The first of Mike's Emails.

Mike finally sent me that Emil, so we can keep the story going. It's not as well-written as Allen, but the story is what matters.

Okay, we had just gotten the computer from his backyard, and we took it back to our motel. I hooked it up and started sifting through it. It was running Ubuntu, a nice little custom setup. We found what we needed pretty quick. The computer had been put there by a man named Kieth Meadows. He lived in the area, and we decided to go check it out. There was also a folder of photographs on the computer. Allen Recognized a lot of the pictures as places that he had found clues before. I didn't recognize any of them, and he said there were some that he didn't know either. 

We left for Kieth's house, and found him sitting out on his porch. He was an old dude, sixty, seventy, maybe. We didn't ask. He brought us into his house, and told us that he was the person who had delivered the heart, and who had been in charge of cutting it out of Greg. He kept looking around his house like he was nervous, and that just didn't sit right with Allen. Something about his movements, I guess. Eventually, Allen figured it out. The old bastard had been bugged. We saw the camera and Allen jumped up and grabbed it down, pulling the cords out. It was a stupid thing to do, of course, but I think he just panicked. Then he turned to the old guy and asked him what was going on. Kieth explained that he had been roughed up by some cops. The computer was legit, and that there were more pieces of the puzzle still out there. He swore up and down that he was on our side, but Allen didn't trust him anymore. He grabbed the old guy, and we drug him to the car. The place would be swarming with creeps any second, so we had to get out of there, but he wanted to get more info out of Kieth, so we brought him along, and ran as fast as we could.

I hope that's enough for now, we've got a whole lot of work to do tonight, so I'll wright you more soon. Send me an email in a couple days to remind me.

I'll try to keep hounding people to keep this going. I feel like I should tell you that I don't really know what Allen was doing here. He's got a lot of stuff in this blog that I just don't get. I have no idea why he chose that name, or what it means. Sometimes when a person dies, they leave a lot of questions behind. I'm going to do my best to answer them for you.

In Memoriam

I don't know if anyone reads this, or if you are aware, Judging on the comments, and the last post, I think nobody is. I'm being cryptic. "Allen" is dead. I recovered his body three days ago in Arizona. Apparently, he has been referring to me on this blog as "Silas" That'll have to do. I'm going to try to finish what he started. I think this story is important, and "Allen" would have wanted it finished. It's going to be a bit tricky for me to fill in some of the blanks, but there are other people who knew him, and who helped him. I've contacted "Mike" and he's going to email me soon with that.

I just wanted to tell you all that this man has died. 

He was a brave man, and we all lost something with him.

Homecoming

     The server that hosted the website was pinging from inside my own house, back in Riverside. It didn't make any damn sense, but mike and i agreed, we were going to my old house, and we would find out what was going on. The gps told us it'd be about a day and a half of constant driving, so we paced ourselves and made it there in about four days. Nothing exciting about the trip, really, so let's skip ahead to my house.
     The newspapers were piling up on the front porch, and the lawn had died while I was gone. The leaves from my tree in the front had all fallen off, but I think it was still alive. We approached the house nervously, it was surreal, honestly, to be in my own home, and have it be abandoned. Like visiting your old school, familiar, and completely foreign all at once. The house was empty, the power had been shut off months ago. so how was there internet? It didn't make any sense. Nothing seemed out of place,. which considering the rush I had left in seemed like an impossibility. Somebody had clearly tidied the house up a little bit while I was gone.
     I looked through the whole house, but I couldn't seem to find the computer. I wandered into the back yard, and nothing seemed out of place at first. Then I noticed a light mounted over my back door. One of those solar-charged motion-detector types. It didn't belong to me, and even more strangely, it didn't light when I moved in front of it. I hopped up on a chair and lifted it off of its screws, bringing it into the house. Mike popped it open and found inside that it was a small computer. They apparently make them about the size of a vhs now. I didn't know, but Mike recognized it immediately., and shoved the whole thing into his bag.
     he said he couldn't do anything with it here, without power, so we'd have to take it with us. I grabbed some more things from my house, and we left for the day.

Mike Works Magic

I took a screenshot of the site.

     We shook off our hangovers, and mike powered into the website.
There was nothing interesting about it. Nothing. It was a simple webpage, with a .jpg stuck into the middle of it. He tracked the i.p. through two proxies, and bumped into a firewall, somewhere in the caiman islands. So, mike started his bigger computer on the firewall, and left it to grind away. Meanwhile, he moved to his smaller computer to focus on the site again.he started sifting through in detail, and opened up the source code of the site. Then he opened up the .jpg in some program i didn't understand and started scrolling through the code. He knew that Gregory had built that site for a specific reason, but the surface of it didn't mean anything. I watched him scroll through all the code, and while I didn't understand any of it, Mike seemed to read through it with ease. He flew through it a mile-a minute, then suddenly he stopped scrolling, and I saw his eyebrow pop up, before he opened his web browser. He opened the site again, and put a backslash in, with a short string of text. I won't say what the website was, but after the slash he wrote "spite_and_malice".
     Immediately we watched a new webpage load with a log in screen. We were so frustrated with this stuff. Every attempt we made to make sense of it all just raised more questions. Mike Got to work on that log in page, and I left to get breakfast. I grabbed some breakfast sandwiches and coffees, and headed back to the hotel. I was gone maybe twenty minutes, and when I returned, mike was in the shower, but his little laptop was open on my bed. He had a user name plugged in, and the computer was repeatedly punching in passwords.
It was October 23rd. I had been chasing this stuff down for four months. I didn't really know anything that I didn't know on that day in June when a heart appeared on my doorstep. Well, I had learned to shoot, I had learned to stitch myself up, but I hadn't come to understand what was happening around me.
     I sat on the bed and lifted my pistol off of the nightstand. I spun the chamber in my hand staring at it for a long while. I took the safety off, just as mike left the bathroom. He saw what I was doing, and I became immediately embarrassed. He didn't say anything, but it was in his eyes. I put the safety back on, and put the gun back down. Mike walked to his computer, looked at it for a second, and then moved back to the other bed. He grabbed a sandwich and turned on the TV.
A half an hour later, his big computer beeped a note, and he got up, and dashed to it. He had made it past the firewall in the caimans, and was ready to keep tracking the i.p. Forty minutes after that, he had found the last address in the chain.
It was in my hometown.
In fact, it was in my house.

Finding Faulkner

     Hiding out in another hotel, smashing my head against the wall. I had him, right there in my hands. RIGHT THERE, and I had to let him go. If I hadn't there would have been an investigation about the murders, and Mike hadn't been wearing gloves. I was trying to think of something anything that could help me make sense of all of this. The list, the detective, the secret data center, the puzzles, the man in the lake, and his beating heart, none of it made any sense to me. It was infuriating, knowing nothing, and feeling like I was being shoved around by forces I couldn't control. Forces I couldn't even talk to.
     At that moment, something occurred to me that I should have realized on day one. Gregory Faulkner could not have stapled his chest shut. Gregory Faulkner couldn't have wired up his own heart to tell me a clue. Gregory Faulkner was the source of my problems, and I needed to understand him.
      I sat down and talked to Mike, told him everything that had happened. He hadn't heard anything before the data center, and was surprised to find out that I had taken on this job without knowing Gregory at all. I guess it put things in perspective for him, he left the hotel and came back with food and a bottle of plastic bottle vodka and orange juice.
     It was terrible stuff, but it did the trick. We sat in our hotel room, and did a lot of internet research about Faulkner. As you know, Gregory Faulkner is an alias that I gave him, since I've changed all the names here, but the name we searched turned out to also be an alias. There was a long series of webpages about this man, most of them had 404'd, or were taken down, but we found two websites that mattered. Each page held a message, the first one read:

     "Those of you who knew Gregory Faulkner remember him as a brave man who fought for what he believed in. We all loved him very much, but do not make his mistakes, he was wrong."

The second site we found sitting on the computer screen when we woke up. We had apparently gotten drunker than we thought. But when we woke up, we found a simple white webpage with a faint grey omega symbol on it.

Interrogation.

I had Wilson firmly by the throat, but I didn't take any chances. Mike climbed up the stairs, and took my gun, and held it on Ingram While I patted him down. I kept the knife from his ankle, and the derringer from under his coat, and sat him up in a chair in one of the rooms upstairs. I tied him in a shredded sheet, and began to talk.

