She crossed her arms, looking me up and down. "Okay, meet me back at Writer Square tomorrow around dusk. That should give me enough time to find out. But don't leave the mall. Things aren't so nice in some parts of the city."
I nodded and watched her walk away. I turned in the other direction, watching the people around me as I strolled. As night, and the cold, set in – there was less and less activity on the streets. I looked closer at the stores. Starbucks had grain sprouting out of its broken out windows. Ann Taylor Loft was now a trade post specializing in sleeping bags; they even offered repairs. Banks, oddly enough, were still banks. They advertised safety deposit boxes with around the clock guards. What did people store in them now? Certainly not cash. Maybe batteries. Or matches. Or medicine. Everything we had taken for granted until Daybreak.
I stopped at the next intersection, glancing down a darkened street that ran past an old movie theatre. I hesitated, drawn in. I needed to prove Erika and Shawn wrong. I needed to prove Daybreak was not the best thing for humanity; otherwise – what was I here for?
I soaked in the glow from the lantern above, as if it would keep me safe through the darkest parts of Denver. I left the populated, outdoor mall. My steps echoed in the deserted concrete jungle. I passed in and out of the long shadows cast by buildings. I twisted and turned through the streets, coughing, humming, and occasionally banging on car hoods or kicking glass and rocks across the street, sure to make plenty of noise.
An hour went by with no human contact. I pulled a thin jacket out of my bag, wishing I had stopped and traded for a thicker one. I zipped it up to my chin, sighed, and turned to head back.
"What do you want?!" I jumped at the screech behind me. I spun on my heel, and stepped back.
The man was tall, and very thin. He smelled as though he hadn't bathed in a year – he probably hadn't. I stepped into the light cast by the moon peeking through the clouds.
He backed away, waving his hands in front of his face as if to fend me off. "Don't like people, don't like people."
"Wait, I just want to—"
"No!" He retreated, his scream echoing down the alley.
"That one probably could've done without Daybreak," I mumbled to myself.
The smell of old, burnt out wood drew me to a metal trash can sitting at the entrance to the alley. Just outside of it stood a pile of fresh wood, and a piece of flint. Old blankets, a chair missing its back, and a hollowed out computer sat close by. This was his home.
I put a few pieces of wood in the trash can, and glanced down the alley. No sign of him. I held out my hand.
Time to find my fire.
A growl behind me caused me to pause.
My shoulders sank. Not another one.
I turned, bracing myself for another dose of crazy. Instead, three wild dogs snarled at me, posed to pounce. My heart jumped to my throat
I squared my shoulders, racking my brain to remember how to treat the animals – challenge or submit? In the first few months, Alex had quizzed us on the subject, covering a range of beasts. We had never run into dogs; too many had been eaten before they had a chance to go wild. Of course, I had to run into the three exceptions.
"Sit."
The one in front of me laid his ears back, and shifted his weight to his front paws.
"Sit!" I said again, louder.
They weren't sitting. Another growl.
Mumbles echoed from the dark alleyway behind me, "Don't like humans – dogs are worse."
I rolled my eyes, then held out my hand, praying the art of fire found its way to me. One of the dogs pounced. I ducked, trying to roll under him. His jaws snapped, catching my thin jacket, tearing the sleeve right down to the wrist. Another dog went for my opposite wrist, clamping down on it with his razor sharp teeth.
I screamed out loud. They pulled and growled until I was on my knees, staring straight into the eyes of the third animal.
"I could use a little crazy, here!" I hissed into the dark alley behind me. Only whimpers answered my plea for help.
Looks like I have to find my own crazy.
I flicked my fingers on my left hand, desperately calling out for the element of fire. The fingers on my right hand refused to move. Fire never came. The dog in front of me curled its lip up, baring his teeth. I was out of time.
Producing my own growl, I leaned forward and opened my mouth. I bit down as hard as I could, right on the dog's nose. The taste of wet canine and coppery blood filled my mouth.
He yelped and backed up, pawing at his face. One of the others let go of my jacket sleeve, circled around, and leaped. I cringed, covering my face with my good arm. Mid-jump, the attacking dog let out yelp. It crashed into me and we both went to the ground.
Instead of another melee, all I felt was dead weight. The dog was not moving. I reached up and around the body on top of me, and felt the long, solid shaft of an arrow protruding from its hide.