Some food, two pain pills, and a prayer later, the three stole silently through the forest. Terrence and Nikki rode along in Malcolm’s bag, peering at the baobab silhouettes as they passed. To their relief, there were no other signs of life. No predators. No cyborgs. No people hunting for Malcolm. The Weavile knew his cover wouldn’t last long. As soon as he ventured out of the forest, there would not be much to hide under except night itself.

  The forest lit up as lightning crackled across the sky, followed by a low, acoustic rumble. Nikki clung to her brother with a whimper, hair bristled.

  “Just thunder.” Terrence whispered, rolling his eyes, though letting her hold onto his arm.

  “It-it’s a monster.” Her voice trembled.

  Terrence thought for a second before responding. He threw her a sideways glance and muttered under his breath. “… Maybe it is. The big, mean, uh… Lightning Conqueror Warrior who, uh, rides through the sky on his dragon… and it’s made of lightning.” A momentary smile crossed Terrence’s muzzle; joking like that made him think of home.

  Nikki gasped and clung to him even tighter. His smile weakened when she started crying.

  “I was only kidding. Come on, I just wanted to have a little fun.”

  Nikki’s ears drooped and she wiped her eyes, attempting a smile. “I’m sowwy.”

  Malcolm’s sight was continually on their surroundings. Forward, left, right, up… the kids’ talking consciously sharpened his senses. The military may not be here, but that didn’t stop a vigilante’s thirst for justice. He would’ve preferred if the children stopped talking, but knew that instruction wouldn’t last. They were helpless kids stranded in a hostile world with only each other to latch onto for familiarity. If he was in their situation, he would’ve liked to talk to his sibling.

  “Try to keep your voices down.” Was all he said.

  As the night drew on, the foxes didn’t say much else. Rain eventually accompanied the lightning, forcing Malcolm to zip his bag more (but not completely). The forest also started to thin out. Malcolm gave a slight nod.

  “This’s it… yeah, just up ahead…” He thought, then spoke up. “I’m going to set you down soon and open the bag.”

  “Are we close?” Terrence asked, realizing Malcolm never mentioned where they were going. Malcolm realized it too, but was planning to say something soon.

  “No, but we’re making progress. We’re stopping because I need to empty things from my bag.”

  Minutes later, Malcolm gently lowered his pack and unzipped it. The foxes walked out with stiff limbs and stretched. They were released under the shelter of a rocky outcrop and told to stay while Malcolm did what he needed to. Though the jutting rock kept the rain away, the chilled wind swept biting mist into their eyes and fur. The frigid stingers forced them to huddle together and summon up their innate, internal warmth. It didn’t eradicate the unpleasant sensation completely, but was better than nothing.

  Malcolm dug through his bag and piled the spheres into the crook of his arm. Terrence managed to open his squinted eyes enough to see them. He titled his head in curiosity.

  “W-w-what are th-those?” He shouted over the worsening rain through chattering teeth. He felt the devices under his feet during the trip, but only thought to ask about them now that Malcolm was holding them.

  Malcolm stacked the last device in his arm, then brought his other arm underneath it for support. He stood up. “Just,” he thought, his eyes shifting to the left for a second, “… things they were going to use to catch me. I’m getting rid of them.”

  “Th-they? Who’s th-they?” Terrence frowned. “How d-d-do those things even-”

  But Malcolm was already walking away through the fog-laden wind. Despite his obscured vision, the edge of the gorge was easy to make out. Faded greens and browns gave way to a blackened expanse as he neared the chasm.

  “Hey!” Terrence’s voice just behind him. The pitter-patter of his feet and squishing mud blended with the clatter of steady raindrops. “What-”

  “I told you to stay.” Malcolm raised his voice enough for Terrence to hear. Not a yell, but there was the hint of a growl. He stopped a foot from the ledge.

  “How c-come you never answer my qu-questions?” Terrence growled in return, his pace unrelenting. “Why should I t-trust you if you’re k-keeping these secrets?”

  Malcolm thrusted his arms out, sending the trapping devices into oblivion. Terrence watched them descend into the murky unknown as he stopped beside the Weavile. His eyes widened at the endless void at his paws, stepping back a few paces.

  Malcolm walked back to the shelter and Terrence followed. The Weavile knelt before his pack. “You’re both wet, so I’ll have to rearrange some things so they stay dry.”

