoever was doing the marking actually had a clue as to what was going on. And according to the fuzzy-kitten calendar, it was Sunday and less than a week until Christmas. Funny how time flies. Only this year, there wouldn’t be any stockings hung by the chimney with care. No eggnog mixed with rum and partying in his friend’s basement. Last year Tom got so drunk he threw up candycanes and mincemeat tarts all over the snow-filled driveway. Good times gone.
    It was so weird living in Vancouver now, since there wasn’t any snow. Back in Saskatoon everything would be buried under several feet of the white stuff at this time of the year and he’d probably be shoveling it while his mother baked the aforementioned mincemeat tarts and other Christmas treats. Not that he was complaining. Without the electricity, he couldn’t imagine what it must be like for any survivors still hanging around his hometown. They’d be frozen Popsicles. Was Saskatoon a complete ghost town now, or were there Baggers patrolling the streets like they were doing here?
    So many holidays that meant nothing anymore. He’d completely forgotten about Thanksgiving and Halloween. So had everyone else. Once upon a time, October 31 had been his favorite holiday. No point in thinking about these things anymore. Dressing up. Candy. Still plenty of scary monsters though these days. They didn’t even have to wear costumes.
    And luckily none of them appeared to be following him right now.
    At the bottom of Queen Elizabeth Park, he pulled over in the middle of the road. He looked around to make sure the coast was clear before cutting the engine. He tugged at the helmet strap and pulled it off, leaving it to hang from the handlebars. His ears strained against the silence, listening for any sign he could interpret as a warning. Voices. Cars. Psychotic nut jobs running toward him. Anything.
    From above, a group of Canada geese began to honk as they headed north, probably over to Stanley Park, where they’d be able to spend their afternoon baking in the sunlight, cleaning their feathers in one of the man-made ponds, and lounging about completely undisturbed. Not that the geeseever cared much about people anyway. They probably didn’t even realize the humans were gone.
    So much easier being a bird.
    He turned his attention away from the sky and to the back of the motorcycle, where the pretty girl with green eyes struggled to remove her helmet.
    “So where next?” he asked.
    Aries shifted on the seat behind him, trying to undo the strap with her fingers. Mason bit his tongue to keep from saying something along the lines of “I told you so.” It was impossible giving directions this way. Neither could hear each other over the engine without screaming, and that would only attract more attention. It didn’t help that Aries was insistent on them wearing the safety gear. Cracking his head open against the cement was the least of Mason’s worries. But he went along with her because it was better than arguing.
    Easier to just nod and agree to everything these days.
    “We can turn left here or keep going up to Forty-ninth,” she said as she pulled at the tangles in her hair. “It’s your