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minutes after Mia disappeared into the forest, a knock sounded on the cabin door.
    Zakariah carefully placed the last floorboard over his cache of food and stood up. “I am unarmed,” he said.
    Two men entered with humming stunrods in their hands. They both wore mottled camouflage outfits and black combat boots. The man in the front had short, bristly red hair atop a grey-whiskered face. Rivulets of sweat had drawn lines down his dirty cheeks. “We thought it best to wait for the woman to leave,” he offered.
    â€œYes, that was good of you.”
    â€œYou’ve been expecting us?”
    â€œI saw you in the hills. Two camps, perhaps six men.”
    â€œSeven.” The man brushed a spider from his hair.
    â€œAre you free to tell me who you represent?”
    â€œThe Director of the ERI said to tell you to remain calm.”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    â€œWe have been instructed to drug you for transport,” the man said and snapped his fingers at his partner. “I know you people dislike hypodermics,” he said conversationally, “so I will offer you a caplet first.” His partner, shorter and darker, with a mosquito net tangled on top of his head like a misshapen fedora, handed forward a plastic case. He had a police-issue firearm holstered on his belt.
    The red-haired man advanced with a blue capsule in his fingers and stunrod raised in his left hand.
    Zakariah held out his palm.
    â€œOn the tongue, sir,” the man instructed.
    â€œAre you going to carry me out?”
    â€œThis is a psychoactive sedative. You’ll be able to walk. No cuffs. No ropes.”
    Zakariah took a deep breath and stuck out his tongue.
    The men visibly relaxed as he closed his mouth. They silenced their weapons and smiled at each other. The caplet dissolved instantly. Strange neuro-inhibitors fled for his brain.
    â€œYour reputation precedes you, sir,” the red-haired man offered, patently pleased at the success of his mission.
    Zakariah nodded once upward in recognition of the compliment. “Spare me the gallows humour, boys. Let’s get on the road before the storm hits.” As the words left his mouth he marvelled at the false nature of language, the poor semblance of meaning the sounds contained, the crude movements of his tongue twisting vibrations in the air to communicate. His thoughts were pure, powerful, his body a mechanical contraption that could never contain or express his true essence. His feet seemed to be miles away, his legs thin stilts reaching to touch impossible depths. His sense of balance cartwheeled as he struggled to stay erect.
    A strong arm grabbed his elbow as he pitched forward.

THREE
    Y
our time is up. Destroy your hard drive.
    Rix stared at the pop-up message with numb surprise. Some viral adware had jumped his borders. He checked his active downloads for infiltration. It was late in the afternoon in his timezone, and the locals were hanging out in an after-school chat module.
    I’m not kidding. Go.
    He pointed to the message and tapped his pinkie mike.
    â€œGet lost,” he said, voice only. Why give some digital parasite the courtesy of video? He tapped delete in his palm, but the pop-up persisted.
    I spoke with you earlier. I know about your dad. Your mom went to meet him up north.
    Rix felt a sudden surge of hormones sweep through him like a caffeine rush. The doom and gloom girl!
    The goons are at the door.
    An alarm began to wail and his monitor went bluescreen. Thank God he still had electricity. He stood up and reached behind his computer, found the toggle switch he had rigged on the power supply, and flipped it to overclock. The sound of sparks and a curl of white acridity told him the brain had fried. All of his contacts on the net, all his family connections, digital photos, and documents. Gone forever. No traces, no ripples.
    He grabbed his grey duffel bag and lurched out of his room into a narrow hallway beyond, conscious