"How's your arm?" I had no idea how to interrogate someone, but I saw the blood leaking from where the bone was sticking out of his forearm, so I asked.

"Really? That's where you start? It's great, Allen. I'm sure it will heal up nice, and we'll be playing tennis again anytime now." What an asshole.

"Fine. How's this? Why are you killing these people, and how are they connected?" I shouted more than I meant to.

"No Allen, you know I won't tell you any of that. Try again." He was calm, and incredibly irritating. I did something a bit rough, and nudged the bone. He screamed, and I asked again.
He started laughing. Laughing at the top of his lungs. I shoved the gun into his face, pressing it between his eyes. His brow furrowed, and the laughter stopped.

"Interesting... are you going to shoot me, Allen? If you shoot me, I can't tell you anything. That's what you want, isn't it? Information?" He started laughing again, and after about ten seconds of laughter, violent, full-body laughs, a small spurt of blood shot out of his arm, and he blacked out. He was still breathing, still had a pulse, but he had lost so much blood that he collapsed. Mike and I put his gun back in his hand, repositioned him in the room with the father and the son, and left, calling 911 from a payphone in the area and reporting gunfire from the neighborhood. Then we threw away the bloody sheets and hid.

An Old Friend

Mike was a faster driver than me. Lots of zipping in and out of lanes, lots of speeding. We dashed to the house of the first man as fast as we could. The door was left open, swinging, and we sprinted in through it. We heard a thud upstairs, and I rushed up, leaving mike at the door to stand guard. I couldn't believe what I saw when I hit the landing. The first man was curled up in the corner of the nursery, covering his child as well as he could, and standing over him was the last person I expected: Wilson Ingram, the cop who first attacked me. I immediately had my pistol trained on him, and he looked up as I entered the room. He smiled an acid smile at me, and fired two shots, one for father, one for son, and greeted me like an old friend.
"Allen, what a pleasant surprise."
He trained his gun on me next, and I ducked into the hallway to avoid his shot, which shattered a door at the end of the hall. The laughter was unsettling, he just broke out and laughed. "Good to see you've gotten quicker, Alan! Let's have some fun!"
Ingram walked slowly down the hall, toward the door I was hiding behind, leading with his pistol. I heard him fire another shot, followed by a shout from downstairs. Mike. He was unarmed, and I had left him alone. I jumped out from behind the door, and found Ingram pointing his gun downward. I lept at him, and caught his arm, knocking him to the ground. He pulled the trigger as his arm hit the floor and broke under my shoulder. He wailed on me with his free hand, and I pinned his throat under my elbow, and used my left hand to take his gun from the now limp arm. I held it to his head and told him to hold still. I called for mike, who responded that he was fine, and then began my interrogation of Wilson Ingram.

Asking For Help

     That night, we didn't make it to sleep. We were too stressed, to anxious. We lay in bed, turning the encounter over in our heads again and again. I understood why he'd be scared, but we were offering him help, we were on his side. How were we supposed to help if nobody wanted it?  We got out of bed that morning and headed toward our next house. It was about half an hour from the hotel, and we left at eight, to make sure everyone would be awake.
    Twenty minutes after we left from the hotel, we received a call. The man from the first house wanted to speak with us in private. We agreed t meet with him after visiting the next household. Finally, we felt like we were getting somewhere, we had a family to meet with now, and a man who actually wanted help. Apparently, he was afraid we'd scare his wife. When "The incident" happened, his wife closed off, wouldn't eat, or speak for months. It took a long time for her to finally open back up, and he was afraid of losing her to that again. We asked what "the incident" was, but he wouldn't say over the phone. Mike agreed, thinking that his phone might be bugged. So, we finished our conversation and headed to the closer house. We should have left sooner.
     When we got there, we realized we had been beaten. The fire department made that clear enough. According to them, there had been a gas leak in the house, and when it reached the pilot light of their water heater, the whole place went up. The family had been upstairs, asleep. A husband and wife, both in bed, both burned alive. We asked when the fire had started, and one of the firemen told us it happened at about six fifteen. Mike pointed out the obvious. If this family had gone up at six fifteen, the man from yesterday could be next. We headed to the car, and mike immediately began to call the man. There was no answer.

Indiana, Family One

    In Indiana, we met our first living family. We knocked on the door, and were greeted by a skittish-looking woman. She had that air about her, like a sparrow, ready to dart off at any second. We introduced ourselves, and verified her name, and asked if we could take a moment to talk to her. She seemed hesitant to leave the front door, and i guess I can't really blame her. She called for her husband, who came forward, carrying a young child, no more than 18 months, I think. We introduced ourselves to him, and he invited us in to the living room. We sat down, and he asked what it was we were visiting about. Mike started, admitting that we didn't really know why we were talking to him. He tried to explain the list, , and as soon as he did, I felt the room change. The man got tense, and pulled his child closer to him, and very quickly he told us he had had enough and that we needed to leave.
 I butted in: "sir, I don't want to scare you, but the people on this list are dying, and we're trying to help."
He lost his temper "I have lost enough to this mess, and it is all behind me now! Get out of my house!"
     The baby started to cry, and we gave him a business card before leaving, heading for the next house on our list. We stopped for dinner on the road, and tried to see if he had given us any clues. As far as we could tell, he hadn't. We pulled into a hotel for the night and lay awake for hours trying to understand what had happened to that family. Nothing came to mind.

Meeting Mike

     The next morning, I was introduced to my companion for the trip. His name was Mike, and he seemed like a relatively nice guy, a bit talkative, but I didn't mind that. The radio in the car we were in was broken, so at least we had something to listen to. Mike carried a backpack full of clothes and such, and another bag full of computer gear. He had two laptops, one big, one small, an inverter to power them off of, a gigantic mess of cables, and a big android phone. He sat in the front seat, and I drove, while listening to him tick away n his keyboard, using the little laptop. Mike was one of those prodigies, I guess, never boasting any of that illegal stuff, like shifting money through bank accounts, but he's incredibly good with security systems. He's pretty well-known at all of the black-hat events, which he didn't want to brag about. When he found out that I didn't know what a back-hat event was, however, his shock led him into an hour of rambling explanations. I liked mike.
     Our "roadtrip" lead us south, heading toward Indiana. I feel like I need to stress this, We weren't heading to Indiana because it was the closest name on the list. We were headed to Indiana because it was the closest name on the list that wasn't confirmed dead already. There were hundreds of names before Indiana. Hundreds. Indiana was the closest we could get.

Back at the Bank

     We arrived at the bank that night, and Liza welcomed us back in. We told her what had happened, and she asked us to recount it again to the rest of the nerds. It's really not fair for me to call them that, but I think it's funny, and they think it's annoying.  Liza gathered everyone up, and drew their attention to Silas, expecting him to tell the story. He grunted and sat down behind me, leaving it up to me. I'm not much of one for speeches, but I did my best to recount what had happened. When I finished explaining the conversation with the M.E. there was a long silence, like they were all waiting for me to say more, waiting for good news, I guess. Fortunately, Liza swooped in and took charge.
"Okay People, here's the deal. I think at this point, we can make a few assumptions. We aren't the only people who are searching for the people on this list. I think we can assume that the deaths are linked at this point, and gauging by the connection made by these two families, I think that someone is following the same route we were."
     At that, a gawky little guy in the middle of the crowd raised a hand, and Liza nodded to him
"Can we assume a pattern with only two points of reference?"
     Liza seemed a bit frustrated as she replied "Sam, at this point I think we're going to have to make some leaps in logic. Just go with it." He didn't seem to like it, but he quieted down, and Liza continued, "What we need is a plan to get ahead of this other guy, and stop him. Let's get brainstorming!"
A ton of hands shot up, and liza began running the place like a town hall meeting, calling on one person, then allowing debate of the person's idea, either reworking it into a better idea, or scrapping it and moving on. They kept going like this for about an hour until it was settled again: we were splitting up, Silas in one car with a nerd and a mobile setup, Me in a different car with another nerd. We were each heading in opposite directions, toward different families. Meanwhile, the guys back at the bank were doing the obvious and calling families, trying to convince them to go into hiding, or at least meet with one of the two cars. All we were trying to do is protect them, but I was sure people were just going to panic.

Bandages, and other white cloth.