  Terrence cleared his throat and stood beside the bag. He set a paw on it as though wanting to stop Malcolm. “You didn’t answer me.”

  Malcolm shook his head slightly, keeping his attention on the items he was shuffling around. “Didn’t I tell you not to worry about it?”

  “Yeah, but…” Flustered Terrence couldn’t finish his sentence.

  “No one’s making you trust me, but I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. I saved you from that monster and then offered to get you home. I’m letting come with me because I’m trying to help you, but no one’s making you stay. You’re not my prisoner; you can find your own way home if you want.” He gestured toward the forest. Their eyes met before the Weavile returned his attention to the items. Terrence looked down in embarrassment.

  “I’m not telling you certain things because knowing them would make you more scared than you already are. What do you need more to be terrified of?”

  Terrence’s ears drooped. The only answer was the pelting rain.

  Malcolm’s voice was soft again, his gaze shifting between Terrence and Nikki before finishing rearranging his things. “Before we go, though, it’s only fair I tell you where we’re going. There’s a field a few days’ walk away with the seeds I need to grow the portal. However, Shebaton Cavern is one of few places around amenable to growing portals, so after I get what the seeds, we’ll have to go all the way back.”

  Blank stares from Terrence and Nikki.

  “Wait…... what?” Terrence queried. “You… grow them?”

  Malcolm nodded casually. “Well, this kind, specifically. Even though all the public portals are closed, there’s still another way for interstellar travel if you use this kind of portal. Not everyone knows this because the science behind it is obscure, but it comes in handy when it’s the only option available.”

  “I, uh… wow, uh…” Terrence stammered. “That’s… really lucky.” His expression remained blank as conflicting emotions swirled around in his brain. This almost sounded like a video game. He, the main character, chanced upon a person who could grow portals using seeds. That this character was strong, yet mysterious, added a layer of intrigue and fun. The present reality of danger hindered the merriment he wanted to soak in. It was better being in front of the screen than behind it.

  Malcolm nodded. “Indeed, but we should get going. Come on.” He tapped the bag and the foxes crawled in. They didn’t look forward to traveling in darkness for several more hours, but they at least had more space now. After making sure neither of their tails were hanging out, Malcolm zipped the bag and gingerly hoisted it onto his back.

  Off he went.

  One hour passed. Two… three… The ceaseless rain pelted the absconding Weavile in frigid sheets. Erratic winds caused the deluge to sting his face from varying angles. His pace was slow but, like the storm, relentless. Every step was a stride toward freedom. The lessened weight of his bag helped his speed and morale. Only things in there now were his pills, some plastic bags, an empty vial, papers, and the helpless foxes.

  Terrence peeked though a sliver Malcolm left open so they’d have air. The baobabs dwindled and were replaced with grass too tall to see through. Intermittent streaks of lightning revealed an occasional, distant hill or birch tree. Uneventful, but the anxiety surging through his veins made him thankful for the boring ride. Every fifteen to thirty minutes, Nikki nudged her snout through the opening and asked if they were almost there.

  “You asked that three times already.” Terrence grumbled. “We’re. Not. Close.”

  “I wanna go home…” She whimpered.

  “We’ll get there.” Malcolm patiently answered for the third time. “Try to relax.”

  The inclement weather was reduced to a drizzle as pale blue light crept from the east. Moist grass crunched softly under Malcolm’s slackening pace. Drab asperitas clouds hung thousands of feet overhead, declaiming the storm’s waning moments. Soon, the sun would cast them away.

  It was time to hide and sleep.

  The alcove tucked into the hill by the Mandrake River was damp, cool, and perfect for hiding. Malcolm let the foxes out of his bag and stuffed it with river grass. It was the best pillow the environment could offer. He made another heap of the material so the foxes could sleep somewhat comfortably. Nikki curled up on one side and drifted into a dream. Malcolm laid his head against the bag and did likewise. Terrence nestled onto his side, hoping to join them in slumber.

  But sleep was elusive.

  He stared blankly outside. Dissipating clouds flowing dreamily above. The murky, unchanging river. The reeds swaying in the tepid breeze. A miasma of small, flying insects milling about.

  … It looked exactly like Earth. Home.

  With a wistful groan, he closed his eyes and tried to dream. An hour passed before sleep cradled him in its arms.

