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seemed to have been based entirely on bear puns, and not at all on food, service, or atmosphere. It looked like a hunting lodge drawn in crayon by a meth fiend. Our waitress was named Sally, and she looked like she’d been born an orphan, got divorced this morning, and accidentally backed over her cat on the way to work. She had deep frown lines etched permanently into her face, and big, watery gray eyes. But then she opened her mouth, and it was all bubbling enthusiasm and “honeys” and “sweethearts.” She looked like that sad donkey from Winnie the Pooh got his wish and became a real person—but she was friendly, happy, and very understanding about hangovers.
    She brought water, first thing, without even being asked.
    Carey hadn’t stopped talking about wanting to fuck her since. Jackie joined him, after Sally set an extra-large plate of bacon down in front of her with a knowing wink. I let them get a few mouthfuls in before I started:
    â€œWe’re going to Mexico,” I said.
    Jackie blinked, but continued silently tucking neatly folded wads of bacon into her mouth.
    â€œFuckin’ A,” Carey said. “About time we got serious about the fugitive life. We’ll head down south. Pound cervezas on the beach and throw bottles at the tourists.”
    â€œWe’re going to Mexico because Marco’s down there,” I said.
    â€œHow do you know that?” Jackie asked, barely audible through a mouthful of fried meat.
    â€œI saw him on TV last night. He was talking about a new show he’s filming right now in his home town. Tulancingo, I think it was called.”
    I sipped my watery coffee. At least it was hot. At least it was caffeine.
    â€œWhy do you want to find Marco? All we’ve been doing the past few weeks is trying to put as much distance between us and him as possible. Those schoolgirl hots come back or what?”
    â€œI haven’t slept in weeks, Jackie. Not since … whatever it was that happened in that church. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep running. I need it to end.”
    I fixed my weariest stare on her. I wanted to let her feel how utterly beaten I was. I put all of my exhaustion, fear, resignation, and hopelessness into my eyes. I needed her to look, really look, and understand how raw I was—realize that I had considered every option and settled on this only as a last resort.
    â€œYou’re serious?” Jackie asked.
    â€œI am. This isn’t going to stop. Not on its own—that much has become clear. If we ever want to have anything like a normal life again, we can’t just hope they forget about us. We killed their god, or whatever that ball of light was to them. People don’t generally just let that type of thing go.”
    â€œBut that can be good too,” Jackie said. “I mean, yeah, they’ll hunt you to the ends of the Earth and beyond, hoping to pull out your guts and hang you with them while—”
    â€œJesus, Jackie.” I set down my coffee, momentarily overcome by the mental images.
    â€œBut I’m saying: You killing their god pisses them off, sure, but it leaves them directionless too, right? I don’t remember much, but Carey said that Marco was taking orders from some chubby guy, that night in the church. That dude made like Silly Putty in a microwave when you nuked the angel. Say what you want about him—he’s a freak, a pervert, an inhuman monster with absolutely killer abs—but Marco does not strike me as the thinking or leading type.”
    â€œBut what about…” I started to protest, but couldn’t come up with anything.
    Why couldn’t this be the end of it? Who says I didn’t already win the big boss fight, and now it’s just a matter of cleaning up the little guys?
    When Marco first started coming after me and Jackie, his little band of freaks wouldn’t shut up about gears and angels and the turning of the