     He started driving faster after that. He checked his phone once, and almost took out a lamp post. I clenched my fist and opened it, over and over again. The bandages pulled against my wrist, shooting a pain up my forearm. I kept it up, squeezing, aching, releasing, relaxing squeezing again. I was trying to make myself immune to it. trying to shake off pain. It wasn't working, but I kept trying anyway, trying to make it hurt enough to matter. It didn't.
     Silas was flying down the freeway now, bobbing in and out of traffic. He drives like an asshole, but I wasn't going to tell him at this junction. We were long past Chicago, on the 90, past sleepy hollow and on the way to Hampshire  I realized what he was doing, he was rushing for the next house on the list, the next family who might still be alive. The trip should have been an hour or so, according to Google maps, but Silas did it in about half that. We found ourselves swerving through suburbs, track housing, whatever you want to call it. We turned onto Schmidt, and were about to turn onto barn owl, the home where they lived, but we were stopped by the two police cars and an ambulance sitting on the culdesac. Silas hit the brakes, cussed me out, and told me how to behave, before parking the car in a neighbor's driveway.
     We got out of the car, acting completely bewildered. Silas approached the cops, who were filling out their paperwork, and I stood by the car, acting nervous, which was easy for me. Apparently, we'd been camping for a week, and didn't know anything about anything. He spoke with them for awhile, lots of disbelief on his face, and fear. The medical examiner walked out through the front door of the house, pulling a gurney behind him, covered in a white cloth. When that happened, Silas feigned squeamishness, and I turned away from the whole scene. Silas walked back to the car shortly after that, told me to get in.
     We left and we went to some little diner, where Silas filled me in. Apparently, there was one victim, a woman, in her thirties. She lived alone in the house, which seemed crazy, considering how big it was. She drowned herself in the pool, according to the M.E. After we ate, I payed the check and asked Silas whet the plan was. He sighed and sat quietly for awhile, before admitting with heavy resignation, that we needed to regroup. So we headed back to the bank.

Silas, Honestly.

     We climbed back into the car, and hit the road again, hoping to put some distance between us and the police force that was hunting for us. My wrist hurt like a sonnofabitch, but I didn't make a sound about it. Silas didn't make a sound about anything. We drove in silence for a couple of hours. I was embarrassed about hurting myself, and Silas was unreadable for a very long time, until we hit a large bump, or, I guess it was a pothole, I don't know. What I do know is that my wrist bounced, hit the arm rest, and I yelped. Yelped is a girly word for it, but not an inaccurate one. That noise, whatever you call it, set Silas off. I'll try my best to recount what he said:
     "What, did you hurt your wrist? Jesus, you're amazing. Why the hell are you even doing this? You can't handle a fucking broken wrist, but you expect yourself to hold up against everything out here? Unbelievable."
     We got silent again for a few minutes. Silas was obviously pissed at me, and I couldn't argue. I had taken all sorts of hits and bruises and shit, but at the end of the day, I knew he was twice the badass I was. You can just tell about some guys, y'know? He stared down the road for awhile longer, clearly mulling things over in his head. I could see the cloud forming over his head, the anger building in his eyes. I knew I was in for it.
     "Your bitch ass couldn't even handle a fucking hangover. A goddamn hangover. Have you even thought about that? If your pansy ass had grown up, made like a man and got going that day, three people could still be alive. That's on you. You'd better realize that. Every time you are a weak-ass little girl, every time you take too long to man up, you put people in danger now. Bandage the damn wrist, because I'm done making concessions for you. Now we're doing things my way." 
     I should have argued, I should have stuck up for myself, but I knew he was right. Those people died because I wasn't there to help them. I bandaged my wrist up way too tight, trying to make the pain on the outside match the pain on the inside. It didn't work.
And now I knew who Silas was.

The Cops

     The cops began to shout, like they always do things like " we have you surrounded" and "step outside quietly!" We decided instead, to find a back way out. When we made it to the back door, we peered out of the window in the door and discovered that the cops were't lying, they did have us surrounded. Silas gestured to me and I followed him toward the stairs. He was unshaken by the cops everywhere, all business. We dashed up the stairs, walking along the hallway and checked through each room, looking for our out. We found it at the end of the hallway, the third bedroom in the house. We didn't really pay attention to it before, and even while we were escaping, we didn't notice it, but looking back, it should have sent up about a million red flags.
     The room was painted yellow, with sports pennants and star wars posters on the walls. the whole place was coated in dust and cobwebs, and we ran through with barely a glance, as we headed for the window. the bedroom had a roof right under it we hopped out of the window and ran down the roof toward the neighbor's yard. We jumped and rolled onto their back lawn, I twisted my wrist on the landing, but Silas immediately got running again. we hopped the fence, Silas with style, me with a nice groan, as i tried to fling my wrist over with me. It took us half an hour to lose the cops on our tail, and an hour later, we stole a tow truck. We threw on uniforms, and pretended to have been called by the cops to pick up our own car. It was risky, but we pulled the car away, dropped the tow truck off at a Hardee's and split.

The First Family

     After shaking off Friday's hangover, we finally got on our way to the first family's home. It was just outside of Chicago  There were a bunch of other names in Chicago, but they all came with obituaries. We were very tense on the way over to the house, neither of us sure what we were going to learn, who was behind all of this mess, or what it was all about.
     The house was tiny, a little suburban home in the back of a culdesac. The house shared a floor plan with more or less half of the neighborhood. The car was in the driveway, but none of the lights were on inside. We didn't know how to approach the matter. I had my pistol in my pocket, and Silas had a small gun with him as well. We stood awkwardly outside the door as I rang the doorbell. We waited for a long while before Silas knocked, impatiently.

We waited.

Then we waited some more.

Then Silas decided to try the doorknob, and the door swung wide open.

Three people lay on the living room floor. I will never forget their faces. A mother, thin, beautiful, vacant in the eyes. Her husband, laying across her legs, tears dried on his cheeks. Their daughter, maybe eight years old, thrown on her back, folded over the coffee table. All three of them had narrow bruises across their throats, where someone had strangled them with a wire.

Vomit welled up in my throat, and I choked it back down, as Silas drew his pistol, and began to search the house. I followed after him, room by room, looking for anything, or anyone, but the house was empty. We decided there was nothing for us to do but leave.
I should say, I decided that. Silas was silent. I could see that rage building in him again, and I knew we wouldn't be talking for another day. I placed my hand on the front door to leave, when the spotlight hit the window, and we heard the police shout out at us.

A Toast and a Plan

     We mourned the dead the next night, over cheap beer. It was almost more depressing than just reading the list, that the only way we could show our support was to sit in a dim old bank sipping canned piss, and plastic bottle tequila. We decided that night, not to linger on the dead, but to protect the ones who were still alive. We didn't understand what was happening to these people, or why, but we knew that if we could find one family still alive, they might be able to help us understand, and stop whatever was happening.
     A few of the hackers volunteered to help us find the people on the list who were still alive, and to arrange a route between their homes. The cheap beer and tequila must have loosened me up, because I agreed to go without much hesitation. The rest of the guys were up for hours after I fell asleep, formulating plans. When I woke up on Friday morning, they had already found the nearest family. Silas seemed ready to go, but I was so hungover that I couldn't get focused enough to go. Silas didn't like it, but he waited for me anyway.
     Silas spent the rest of the day working with some of the hackers on various ideas to get things together. He suggested creating a "Spider" to search repeatedly for all of the names on the list, and let us all know if anything changed. I don't really understand it, but they seemed to like the idea. They jumped on it, and one of the younger kids jumped right on it. I spent the day with Liza, preparing for Saturday, packing up my gear again, and grabbing food supplies, since we weren't expecting to come back to the collective. The idea was that we'd move from one home to the next, learning what we could, and offering whatever protection we could, before moving to the next home. We weren't prepared for what was going to happen.

