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of duty only. His job during a raid was to block the advance while the Eternals made for the tunnels. He was expendable in that regard, a rook on the chessboard.
    He met a man with a combat rifle just outside the cafeteria, pointing it casually in his direction. He wasn’t wearing a police helmet or an army greysuit, so that meant only one thing. Private enterprise.
    â€œDon’t move, kid,” he said.
    â€œI’m not armed.”
    â€œWell, I sure as hell am. They’re just tranks, but they hurt like fire.”
    Rix dropped his gear and put his arms in the air.
    â€œI’m a citizen,” he said.
    â€œSave it for the blood test, kid.” The goon stepped forward and frisked him quickly. He stepped back satisfied. “We’re going for a little walk. Anyone down that hall?” He pointed with his gun, lowered now but available.
    â€œYeah. Three apartments. Families. They may have been rounded up already.”
    â€œLet’s just check, shall we?”
    They poked methodically in every room and found the clutter of everyday life. Dirty dishes. Laundry. Rix recognized the smell of burnt hard drives. The Eternals were gone. The goon seemed unconcerned, not tremulous with his weapon. Rix knew the type. Mercenary. Flat emotional response.
    They arrived outside to find a grimy transport truck with the back doors wide open. The goon motioned with his gun.
    â€œIs this the truck to Auschwitz?” Rix asked.
    â€œIt’ll be the Holiday Inn in comparison, kid.”
    Rix peered up into the truck, surprised to see such a crowd inside. His friends, some of them Eternal. The transport had been fitted with bus benches and seatbelts for such precious cargo.
    â€œI’m a citizen,” Rix said again. “I’ve got ID in my pack.”
    â€œYou look like an activist to me. We have authority to detain you under the Evolutionary Terrorist Omnibus.”
    â€œThe ETO is under appeal in every civilized state.”
    â€œOh, so now you’re a lawyer?’
    â€œI’m a citizen, I tell you. I haven’t got the virus.”
    â€œThen you’ve got nothing to worry about, do you? You’ll be free in a couple hours.” He smiled with undisguised malevolence. “Though I don’t know where you’ll go. This place will be razed. Get in the truck.”
    Rix held his palms up in a gesture of peace. “Just let me show you my ID ,” he said, stalling for as much time as possible, hoping for witnesses on the street, for rudimentary webcam surveillance—performing this simple public duty for his parents.
    A rifle butt hit him hard just below the breastbone.
    He doubled over reflexively, gasping for air. He fell forward as gravity claimed him and twisted his chin to avoid serious damage. His face landed just inches from the goon’s shiny black boots. His cheek burst into agony and tears squeezed out of his eyes. He could not purchase a single breath of air.
    â€œI tried to warn you, kid. Just get in the damn truck.”
    A mercenary always polishes his boots before a big job, Rix noted. He takes pride in his work.
    A gargoyle lurked behind every tree. Lithe and noiseless they bounded from trunk to trunk, their scales green and slimy in the gentle mist of rain. They hunted Zakariah like a weakened deer, a slow and crippled stag that stumbled through the underbrush with the strong ones, his protectors. But even the strong ones could not hold the gargoyles at bay.
    In time his mind was infiltrated, his thoughts contaminated. Eventually he was given up as a sacrifice to pagan gargoyle gods and carried aloft by screaming dragons up above the trees to the great black anvils where the dragons danced and threw forks of lightning at their foes. His body rocked and trembled with the sounds of warfare.
    His stomach heaved and emptied itself, and gargoyles rushed to bring him water and red medicine, bickering and bantering with shrill whoops of malice.