  -

  An explosion in Terrence’s nightmare jolted him awake. He stood defensively and his eyes darted about for fire, debris, or invaders. Pulse throbbed; his gaze affixed at the entrance for peril.

  Nothing. Just the cloudy, late afternoon sky. Nikki slept. Malcolm slept. The insects carried on as normal. A cruel jape of the subconscious, but at least everyone was okay.

  He walked to the entrance and absorbed his surroundings. Scattered trees and distant hills, but mostly a vast expanse of undulating grass. Reminded him of that one movie from school where a ferocious tornado descended from the heavens and chased the unsuspecting hero through the endless, Texan fields. There was a flicker of a smile as he remembered how riveting that was.

  A black speck materialized in his periphery. An unmistakable rumble of whirring motors. Terrence gasped and hid behind the wall.

  There, a few miles away:

  Helicopters!

  He scampered over and shoved Malcolm as hard as possible with his little paws. “HEY! There’s helicopters!”

  Malcolm’s eyes popped open but he didn’t register the information right away. “Terr-”

  “There’s helicopters! Wake up!” He shoved him harder, hurting his wrists a little. Malcolm nudged him away and stood, a painful groan accompanying the maneuver. He thrusted an arm out and leaned against the wall as a brutal ache devoured his left knee.

  “Stay back... and keep... calm.” Malcolm struggled between breaths. He staggered toward the entrance but stopped when he noticed the helicopters. Were they for him? Undoubtedly. Maybe they realized he was not at Shebaton Caverns anymore. He spied on the aerial menaces, holding back an outburst of pain.

  “Please… for the love of God, Rutger… leave me alone…”

  The swarm wafted closer… then away. Closer… then away. Sometimes right, left… right again. It was nearly an hour before it vanished entirely. The noise was gone; only then did Malcolm realize how rapidly his heart was beating.

  Terrence caught the terror in his expression as he turned. It disappeared when Malcolm faced him.

  “About two hours ‘til night; let’s try to rest a little more.”

  Terrence nodded, still shaking.

  “… Thanks for warning me, by the way.” Malcolm added.

  Terrence’s ears perked up. “Oh, uh, yeah… y-you’re welcome.”

  The two settled in their respective spots. Terrence tossed and turned, worried the helicopters would return while they slept. When he was on his left side, he noticed Malcolm lying down, but not asleep.

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  He was looking at a sheet of paper… or was that a picture? Terrence squinted enough to feign sleep but also attempt to make out those ink blotches. Amorphous blobs; the light dimmed to the point he couldn’t discern them. He subtly tilted his head upward to read Malcolm’s face. His typical deadpan, but accompanied with a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were little more open than usual, as though revealing a glimmer of emotion. Without warning, they met Terrence’s prying gaze.

  “Terrence?”

  The Fennekin promptly shut his eyes and pronounced his breathing to sound asleep. Malcolm furrowed his brow but said nothing. He tucked the paper away in the pocket not containing the river grass and went to sleep.

  Meanwhile, curiosity enticed the fox. There was something interesting in that bag and he wasn’t going to let Malcolm keep it to himself. A wry smirk forming on his muzzle.

  A little peek never hurt anyone. Not now, but soon.

  -

  The twisted heap of debris that was once BioComp Lab shrunk day by day. Personnel in hazmat gear cleared chunks into waiting trucks under watchful eyes. Armed security protected the perimeter of red police tape, monitoring activity outside and in. Their unwavering stares unnerved the clean-up crew, but they did their best to ignore them. Dennis, the Grumpig who alerted Nicholas that Malcolm was in Shebaton Caverns, supervised the process. The short, chubby pig meandered from person to person. His sudden appearance made some of them jump upon turning around, but no one dared say anything.

  A Poliwhirl dropped a slab of concrete in surprise when he turned and Dennis was inches from his face.

  “Don’t mind me,” The stout swine snorted with rosy cheeks and toothy smile. “Carry on,.” he perused his clipboard for a few seconds. “Bert.”

  Bert said nothing and resumed; Dennis watching for ten interminable seconds before sauntering away. More rubble here, chunk of steel there, some scorched papers here. Type somehow still legible mostly consisted of chemistry jargon. He didn’t stop to try to understand it; after all, there was work to do.

  Then a word arrested his attention. He set down the burnt bolts he just picked up and, quizzically, held the paper closer. His eyes widened… was this real?

  Pneumonavirus.

  His surroundings became white noise. He read on.