The list

     The attic was miserable and hot, but despite the creaky mattresses and dusty sheets, we managed to find some sleep. The next morning, we woke early and moved downstairs into the hive of activity that rustled under us. They assigned us computers, and offered us food. We were treated very well, I think because they knew that if it came to it, we would have to protect them. There seemed to be a lot of respect coming our way, it was nice, but a bit tiresome. People always ready to help, or just get in our way.
     We spent the better part of a week poring over the lists, scanning line by line, looking for connections anywhere. It was a long list. It wasn't until Saturday that we found our own names on the list. We were on a page labeled "Active Threats" along with a few other names, most of whom were also tagged as deceased. Silas took it very seriously. There were only about twelve names on the sheet, and he seemed to know a lot of the names. We didn't talk much after that, he just got angry and settled in front of a tv, cleaning his rifle. Silas has a very cold, steely anger, the silent kind of rage that is even more terrifying than a man yelling at full steam. I was glad he was angry at whoever had created the list, and not at me. Although, I think I reminded him of the people he had lost, which made things tense for the rest of the weekend. He didn't speak to anyone until Monday morning, when he walked down the stairs, humming a quiet tune, as if he had never been angry to begin with.
     You could see a difference though, in his attitude. He was more diligent in his list sifting, more determined to find the connection. There was a new passion in his hunt, but it seemed more and more that there was no connection between these people. Finally, on Wednesday, Silas made the connection. He had decided to try more rudimentary sorting techniques, and sorted the list alphabetically. Suddenly, almost every person on the list had at least one pairing. The people in the list shared last names. They were all families; mothers, fathers, children. We started to look them up as families, always with the same results: newspaper articles with headlines like: " Family of Four Dead in Catastrophic Fire" or "Insane Mother Drowns Two Daughters". Almost all of them were dead, but none of them in identical circumstances. Thousands of people dead, with no connections between the deaths, just a laundry list of obituaries. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Safe

     Liza Showed me the vault shortly after explaining it to me. The door was about three feet thick, and a little rusty around the edges, but it felt incredibly solid. Inside were a huge number of older computers stacked together, a lot of them seemed like thrift store finds, some of them seemed off-the shelf, and relatively new. Most of them had their casings stripped off, and all of their drives had been replaced with harddrives. It was hard to tell how it all worked together, but Liza seemed very comfortable in there, as she walked me toward the back of the room, and pointed at a stack of computers, "Allen Bishop, this is your data!" She has a cute way about her.
"obviously, it's a lot to go through, and most of it is encrypted, But we've salvaged a lot of it already. There's a huge portion missing from the beginning of the files," she said
I butted in, "that's because of the harddrives that got shot while I was raiding the servers, I'd bet."
"that makes sense, the way it's broken off looks more like hardware failure than normal data corruption. Anyway, mostly it seems like a list. There is a portion at the end that is very heavily encrypted. We've got a couple of guys working on it, but it's very in-depth. Do either of you know anything about whose servers these were? It might help us understand the style of it a little better. Greg never mentioned any of it to me."
Now it was Silas' turn to interject, " Greg never told anybody shit. He was completely closed off, just threw a job on us, and went on his merry way. It's what got him killed, he never really trusted anyone." There was a lot of bitterness in his words, a lot of sadness, too. It caught Liza off guard, but she carried on, "I'm sorry to bring him up then. Anyway, we have a lot of data to sift through, and I'm sure you two could use a rest. We've got some beds upstairs in the dome, and we can get you computers to work on in the morning. We've been looking over these lists so long, it'd be good to get some fresh eyes on them. The names are starting to blur together."
"Names?" I butted in again, Liza could sure as hell talk, but it was graceful, you could see why people would listen.
"Oh, did I not mention? The list is names, thousands of them, not sorted in any way, just names. Some f the names have a date along side of them, some of them don't. We can't make any sense of it. It doesn't seem like a logical pattern at all. Don't worry about it now, there's plenty of time for that. For now, go rest up. We built a shower into the bathroom down here, so go ahead and get comfortable." So we did. We climbed up what must have been at one point, very nice stairs, and made our way to a room in the top of the building. It was round, and had a bunch of bunkbeds lining the sides of it, all the way around. There was a crack in the domed roof that scratched light across one wall, but other than that, it was pitch black, and uncomfortably warm. And it was our new home for a time.

Hackers and a Vault

     We arrived at our location in Chicago on August 3rd. It was an older looking bank, possibly abandoned, and looked like something was wrong. It felt like all of the rituals we had bee taught for our entry wouldn't be needed. This place was dead. We checked the front door, and found it held shut with a chain and a lock. I suggested we cut the lock and go in anyway, but Silas had a smoother suggestion: check the back door. I was beginning to like Silas. We walked around back, and found a door painted black, even over the glass. The shadow from the building's dome hung over us both, as we pushed the door in. It was a very small room. You could tell it was longer, but a makeshift wall had been erected out of scavenged 2x4's and chain-link fence. There was a button on the wall with a sign that read "Push with the sequence". We had been told what to do, it was a math nerd thing. We had to tap it in a certain order, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, and then we waited as some sounds buzzed in the distance. we waited another three minutes before hearing an uncomfortably high and childish voice ask, "Are you still there?" We answered yes, and the wall hinged forward allowing us into the building. It was incredibly uncomfortable. These people were hackers, a bunch of nerds who all collaborated on crazy computer jobs, and loved a good challenge.
     We were greeted by a woman, let's call her Liza, who acted as sortof a nest mother for the lot of them. If the hackers were the lost boys, she was Peter Pan. She walked us through an old bank building, jumbled with Ethernet cables across the floor. They had kept the old cubicles and desks, but piled them high with computer towers and monitors. It seemed like most of them had their own workstation, or desk, or lounge chair and laptop. I feel like I'm describing these people poorly to you. They were all well-dressed, very comfortably, most of them seemed in pretty good shape, and well groomed to boot, but there was an air of... nerdiness, I guess. It's a bit hard to describe, subtle things, Super Mario paperweights, even though they didn't have papers, tetris blocks painted on the brick wall, the way cables hung from the ceiling, in an almost careless manner, you could just tell that this was a nerd's domain. Even Liza seemed a bit nerdy, although not as much as most of the others, just comfortable, you could see the rim of her contacts, and the Katamari charm on her bracelet ( I asked, she told me).
     After several introductions to her members, she told us what we were here for: The Vault. See, they built their hacker den in an old bank for two reasons; firstly, the ban had been abandoned for years, so it was for sale at dirt cheap, and secondly, the vault was a perfect place to stash their servers. They had to re-build a bunch of the hardware in the place, but after some tinkering, the entire vault was climate controlled, and completely impenetrable. As long as their software security was solid (and oh my god, was it ever) there was almost no way to get at all of their data. What Liza told me was that the flash drive had transmitted terabytes of data over a secure wireless network, like the 3g in my phone, and they had been securely stored in the bank vault. It took a long time for her to explain it to me, her bobbing back and forth between normal speech and techno-lingo, then back to normal speech so that I could understand what all she meant. But two cups of coffee and one very bad drawing later, I finally got it. Silas made sense of it way before me, and tried to help, but he was a bit sarcastic about it.

Chicago

     When I did wake up, it was the next day, and Silas was sitting on the other bed watching tv. He saw me stir, and mumbled about food, before leaving the room. He came back a half an hour later, after I had showered, carrying a greasy white paper bag with burgers and fries. To be honest, after about four days with only liquids pumped into me, those greasy shingles were the best burgers of my life. But that's beside the point. After our lunch, and a couple episodes of sitcom reruns, we finally got down to business. We grabbed out my laptop, and Silas handed me the flashdrive, mentioning that he had waited to plug it in as a sign of trust. It worked, just from the couple of hours we had spent talking over slimy burgers, I could tell that Silas wasn't an enemy. He was gruff, and a bit abrasive, but he was a very genuine sort of guy, never one to lie to make you feel good about something.
     We plugged in the flash drive, and it opened up the autoplay menu. We opened the drive, and it showed a couple of things: a bit of hardware that didn't make sense to me, and a folder with a google earth file, and a small .txt. The hardware turned out to be a 3g wireless thing, which is how the data got transferred off the server. The google earth file was a location in Chicago. I'm not detailing where exactly, because as far as I know, the people there are still alive, and I'd hate to ruin that for them. The .txt file basically explained who was there, what they do, and how to make friends with them. a bunch more stuff I can't really tell you, for their sake.
     We decided to take things slowly, on account of all my blood issues, so Silas offered to do the first bunch of driving. We packed up the next morning, grabbed some pancakes, and hit the road. That night, we crashed in Kansas, and I drove the next morning, partway into Missouri. Anyway, long story short, we would up in Chicago, on the third of August, and I was finally feeling alive again.

S.C.

