We awoke as dusk began. The living forest fell into silence as we passed. The season was changing. Things were starting to go to sleep. Soon, the chill that was already present would turn into a bitter cold.

Determined, we headed west, toward Orava.

Heavy sloshing, strong odors, abundant life. Our awareness moved across the little pond, dipped beneath the water. A little forest, or perhaps jungle. Fish darted around the choking chaos of plants. Masses of tadpoles crowded around the far shore. Insects stood on the surface of the water, ignorant to the hunters that stalked the murky waters below them.

On the edge of our senses things trotted along. Fur and teeth were felt. Then the hunger, the ceaseless hunger, and the sharpened capability to temporarily silence it. The wolf pack knew that we were there. Darting forward and then back, it was like they knew the limits of our awareness and were testing it.

We kept going. On past a hill which could have perhaps been called a small mountain. Past the long rockslide. Past ruddy boulders, the gravel that surrounded them evidence of time’s unyielding march. Ants ran amok in those chunks of glossy gravel, big red ones with long pincers. And we passed piles of trash, broken beer bottles and crusty condoms.

A rabbit aborted its meal. Long feet kicked, dislodging pebbles. She dashed away. The twisted voice wanted to take off after her. Its comrades vetoed the action.

It hit hard, from out of nowhere. We felt it deep in our minds, a horror from long ago. Someone was searching for us.

Someone had found the massacre. This had been inevitable, and not entirely unwanted, as the terror caused by it would please her. The question had been how long it would take. Now it was replaced by a new concern: who was hunting us?

Rural areas like that one were guarded by a small, lightly armed force. The men with stars on their chests, they would come of us. They might also gather up others to help them. Or they might come into conflict with rogues, with those that would pursue us without the consent of the law. Whether it was in the name of justice or revenge, we would be hunted.

A roadway ahead. The cars zoomed past, we assumed it to be a highway. As we closed in a siren came and then it was quickly followed by red and blue lights stabbing their rays into the tree line.

The sound of a helicopter. It was still a long way off but heading in our general direction.

(It had to have come from another place. Its fuel will be limited.)

{I feel the need, I cannot keep control for long. And our mission is so very important.}

The charming voice ignored the twisted one, [You are saying that hiding isn’t an option?]

The calm voice gave its simple response, (Hiding is always an option)

A pipe fence and gate, beyond it, a long, thin track. The gate was covered in rusted signs which warned against trespassing. We ignored them.

At the end of the dirt track we found an old, rundown factory. The place had been abandoned long ago. It was nothing but weathered stone and rusted metal stacked up and left to rot away, dark red and dark grey.

Where great machines had once stood, now stripped out shells and useless mountings sat. Rust marred every piece of metal. Bricks had cracked and chipped. Windows were reduced to a few shards. Dust was caked on every surface, save for those that we tread upon. This would be a good place to bring victims, a secluded birthing chamber.

The twisted voice spoke to the charming one, {We are so close, or so you have told us. Why hide now? We can survive anything they can send against us.}

The calm voice answered, (Don’t underestimate them. You have seen the documentaries. You know what they are capable of.)

[He is correct. This species isn’t to be taken lightly. What they put in their histories is what they will admit to, and hence, should be seen as only a taste of their madness.]