  Dennis was peering over the shoulder of a Grotle when he caught Bert in his periphery. His gaze shifted.

  “Hey, keep working!”

  The Poliwhirl, too intrigued by the paper, kept reading. The science around the virus was difficult to comprehend, but he couldn’t put it down. More words… more jargon… a blurred diagram with an inscrutable footnote underneath...

  One particular word, a name, numbed his whole being. Like a fiery dart to his conscience.

  “No… what?!”

  He read the name repeatedly, as well as the statement surrounding it. This was fake… wasn’t it? Someone with an agenda...

  The pig stalked towards him with frigid anger. “I said keep work-”

  “Sorry!” Bert thrusted the sheet away. “I-I- it was just, th-the paper, uh…”

  The pig’s ears perked up. The paper? He snatched the fluttering sheet before it could touch the ground, his alacrity betraying his ample frame. Bert was silent as Dennis glanced at the sheet and nodded.

  He’d seen this before.

  “I-it’s, uh… fake… right?” Bert stammered. “I-I, uh, you know, uh, I don’t believe it or anything. I swear…”

  Dennis folded the sheet into quarters and stashed it in his breast pocket. A subtle, furrowed glance made Bert’s spine tingle inexplicably. “Yes, it’s fake. I’ll deal with this, just keep working and don’t worry about it.”

  A quick nod and Bert resumed cleaning. Dennis poked through the debris too, as though wanting to root out more disagreeable papers. The Poliwhirl said nothing the rest of shift.

  After a grueling sixteen-hour day, the workers were escorted home by specially-assigned security. The windows were tinted enough the cleaners may as well have been blindfolded. Dennis assured them they needed the safety. The demolished lab was a hotbed of controversy and conspiracies; they couldn’t take chances.

  Bert was relieved to be back at his apartment. His pay would be very good, but dealing with dirt, burnt steel, and toxic fumes the whole day was miserable. He showered, prepared a simple tuna sandwich, then settled down before his computer. Scroll through his Chitter feed for a bit before bed. He clicked the link.

  Familiar red squirrel icon loaded in.

  Familiar tabs.

  Any moment, a raucous opinion or bad take would show up…

  It didn’t.

  A gray window and black text greeted him instead.

  “What… the…?”

  “We apologize for the inconvenience. Your account was found to have violated Chitter’s Rules of Conduct and has been suspended indefinitely. If you believe this is an error on our part, please reach out to us as . Thank you.”

  In flustered disbelief, he sent as polite an email he could and went to log on to one of his other social media accounts. Maybe Babble would provide his entertainment for the next hour. His jaw dropped.

  Same message.

  He tried his other five accounts; fingers becoming jittery. Picture-sharing, blog-posting, friend-chatting.

  Blocked.

  Desperate for communication, he called his older brother. Hopefully he was still awake. After three rings a brief, shrill monotone screeched through the speaker, followed by a recording.

  “Hello. Suspicious activity has been linked with the number you are dialing from. Your call will be monitored by CommScan for security purposes. Press ‘one’ to proceed.”

  He ended the call without pressing the key and began to hyperventilate. What was happening? Scenarios flooded his mind. A hacker? Identity thief? A misunderstanding? Or…

  -

  Dennis incinerated the paper with a simple lighter, reducing it to a fine ash. He texted Rutger. “It’s gone and he’s silenced now.”

  The Typhlosion replied. “Good. Do the same with others you find.”

  “Of course.”

  Would Bert have said anything to his friends or followers? Probably not. He didn’t seem to believe what the sheet said, but Dennis couldn’t risk it. It might take just one viral comment to undermine Rutger’s efforts to save Revaria.

  Better Bert’s voice be removed than sacrifice safety.

  -

  After a thankfully uneventful night, Malcolm and the children settled into a hillside den four miles from the nearest trail. That it was partially obstructed with dried, cascaded mud from the rainstorm made it ideal for hiding. The absence of fresh pawprints indicated lack of an inhabitant, but Malcolm was aware that could change any moment. He instructed them to sleep in the back of the cave while he stayed nearer the entrance.

  “We’re making good progress,” Malcolm said. “We’re already about halfway there, but we still have to be aware of our surroundings.”

  Not much else was said before they lied down for the day. Nikki curled up by her brother and fell asleep. Malcolm faced the entrance; if there was an intruder, he would deal with them right away. It helped being a light sleeper.