     The blackness finally shook out of my eyes, and I woke up. The light was different from what I remembered, and it took me a moment to recall what had happened. I had been in the data center, I had blacked out, and now I was... I had no idea where I was. I panicked, I sat bolt upright, and realized I was in a hotel room, a two-bed, so I knew I hadn't gotten it myself. I tried t take in my surroundings, but things were still blurry. I noticed a bunch of my gear against one wall, and other equipment I wasn't familiar with, including a sturdy looking rifle, laying in the other corner. The toilet flushed, and a moment later, a man walked out of the bathroom.

     I reached to the nightstand to try to find my gun, but it wasn't where I normally store it. He shouted, "hey, careful you're going to tear those stitches!" He was too late in warning me, and a huge pain shot through my arm and chest. Things got blurry for a second, and when I refocused, he was standing closer to me. "Hey, keep calm, I'm a friend. The name's Silas." He extended a hand, and I took it. I didn't have much of a choice but to trust him, I was pretty defenseless. "Sorry, it's Silas Callahan, I figure Greg would have put some sort of hint about me. Then again, I figure you would have been able to get ahold of me before you went into that server house, too. I'm sorry about that. The flash drive sent me a text when it got plugged in, but I was a fair damn distance away." I was very confused, but after a moment, I made the connection, S.C. was Silas Callahan. He was the ally that was mentioned in the voice message. I was actually in safe company now. 

     "I'm Allen Bishop," I said, and he nodded, and said he had read my I.D. "So, what happened? Where are we and how did I get here? The last thing I remember was passing out in the datacenter." 

     "Well, like I said, when the flash drive got plugged in, it sent me a text telling me that you had made it to the server nest, and that I needed to go there. I was staying in Walsenburg, So it was about a two hour drive to get there. When I finally arrived, I found you in your car, covered in blood. All of your tires had been slashed, probably by the security guys that you killed, so I grabbed you and your stuff, and threw you into my car." 

     "Wait," I interrupted," how did I get into my car? I don't remember getting out of the building?" 

     "Based off the trail of blood and drag marks out to your car, I'm pretty sure you managed it. You were in some pretty shitty shape. Anyway, we're back in Walsenburg, It's been about two days since I found you. It's Thursday. You've been pretty well and out, I've mostly been trying to keep liquids in you. Obviously, I couldn't take you to a hospital, so I couldn't just get you a transfusion. I was pretty sure you were going to die, but you look a lot better. Especially with all that breathing and talking you're doing." He laughed, but I had a little trouble finding it funny. "Oh well. You're doing fine now. Why don't you rest up, and we'll figure out what our next move is when you're in better shape, okay?"
     I obliged, and passed right back out, for another two days.

Bloodloss

     I could hear, right above me as the plane landed, it sounded far away, but I knew it was only a foot or two above me. I was buzzing in and out of awareness, but I knew I had to keep focused. I tried to stand, but I was getting woozy. I fell back against the server, and slumped for a moment. Then, on my second attempt, I lifted myself into a standing position, and leaned forward against the server in front of me. I heard footsteps on the metal rungs of the ladder, and grabbed three shells to put into my gun. It took too long to pull the old shells out, and I was still loading when they opened the door. There were two guards, who both raised their guns at me, and began yelling commands. Everything was getting blurry, my hands were shaking, and I knew I only had a moment or two more before the blood loss got to me. My left arm was full of burning pain, and I was having trouble breathing, but I had a strong will to survive. I tried my best to focus, just to get enough concentration to handle the situation. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the flash drive, still blinking orange. It wasn't ready, so escape wasn't an option yet.
     One of the guards fired a warning shot over my shoulder, and my concentration sharpened. Suddenly, I was in full focus, just for a moment. I raised my pistol and fired two shots, one per guard, faster than I thought possible.  They both fell down, and I stumbled toward them, and emptied my pistol into them. I turned around, and scrambled to the flash drive. It was flashing orange very fast. Then it turned green, and I grabbed it. It was surprisingly hot, but I managed to hold onto it. I crammed it into my pocket, and reloaded my gun before heading for the door of the server room. I made it to the lobby, the bright, clean feeling room, and I fell. Then blood loss got the better of me and I blacked out.

Dead Man at the Database.

    There were two things on my mind.
One, I wasn't alone out there. It was an amazing feeling. I had spent almost exactly a month by myself, running from something that I didn't understand. I had been shot at, I had stabbed myself, and another man, I had even actually shot someone. For the past month, it had been the world against me, me against them. Suddenly, even though I had no idea who it was, suddenly, it was US against them. I wasn't alone, and it made me brave.
     That bravery made me a little stupid, I guess, because I didn't take time to think. I had a mission now. So, rather than wait and think, I started driving toward Colorado that night. It wasn't a big mistake or anything, It just meant that I stayed up late driving. I slept in my car on the side of the road somewhere near Wichita falls. I ended up sleeping until noon the next day, and kept driving. I stopped for food, and found a hunting supplies store, where I purchased a gun cleaning kit, and a very good pair of binoculars. I crashed in a cheap hotel again, one of those hourly places, for four hours. and got on my way. I should have taken my time. I wasn't alert enough to try the kind of stuff i was about to do, but I didn't care.
     I spent the first hour of my day scoping the place out. I hid on a hill a few miles away from the airstrip and studied it through my binoculars. There was a strip of tarmac, about 150 feet long. There was a small post at one end, with a camera and a solar panel on it. The camera rotated almost 360 degrees at a go, rotating back and forth over the whole airstrip, and most of the area around it. I knew that rushing in there would end poorly, since it took fifteen minutes for backup to arrive. I had to find a means of approach that would let me get at least close without the camera seeing me. I studied it  long time, trying to determine where I should approach from. After a long while, I decided to take my chances. I had an opening on the east side of the airstrip, behind the post, where the camera couldn't see. It was a narrow blind spot, but it was there.
     I got back into my car, and drove around the airstrip, trying to keep a consistent radius from the camera. I drove until I thought I was in the blind spot, checked with my binoculars, re-positioned myself, and then drove in as straight a line as I could manage, hopefully behind the pole. I drove as fast as I could, hoping that if I was seen, I could still be in and out before the guard arrived. I slammed on the breaks right next to the pole, and jumped out. The metal panel was right where he said it would be, I lifted it up, and jumped down. I should have been paying more attention. there was a ladder. I expected a four foot drop, and got a eight foot fall. I landed a lot harder than I had planned, and rolled my ankle a bit. Then I looked up, pulled out a flashlight, and studied the room. It was just an electrical panel room, breaker boxes on one wall, warning signs on the other, and cut off switches on the third. The last wall had the ladder I didn't notice. I started looking for a door, something, anything to let me into the database. I decided to just start pulling things. I tore away at the warning signs and then I started throwing breakers, and finally started pulling at the power switches. That did it. One of the power switches was actually a latch, that opened a door in the wall. I pushed the door open, and found myself in a small office room. Almost like a waiting room at a doctor's office. there were three doors, and i chose the one at the far side.  I dashed through, and found the server room, right there, waiting for me.

     It was a surprisingly large room, with four servers inside of it, arranged in rows, big things with stacks of clicking harddrives. The room was covered in tangled cables, and felt very dry, and just a little bit warmer than was comfortable. I dashed in, looking for a console. I found one at the other end of the room, a small, old looking computer sitting on a table, and looked for a USB port. There were none on the front, and just as I started pulling the computer to find one in the back, I heard the door open, and a voice shouted, "Don't move!" I looked up to find a man in a vaguely uniform-like set of coveralls standing at the door, pointing a police pistol. I raised my hands, and let the thumbdrive fall into my coat sleeve, before turning around slowly.
     "no need to shoot me, pal, I haven't got anything to hide here." I replied. I'm sure my voice was shaking.
     "I'm going to come over there and pat you down. If you make ANY sudden movements, I will shoot. Hold still."
He crossed the room slowly, and started to pat me down, He found my gun, pulled it from my pocket, made a rude comment, and tossed it away from me. The knife got the same treatment. When he moved to pat down my legs, I took my moment. I kneed him in the face, and kicked the gun from his hand, before leaping for my own. I grabbed it and turned just in time for him to grab his own gun. I dived behind one of the servers, and flicked off my safety. Then I saw something fantastic: the server had a USB port. I was fumbling through my coat trying to get at the drive, when I realized that i had dropped it when I ran for my gun. I could see it out on the floor, very exposed, and tried to reach for it. He saw me, and fired. He missed, which was both good and bad. The good news was that I had not been shot in the hand. The bad news was that bullets ricochet. The bullet hit the floor and bounced. I didn't know what had happened until I looked at the server rack in front of me. The bullet had smashed a harddrive, putting a hole through it and the drive above it. they began to spark a bit, and I seriously thought I was screwed. But I decided to try to harvest what I could. I grabbed my flashlight from my pocket, and threw it at the door I had entered through. It clattered against the door, and rolled away from it. The sound was enough for the guard to look away while I snatched the drive off of the floor. I slammed it into a USB port, and prayed that it would work. Meanwhile, I was occupied with the guard, who had not taken my trick very well.
     He swung around the back end of the server I was hiding behind, and took a shot at me. It was a good one, went through my arm, and against one of my ribs, cracking it, and knocking all the air from me. Looking back, I know it wasn't that serious of an injury, mostly a graze, but at the time, I knew I was dead. I swung my pistol and fired off four shots, almost braindead with pain. I hit him with three, two in the chest and one in the head. Then I heard the plane overhead, and knew my trouble had only started.

