of confinement, many would have been eager to witness the sunrise and get some fresh air.
“The siren hasn't gone off yet,” Agent Tate explained from the back seat of the car. “The siren only goes off two hours after the end of the Mist. Officially, it's in order to make sure that no lingering Beasts had somehow survived a while longer or that the Mist had taken a bit longer to recede.”
“And the unofficial version?” I asked.
“Unofficially,” Thomson replied in his stead, “it is the short window granted to the Fourth Division to clean up as much as possible, especially desiccated bodies, and to eliminate whatever Nightmares might have spawned.”
“Clever and practical,” I reflected out loud. “If things get ugly, it will be good not having to worry about civilians.”
“Exactly,” Thomson said with a smile.
Blood started pumping in my veins as our vehicle closed in on one of the dots on the map displayed on a screen embedded in the dashboard. Those locations corresponded to the massive power surges recorded by the Fourth Division’s surveillance systems, which were provoked by the birth of a Transient. This specific spot left me a little perplexed as it offered little protection from certain types of roaming Beasts. We were in a residential area of the Thornhill borough, at a white wooden house that could have used a bit of a facelift. Nevertheless, the front porch was clean and the lawn well maintained. Although a light-grey picket fence surrounded the house’s perimeter—including the backyard—its gate wasn’t locked and didn’t close properly. This meant any Mist Being was free to come and go as they pleased on the exterior property without the negative effects of trespassing.
Taking the lead, I summoned my ethereal shield then circled to the back of the house where the whispers of a Walker beckoned me. Weapons in hand, my companions closely followed. The spectacle that awaited stopped me dead in my tracks.
A handsome young male, somewhat shaky on his legs, was chewing on what appeared to be a tomato while taking a long-sleeve shirt hanging on the clothesline. Tall and athletic, in a lean and fit swimmer way rather than the massive and bulging style of a bodybuilder—like me—he reeked of kindness.
His head jerked towards us, having finally sensed our presence. The cool morning breeze blew his long, blond hair out of his angelic face. His striking pale-blue eyes widened with surprise and then shock at the sight of my companions’ weapons trained on him, but above all, at mine. Fear descended on his features as he clearly struggled to understand who and what we were. Beyond any doubt, he knew me to be a Nightmare. However, despite their menacing stance and the fear emanating from the agents, he would perceive no malice from them. So, what the fuck were they doing with one such as me?
The Transient swallowed the mouthful he had stopped chewing upon noticing our presence, and carefully slipped on the shirt he had taken to cover his nudity.
“I… I’m not here to cause trouble,” the newborn Transient said in the type of pleasantly masculine voice that would have females feel weak in the knees.
“Zain?” Thomson asked with a slight tension in his voice.
I waved a dismissive hand. “He’s one of those disgustingly gentle Wishes. He is no threat to your people.”
Relief flooded my companions who holstered their weapons while approaching the Transient to speak with him. Annoyed, I turned on my heels and headed back to the car. I should be relieved. Not fighting today could be a good thing to give me time to build my power as I didn’t truly feel confident with my current level—impressive though it was. However, with the end of the Mist, Naima would become my greatest source of energy, and only from her emotions. Would it be enough when Darryl was out there gorging on humans?
Just as the men were returning to the vehicle, another Fourth Division car pulled up in front of the house to pick up the Transient.
“That was a clever one,” Thomson said as he sat behind the wheel. “Not the sturdiest shelter, but he’d planned for everything.”
I grunted in agreement, begrudgingly recognizing the merits of his birthplace selection. At a glance, he’d chosen the sturdy treehouse in the back which appeared to close with a large wooden plank that he’d likely secured once inside. Even though we were in the middle of summer, the morning air had a cold bite. The clothes hanging in the backyard—which