  Terrence resisted sleep. He eyed the bag with contained, curious glee. It beckoned to be zipped open once Malcolm fell asleep. Though the Weavile gave him plenty of reason to trust him, Terrence couldn’t resist the thrill of mystery. What was that paper that made Malcolm almost smile yesterday?

  As soon as Malcolm was asleep, Terrence gently nudged Nikki away and tip-toed toward the bag. The zipper might be a nuisance; hopefully it would slide open with ease.

  Closer…

  Closer…

  His two digits quietly grasped the zipper and waited. Malcolm did not stir, though Terrence realized the position of his head would make plumbing the bag impossible. He shook his head in annoyance, but that wouldn’t stop him. Even a glimpse would yield juicy details. With the subtlety of a sly fox, he pulled the zipper.

  Malcolm bolted up with a start. The startled fox had no time to retreat before the Weavile’s gaze held him. “Everything okay?”

  “I, uh, you know, uh… yeah! … You?” Terrence’s ears drooped and tail hung pathetically between his legs.

  “Were you trying to get into my bag?” Malcolm asked, phrasing it more like a statement.

  Terrence’s eyes darted about, hoping a diversion would arrive and change the subject. He was trapped. This felt worse than the time his dad caught him poking around through one of his desk drawers. A father was obligated to forgive his child. Malcolm had no such responsibility toward Terrence.

  “Well, were you?”

  Terrence gulped. His default strategy would be to craft a lie and hope Malcolm would buy it, but it was clear he rejected the sale before it was offered.

  “… Yeah... Sorry…”

  Malcolm kept a level tone absent of anger. “Why?”

  “I, uh…” The Fennekin stuttered, face downward but eyes up. “You know, I-I was, like… um, curious… you know, about-”

  “About me?”

  Terrence nodded.

  Malcolm reciprocated the nod and, in an unexpected twist, opened the bag. It was still stuffed with the river grass from yesterday. “Well, here you go. There’s an additional pocket inside this one, where you’ll find more interesting stuff.”

  Terrence cocked an eyebrow. “… Wait, what?”

  “I’ve nothing to hide. Look at everything if you want.” Malcolm shrugged, rotating the bag slightly so it’d face Terrence directly. No hint of irony, sarcasm, or passive-aggressiveness. Just an open invitation to pry into Malcolm’s personal effects. Choked by embarrassment, Terrence apologized again and declined. Malcolm zipped up the bag. “Okay.”

  As though nothing happened, Malcolm lied down and fell asleep. Terrence smacked his forehead with his little paws for being a dummy, then fell asleep.

  -

  Nikki staggered onto her fours and stretched. The darkening sky meant it was time to leave. Another venture through the night cooped up in a bag. Not exciting, but that episode where Riley went on that boring road trip with her parents taught her life didn’t always have to be exciting. It was good enough being with people you cared about and who cared about you, no matter the circumstances.

  Terrence was still asleep, so she thought to wait until Malcolm said it was time to go before waking him. She turned and noticed Malcolm’s silhouette against the orange-yellow sky. Back facing her, but slightly hunched over. Head was down and something was in his hands. He was fixated on whatever it was.

  “Goo’ mowning Mister Malcolm.” She trotted over to him.

  He turned his head; voice mellower than usual. “Good evening, Nikki.” His attention returned to what he was holding. “… We’ll be ready soon.”

  She stood on her hind legs and propped her forepaws on his knee. “What aw you looking at? Can I see?” Her fluffy little tail wagged happily.

  Terrence stood and stretched; a high-pitched yawn escaping his muzzle. It took him a second to realize Nikki was standing next to Malcolm towards the den’s entrance. They were talking, but their words were difficult to discern due to keeping their voices down. He quietly walked towards them, figuring he shouldn’t interrupt whatever they were talking about. When he was closer, he spotted a familiar item.

  The paper Malcolm was looking at last night… and he was showing it to Nikki like it was no big deal!

  Well, Terrence could’ve seen it too, but he chickened out like a dweeb. The humiliation from before clung to his fur like an odious stench. It beckoned him to not join them.

  But... lingering curiosity beckoned him to take advantage. After all, when was the next time Malcolm would brazenly reveal secrets he was indifferent about guarding? Terrence quietly walked forward, wondering what mysteries the paper held.

  “Terrence,” Malcolm said without turning his head. “We’re leaving soon; hope you’re rested enough.”