On the Offensive.

     When I made it back to my camping spot, I opened up the otter case. Another series of clues waited inside of it. It was exactly what I knew would be in there, but I wasn't excited to find more riddles. There was a small flash drive, with all the identifiers scraped off, It was brushed aluminum, with a green plastic Ω embossed on one side. There was a tag on it that read 
"Do not put this into your computer. Save for the database."
     There was also a small voice recorder in the box, as well as a fresh box of ammunition for my pistol.
 How considerate. I grabbed my headphones and plugged them into the recorder before pressing play. It was a second message from Gregory Faulkner.


     "I'm glad you've made it this far. I realize that at this juncture things are probably getting more dangerous for you. In fact, I imagine that you found this location through a violent encounter. Hopefully you figured out the knife puzzle in a more peaceable way. Regardless, thus far you have likely been acting on the defensive. Today, you will begin acting on the offense.You have a Flash drive with you, it contains a copy of a virus which will download all of the files from whatever computer it is plugged into, and remove them from the computer. It will load them onto a secure server. I can't give you the address of that server yet, but when the virus has been activated, it will remove itself from the drive, and there will be instructions on a document there. I know, all of what I am saying is hard to believe, but I'd hope that by now you can take this at face value: I have been trying to do good for the world. There is a horrible secret out there, and I need your help to expose it. If telling you was enough, I would, but for now, please trust me. At the end of this ordeal, everything will make sense to you, and you will have changed the entire world for the better.
     Now, there are two more things I need to tell you: first of all, the location of the database. I won't encode it this time, but only because of the second thing I am telling you. Anyway, Go to 37.585951,-104.283482. There will be a small airstrip there, and it will be under surveillance. It's expected that no one will go there, so it isn't guarded regularly, but you can't be too cautious. There will be a metal panel on the airstrip, it is the entrance to the bunker. Inside, you'll find the Database. Find a console you can plug the drive into, and when the symbol lights up, pull the drive, and get the hell out. It takes about fifteen minutes for a guard to arrive when the alarm has sounded. 
     Now. The second thing I need to tell you is that you are not alone. There is another man trying to fight the fight you are fighting. For his sake, I can't tell you his name, but his initials are S. C. Shit, the recording is about to run out. Friend, I know that you must resent me, and I know that I am asking too much from you, but I promise you, this is for the good of everyone. thank"


     The recording ended. Maybe he was thanking me. Maybe he was thanking god. It didn't matter to me. For the first time in close to a month, I wasn't alone. 

Dead End

     As it turns out, the answer to the riddle was incredibly simple. Actually, it was impossibly simple. Go ahead, google the letters "DED END DRV WTNY TEX". Apparently the only reason it was weird looking was to save space. And I had been stressing about it. How embarrassing. That said, it was still expecting me to drive to texas. seriously, it takes almost en entire day to drive there in good traffic. I decided to take my sweet time. I spent a day in Arizona, three in New Mexico, one in El Paso, and finally I arrived in Texas on the twentieth. My leg was mostly healed by now, but the cut on my back cracked whenever i bent down, so it hurt like a sonofabitch. I waited as long as I felt like I could before finally heading to Dead End Drive. Seriously, the most Ominous road name I have ever heard.
     It was a short road,a sort of dirt cul de sac with four houses ringing it. Past the back of the dead end was a thick patch of trees, and behind that, beautiful lake whitney. I decided to scope it out in daylight, using my backpack to go inconspicuously. I parked up the river bank a couple of miles, threw on some mountain-ey clothes, and my backpack. I hiked up the shore, savoring some views and such. When I got to the actual dead-end, I feigned a rest, settled down against a tree and "relaxed". I spent about twenty minutes running my eyes across everything I could see. I thought that what i was looking for would be near the houses, because of the address, but I couldn't seem to find anything. I spent about an hour looking around, not finding anything. I had come too late in the day, because the sun was headed down, so I decided to try again the next day.
     The next day, I made sure to go early in the morning, to make sure I had a full day to search. I went to a local sports shop and bought an inexpensive collapsible fishing rod, then went to the shore again. I spent all day fishing and searching. I'd cast out a bait and scramble around the trees and rocks nearby. It was probably about two thirty when I finally found it.
     There were two runoffs on either side of the actual dead end, turning the shore into a nice even curve. The runoffs were washed out, mostly sand and piles of rocks. It was one of these piles where I noticed what I needed: the number thirteen etched onto the side of a boulder. It was small, anyone could have missed it, but I got lucky. It seems amazing to me how much of this depended on me getting lucky, but I've been pretty good so far. Well, i've done alright.
     I tried to push the boulder over, but that thing was incredibly heavy. I ended up having to lever it over using a branch from one of the trees. I sifted through the sand, and found a circular shape. I scooped around it and revealed the lid of a five-gallon paint bucket, buried in the sand. I pried it open and found another container inside, The word Otter was on the outside of the smaller box. I turns out that otter makes waterproof containers, which is a good thing, because it looked like the bucket had been cracked by the rock. A shallow layer of water was sitting in the bottom of the bucket, with thick algae growing in it.
     I pulled in my line, gathered my gear, and headed back to my camp for the night.

A Message in Blood.

     The fight at the cemetery had shaken me up pretty bad, but I stayed pretty clear headed, and drove as fast and as far as I could. The cut on my back was excruciating, just throbbing, but I knew it was more important to ditch Ingram before I worried about that. It was another half an hour before I found a place to settle, another cheap cash-only hotel outside of town. Before I went in to get a room, I figured I should hide the stuff in my car, so I reached for the gun and the knife. I emptied the shells from the gun, and put it in the glovebox. Then I grabbed the knife. The entirety of it was covered in blood, the frosting had held the blood in place, and helped it spread across the metal. I wiped it on my pants, they were really bloody already, and noticed something. Not all of the blood had wiped off. Some of the etching on the blade was deeper than the rest, or had a different texture,  or both, it was hard to tell, but the knife had held on to some of the blood. It spelled out:

    " DED END DRV " On one side, and "WTNY TEX" on the other.

     Great, more mystery code bullshit. I sheathed the knife, and hid it under the seat for now. then I put on my longest coat, to cover the wound, and ordered a room. Then I went back out to the car, grabbed my stuff, including the gun and the knife, and went onto the hotel room.
     I'll spare you the details of my self-surgery again, but let me say that it was crude, bloody and used both mirrors in the hotel bathroom. That night, I ordered a pizza and passed out with blood soaking through my bandages, and a bunch of stupid letters running through my head.

A knife at a Gunfight.

