“Interesting, interesting,” Timber muttered. He closed the book and pulled outNever Trust a Vod, written by Slinger Van Crimson, then read the first paragraph out loud.
“Never trust avod, because thevoddon’t trust you.Vodbelieve thatfoxenare born aligned with Khain.Vodandvodvodwill think nothing of breaking into your homes and businesses, going through your belongings, locking up yourfamily members, and destroying your lives.Vodbelieve you have no right to privacy or safety, security or peace.”
Timber snapped the book shut. “Shit,” he said. “I’m feeling some kinda way here.”
Canyon grunted agreement.Maybe we should…
“Put it back,” Timber finished, returning the book to its shelf. “Let’s find thesefoxen.” He left the room.
Canyon stared at the books for a long time before he followed his brother.
32—Am I Motherfucking Seeing What I Think I’m Motherfucking Seeing
Canyon locked the little library back up, then went to his rucksack. He pulled microphones, night vision equipment, and all their fun little toys out of it and got them all working quickly. Timber pulled equipment out of his rucksack and took it near the door to the balcony.
Canyon yawned, then yawned again.
Timber threw a bag of cookies at his head. “Your turn for a power nap,” he said. “I got this.”
Canyon couldn’t even argue. His eyes were leaden. He grabbed an aid bag from his rucksack to use as a pillow, then squirmed his way under a desk in the corner, and settled in. He fell asleep almost immediately and dreamed a familiar dream.
He was on a slim forest trail with trees all around.The femalewas behind him. He dreamed of her often but didn’t know who she was. She held his hand, and she spoke, but her voice was soft. He couldn’t understand her. She laughed and his heart leapt at the sound.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Canyon woke up and the dream crumbled apart. He lay still and grasped for it, feeling lost. He wanted to remember what she looked like, or what she’d said, but he couldn’t. He onlyremembered the tinkling of her laughter and the sweetness of her scent.
Beep. Beep.
Canyon shook it off and checked Predator’s screen for the time. It was just after midnight. He stood and stretched in the dark room. Two of the large windows and the door were standing open and Timber was outside on the balcony with a beeping parabolic microphone. Timber smacked it once and the noise stopped.
Canyon headed out to the balcony.What’d I miss?
It’s all quiet out here.
Canyon stretched again, then stopped suddenly.Do you smell… fox?he said.
Timber became instantly still, scenting the air. He quietly put the mic down.
Hope so.
They both hunkered down. Timber lifted his thermal imaging binoculars to his eyes.
Got him,he said, motioning to the north edge of the surrounding forest.
He gave Canyon the binocs. Canyon saw it right away—a small red fox, almost certainly a juvenile, moving from tree to tree, surveying the houses as Canyon and Timber surveyed it.
What’s under its belly?
Can’t tell.
The fox broke from the tree line and entered the neighborhood with no care and no stealth. It went straight to the front door of a house, and shifted into a naked male—a boy, probably no older than 11 or 12. What was on his belly proved to be his clothing, tied to him. The boy dressed quickly and went in the front door like he had a key.
Can’t see him anymore.
Let’s get closer.
Before they could move, a flashlight turned on inside, moving past windows—on the ground floor first, and then upstairs, into a room. Canyon and Timber could see little. Canyon grabbed the night vision goggles and looked again. The boy fished something out of a drawer and flopped down on the bed, and suddenly his face was lit by what he was holding—a handheld video game console.