  The child furrowed his brow. How’d Malcolm know he was there? His mom was right about adults having eyes at the back of their head. “Uh, I am… I guess.” He paused awkwardly before continuing. “Uh… is it… okay if...”

  “Sure, you can look.”

  Terrence sighed, suddenly considered that all his mental buildup was going to result in the most underwhelming payoff. How could a man on the run from a terrible force have nothing worth hiding? He stood beside Nikki and looked. Time to be disappointed.

  Terrence tilted his head. Somehow, he both did and did not expect this.

  A landscape-formatted, slightly faded photograph. Six by four inches, like some of the family pictures at home. The date in the lower-right read ‘8-2-1998.’ Based on the background, this was taken by a professional photographer in a studio. A suited-up Malcolm stood off-center. Younger, fewer creases in his face, a confident smile to match his dignified attire. Not a trace of stress. It was jarring to behold this version of Malcolm, but it was the rest of the picture that left Terrence at a loss for words.

  It was the others standing with him.

  Another Weavile. She also smiled and wore a modest, floral dress a lady would’ve worn to church. She stood on Malcolm’s right. In front of them were three shorter people. Sneasels, also in suit or dress, according to their being boy or girl. Though smiling, the boy looked distracted, as though he just wanted to go home and play video games.

  A taciturn Terrence looked back at Malcolm, flabbergasted this was the same man in the picture.

  “That’s Winifred, my wife. Those’re our children, Jessica, Carol, and Robert. Of course, they’re grown now and my two oldest are parents now. You can see this was taken fifteen years ago. I… had little time to take anything when I fled, but I’m grateful I was able to take this. This’s the only thing that’s made me happy since I started running away. Knowing I’ll see them soon helps keep me going.” A subtle smile formed. “That’s why I look at them every night.”

  Terrence didn’t know how to react. Malcolm was not shrouded in intangible mystery; he was an ordinary family man. He and Malcolm wanted the same thing; reunite with the people who loved them.

  “Mister Malcolm?” Nikki asked. “Whew’s Missus Malcolm and wittle Malcolms?”

  Malcolm hesitated, the answer was one thing he didn’t want the children to know, especially Terrence. The train of thought would lead to a terrible place, but per Terrence’s wont, he would probe until the answer was his. May as well say it.

  “… Earth.”

  The kids’ ears perked up, but Malcolm quickly interrupted their thoughts. Don’t let Terrence think about this right now.

  “But... anyways, we have to go. It’s nighttime.” He herded the foxes into the bag. Two pain pills and a prayer later, they were off.

  Family was waiting.

  -

  Winifred sat by the window in her sister-in-law’s kitchen; a warm breeze rustling the freshly-laundered curtains. A book laid open before her as she tried to read it. One or two sentences, then look out the window. A minute would pass before she read the same sentences again. Someone outside talked. She’d look… wistfully sigh… reread the sentences. How long had she been on this paragraph?

  “Hey.” Carol, her second-oldest quietly walked to her with two cups of ice cold peach tea, white straws in each. She set one before her mother and sat on the other side of the table with hers.

  “Thank you.” Winifred smiled weakly, picking it up and sipping.

  Carol did likewise. “… Added a little lemon this time.”

  “It’s nice.”

  More silence. More looking out the window. A breeze flipped the pages in Winifred’s book. She didn’t notice. The Weavile nudged her glasses up the bridge of her muzzle as though intending to use them. The younger Weavile took her mother’s hand with her own. “I’m sure dad’s okay… This’ll be over soon.”

  Winifred lightly swirled her tea with the straw. “Yeah… I know. Just…” She shook her head. “Wish I knew when. I hate sounding heartless, but why’d this have to happen now? Planned this trip for months and he can’t be here to enjoy it.”

  Carol had no answer. She could only nod. “I know… it sucks...”

  A baby started crying from the adjacent room.

  “Excuse me,” Carol said and pushed back her chair. “Coming, sweetie!” She got up and left. Her one-year old son was now awake and demanded food.

  Winifred’s attention shifted back to the window. Soon, the pandemic would be over. Soon, the portals would open. Soon… Malcolm would arrive. Late, but life was like that. He had a job and countless lives depended on him. She smiled faintly once more.

  Her husband was the hero Revaria needed. If it took weeks, even months...

  He’d stop the pneumonavirus.