     I had just found in a suitcase, a gun, a knife, and $1500 cash in a suitcase. Now, I feel like I should tell you that I'd never held a gun before, much less fired one. Just keep that in mind.
Anyway, July, 2010, I had these few items, and no idea what to do with myself. I spent a long time wandering, studying the items i had on me now, Was the type of gun important? I tried to find out what type of gun it was, but as I've mentioned, I never sorted it out. The gun used to make me very uncomfortable, I'd try to avoid seeing it in my belongings. Of course, now it's almost an old friend.
     I spent the next few days thinking about where I needed to go next. I knew where I wanted to be, but I knew it was a bad idea, but I decided to go anyway. I spent a bit of the cash I had on hand at a thrift store to buy a black suit, and then, on July 12th, I drove to Natalie Emory's Funeral.
     The funeral was at the evergreen community cemetery, graveside. It was a warm day, lots of sun, but I was wishing it would rain. I was so incredibly guilty. It's really hard for me to express this kind of stuff, but I was close to tears the whole time. There were a lot of people there, maybe fifty, and many of them were already crying. She had really meant a lot to people, and for her to have died so young, it was terrible. I hid in the crowd, listened to eulogies, and thought all my apologies to Natalie. I hope she heard them, but lately, I doubt it. After the funeral, Everyone was invited to her parent's house for the wake. I decided not to go, and instead waited for everyone to leave. Then I approached the grave, and cried in earnest.
     That's when the bullet hit the dirt beside me. It was a narrow miss, but they were definitely aiming for me. I lept up, tears still in my eyes and looked behind me, scanning the field of stones. About six or seven rows of graves away, I could see him: Wilson Ingrams, pointing a gun my direction, and running toward me, with two guys with him. I got up and ran for cover as quickly as I could, cursing myself for coming to the funeral. I knew it was a bad idea, and I had been right. Ingram threw a few more shots at me, but I was behind a pretty large tombstone, so the first few hit that. I assessed the situation: I was sitting with my back to a tombstone, pistol in one pocket, and the knife in the other. The notes had scared me into bringing them. I took the gun out of my pocket, and checked the chambers, they were all loaded, then I took off my safety and peered out. Immediately, the rock by my head exploded, and a ringing pounded through my head. I considered doing the "look at the reflection in you knife" thing, but it was frosted, so I wouldn't be able to see anyway. So, out of desperation, I reached my hand above the stone and fired one shot. My hand flew backward, and the gun flew loose from my hand, landing outside my cover. "Fucking idiot." Ingram laughed the meanest laugh you'd ever hear, and called out "Are you kidding me? Guys, go grab this little shit" The gun was out of reach, there were two guys about to close in on me, and I had nowhere to run. I pulled the knife out of my pocket and braced myself.
     They came around both sides at the same time, I slashed wildly at one of them, and knicked his arm. He yelled and pulled back, but while I was facing him, the other guy threw an arm around my neck, holding me in a headlock. I tried to stab at him under my shoulder, it was stupid, but it seemed like the thing to do. I got a big gash on my back, but I managed to slash him up a bit worse. I was bleeding heavily, but I had enough energy to run. I grabbed the pistol, and started toward my car. The guy with the cut on his arm was after me instantly, so I fired at him with the pistol. My first shot missed, but the second one hit him in the shoulder. I got Stupid lucky at that point, because Ingram started firing on me, and missed with the first two shots. I tried to shoot back at him, but I was a terrible shot, and he was way behind me. I saved one shot in case he caught up with me, but as I lept into my car, I could tell he had stopped following. I threw my gun and bloody knife into the passenger seat, and started driving again.

Inside the case.

I drove onto the ten freeway, just driving to get anywhere, I had lost a lot of blood while I was unconscious, so I guess I wasn't thinking clearly. I wound up in Santa Monica, near the pacific park, There was a McDonald's there, so I snuck into their bathroom to wash up my leg, and to change my clothes. Then I left to try to find some actual food. It had been a long night, so I figured I deserved some real food before I opened that case. of course it was late at night, so I ended up settling for Denny's. Anyway, after dinner, I parked not far from the pier and finally opened the briefcase.

Inside of the case I found three things, a pistol and shells, an envelope with cash inside, and a knife, in a small leather sheath. The pistol was a revolver, an old-fashioned sort of gun with a box of shells next to it, and a packing tag attached that said "protect yourself". I'd tell you more about it, but I still don't know what type of gun it is, none of the serial numbers were on it, everything identifying had been scraped off, except for the number 13 on the butt of the handle. The envelope had 1500 dollars inside, in bills of every size. I think that was the first time I had ever seen a five hundred dollar bill. The last item in the case was the knife, another really old-fashioned item, weirdly tapered handle, almost an hourglass shape, with a wide, flat blade. The blade was frosted metal, an uneven texture, a blotchy sort of etching on the surface. The knife also had a tag on it: "Use Me".

So, I had about 4800 dollars cash on me, a gun and a knife. I felt like a criminal, chased down by arsonists, and a cop who killed out of spite. I hadn't thought about Natalie all night, not until I was sitting under a boardwalk, spinning the chamber of a revolver did I realize what had happened. Someone had actually died because of me. I sat under that pier for hours thinking about that. She had actually died. I didn't leave the pier until the sun started coming up behind me. I drove inland for awhile and found a cheap hotel. I locked myself inside with all of my stuff, and slept.

Rice Paper

I spent the next two weeks on the run. I didn't know where I could go. I was afraid to contact anyone I knew, in case it got them killed. I Spent most of my time locked up in hotel rooms, or sometimes hiding in campsites, thinking on the puzzle. It took me about two days worth of googling to figure it out. Turns out, the key was more than a literal key, it was also the key to the code. You probably saw it, the number seventeen carved into the face of it. It turns out it was a stupid simple code, offset the alphabet by seventeen digits, and it gives you:

4844 West Jefferson Boulevard, Los Angeles,

I admit, I spent a lot of those two weeks stalling. I was scared of what I was supposed to do. I also didn't know What to be looking for. Not to mention, if this was such a complicated mystery, why was the clue i was given so simple? It made me nervous, was it actually some sort of trap? I couldn't stop worrying.

So, instead of going to the address, I spent my time researching, or going to the bank. I Went to the bank as often as I could, pulling out the ATM limit every day. I'd try to find ATMs that didn't have an internet connection, so that I could pull out the daily limit more than once. I knew it was only a matter of time before my accounts were locked out. They finally did lock it up on the fifth of July, I had pulled out 3300 dollars cash. It was almost all of my savings anyway, but it still didn't seem like much. However, with all of my money pulled out, I realized I had run out of excuses.

It didn't keep me from stalling a few more days. I took my time, planning it out, I drove past the place once a day for three days and worried. Finally, on the eighth of July, I made my move.

I waited until nighttime to enter the building. I Approached by the back door, it was a security door with a big fat lock. Just as I had suspected, the lock was operated by the number seventeen key. I realize I keep saying this, but I still couldn't believe what I was doing. The building was a manufacturing shop, with a showroom in the front. They made japanese rice-paper doors. I got inside, and locked the door behind me, looking around the shop.

Then my phone rang.

My ringtone was incredibly loud, and scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I answered it quickly, just to shut it up. It was Natalie Emory, a girl I knew from my last job. We had had a thing going on a while back, but things never really picked up. It was weird for her to be calling me, apparently she had heard that I had gone missing, and since I hadn't answered my phone when anyone else had called, she thought she'd add her number to the list of people trying. I thanked her and tried to get out of the conversation, but she kept going. Apparently, she had been thinking about me, and wondered why things never really clicked with us. relationship stuff, in the middle of a burglary, great. Then I heard another voice, Detective Ingram took the phone and began to speak:

"Congratulations, Allen, you've really done it now. I have some terrible news for you, Allen. There are people coming to where you are. Don't bother trying to run, Allen. They are already outside" Lights flashed across the front windows of the building, and I began to panic. "Allen, I'm sorry about this." Then I heard the phone change hands, and Natalie was speaking again. She was crying. "I'm so sorry Allen, I'm so sorry!" Then- a single gunshot, and the phone disconnected.

Then I heard loud noises from outside, shouts, and then I smelled gasoline, and I knew what their plan was. I scrambled to find what it was I needed. I didn't know what I was looking for, scrambling around the building at full speed, running through mazes of japanese screens, I tripped through a showroom, and noticed a set of screens enclosing a corner. I rushed over to it, trying to pull it loose, but it was attached securely. The flames began at that moment, rushing from the front of the building, moving toward me. As the flames approached, I kicked the screen in, stabbing myself in the leg with a piece of the frame, and breaking it off in the process. Then I looked inside the screen and saw what I hoped I was there for: a small metal suitcase. I grabbed the suitcase and limped as quickly as I could to the back door of the building, trailing blood behind me. I fumbled at the door to un-lock it, and cursed at myself as the screens behind me began to blaze. It's hard to describe that kind of heat, even firefighters don't really know, covered in their suits. I managed to get the door open, and looked both directions. It was a narrow alley, and they had posted guards at either end. I decided to hop the fence across the alley, and aim for a main street. I wound up on exposition, across from some baseball fields. I limped to my right to my car, and drove away as fast as I could.

About half an hour of driving later, and I had to stop. the pain in my leg was overwhelming, and I knew I had to get the wood out of there, if I was going to prevent infection. I did it myself in the back of my car, using my leatherman knife to cut it loose, and the pliers to pull it out. about two inches of wood in my leg, not very deep, but very rough. It was lucky that I had parked in the middle of nowhere, because partway trough my "surgery" I woke up with the sun rising. I had blacked out while cutting out the stick. I finished pulling it out, and bandaged it up as well as I could. Then I started driving again. Just looking for someplace to hide.

More Than a Corpse

     I figured it was best to not take any chances, so I put on a pair of gloves before picking up the shovel. I knew what was expected of me, and although I didn't like it, I began to dig. It was a pretty big hole, took me about two hours, the Clay was hard and dry, like the stuff you see in commercials for skin products. Four feet down, I finally found what I was there for: a wooden box, made out of OSB, and held shut with sheetrock screws. It was a piece of junk, but it was also the size of a coffin. I was scared, I didn't know what I was going to find. No, I did, I just wasn't ready for it. I lifted the box up, and tucked some dirt under it, so the whole thing was laying flat, and cleared the dirt from the top of it. It took me awhile to get all of the screws undone, since I hadn't brought a power drill, but I finally got them all out, and pushed the plywood lid off of the box.

     It was exactly what I was expecting, and exactly what I was afraid of: a corpse. I slid the lid back onto the box and sat back, frantic. I used to talk a big game, but I was damn certainly not the tough guy I pretended to be. I was much more nervous back then. I used to spend all of my time talking about how I was a natural survivor, and my plans for the apocalypse, but when shit hit the fan, I was completely unprepared. Here I was, sitting in a hole in the middle of a dried up lake, with a corpse in a cheap wooden box, and the sun was going down.

     I pulled out my flashlight and moved back to the box, determined not to panic. I slid the lid off of the box, and looked inside. The man seemed a bit too young to be dead naturally, which was a stupid thought. Of course he didn't die naturally, the hole in his head was pretty solid evidence of that. Anyway, the guy was maybe thirty-five or forty, brown hair, closed eyes, and lots of blood dried on him. It was hard not to focus on all the blood. So, in an effort to keep from focusing on the blood, I actively averted my eyes. You know, the way you do when there is obvious cleavage in a civilized setting. While I was averting my eyes, I noticed the underside of the lid of the "coffin", and noticed something painted on there. I flipped the lid over and looked at the words hastily spray-painted there: INSTALL IT.

     I looked at the body, my eyes locked on his chest, and knew what was going to happen. I was about to put a heart into a corpse. I pulled open the man's shirt, and saw a hastily stitched and stapled wound down his sternum. Dear god, I was about to do it, I was going to open up a corpse. I Grabbed out my multitool and started pulling staples. They were huge things, wide and made of thick wire, with the flesh discolored where they had entered. I pulled out all of the staples except the middle-most one, which strained against the ribs. I built up my courage and yanked the last one- then, as the ribs sprang open, I was overwhelmed by stench.

     Clearly this man had not been preserved very well. Jumping back from the smell, I grabbed a handkerchief, and tied it over my mouth, then moved back to the corpse and shone my flashlight inside. Of course there were all of the giblets and other bits in there, but there were also a few shining bits of stainless steel, and a box near the back attached to them with little wires. So, I did what any normal human being would do: I vomited. Then I opened up the package I had brought with me, and brought out the heart, beating still. I lowered it into the cavity, and lined up the connectors, and after a few beats from the now-installed heart, something terrible happened. The body began to talk to me.

     "Hello, and I'm sorry"
Okay, the body wasn't talking, but a recording was playing from inside the box inside of it. Absolutely horrible.
     "I don't know what your name is, but mine is Gregory Faulkner. I know that at this point, none of this makes sense to you, and you must be scared. I am so sorry that this has fallen to you, but I couldn't trust the tasks ahead of you with anyone related to me. Now that I am dead, they will all be watched, so there is nothing they can do. Only a stranger would be safe. Please forgive me. There are several items that have been hidden by other strangers, who also didn't ask for what they have gotten. If I have built my web correctly, my death will prevent all of the work I have done from falling to shambles. I stumbled into something big. There are incredible powers at work trying to keep things progressing down the path they are on, and if things continue this way, horrible things are going to happen. I can't tell you more on this recording, it's not safe. However, I can point you to the first location, the first piece of this puzzle. There are several people involved in this, several strangers who have been pulled into this, and I can only pray for forgiveness for that. But you, whom I have never met, you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. I can never repay you enough for it. The first clue is this: "4844 NVJK AVWWVIJFE SFLCVMRIU, CFJ REXVCVJ" Obviously, for safety's sake, this message had to be encoded, but you have the key if you have my heart. Thank you, and please forgive me.

I still have the key, here's a picture.

     That was it. the last wishes of a dead man, and with them, the greatest responsibility ever placed on one man. I took the heart out, and re-inserted it, recording the message on my phone. I removed it again, and this time, I cut it open, trying to sever whatever wires were inside, and when I did, I caught a small beaded chain. The chain had a small key on it. I put the key around my neck, and pulled the box out of Gregory's chest, and stomped on it, again and again, screaming, crying, and angry. It took me probably an hour to compose myself, then all I could do was put him back. I closed the box, and shoveled all the dirt back onto his shitty unmarked grave.
I still haven't forgiven him.

The Detective and The Lake

     After a fair bit of deliberating, and a long stare at the now-beating heart, I decided that I should probably call the police. It was clear to me that this was way out of my league, and "tell no one" was going to get me into trouble. I called 911, and the receptionist spent a lot of time coming to grips with what I was telling her. I didn't blame her, but I was getting panicky. Finally, she told me that there was someone on the way, and to stay inside my house. The only person I should talk to was a detective Ingram.

     I sat and worried for awhile, thinking about the morning's events, the heart throbbing on my dining room table. Then, about twenty minutes after the 911 operator hung up, there was a knock on my door. I looked through my peephole and saw a smallish black-haired man looking up at me, waving an ID. I opened the door, and he identified himself as Wilson Ingram, we shook hands and he began to question me about the heart. Where had it come from, what was my involvement, who did I know who might know anything about it, then he got a little... off track.

      He began sifting through some of the papers on the table, my bills, magazine subscriptions. I asked him what he was doing, but he didn't seem to notice. After a moment of looking at a bank statement from may, he looked over the top of the page and asked, very calmly, "who else have you told about this?". I told him that he was the first person I had called, and he said, "good."

     The next few seconds took place in an adrenaline blur.

He dropped the paper and drew a pistol from inside his coat.

I Leapt at him, pinning the gun to his chest before he could get it pointed at me.

We Struggled on the ground, an old-fashioned rumble. Eventually, I managed to knock the gun away, and pin him by the throat with my forearm. I was in a fury, not thinking straight, so rather than ask him the questions I now know I should have asked, I kept pushing down, hard. After a moment, he passed out, and i got up. I grabbed some rope from the garage, and tied him to a chair. I knew it wouldn't hold him long after he woke up, but it would have to do. Then I Packed as quickly as I could. I shoved a few days worth of clothes, and most of my hiking gear into my backpack. I used to do a lot of ultralight backpacking, so I was pretty well equipped. Then, I grabbed the heart, jumped in my car, and drove.

GFiSaT.35.140647-117.128071

I turned it over in my head. It didn't take long to figure out that it was a GPS coordinate, so I plugged it into my phone, and got underway.

    Three hours later, I pulled my car off of the County Road. I misread it at first, and thought it was called "country road", which would have been funny, if my only company hadn't been a disembodied beating heart. I drove for awhile across a bunch of dirt, into a ravine, and toward a patch of pale clay in the middle of a small valley, a dried out lake. I parked my car at the edge of the clay, and hoofed it the rest of the way, carrying my backpack. I could see something in the middle of the lake, but it was hard to make out at a distance. When I finally made it to the object, I realized nervously that it was a shovel standing in the dirt.