Rabbits(105)

I didn’t notice the rain at all as I hurried between the towering buildings toward whatever was waiting for me at that spot on the map.

I was close.

The camera had zoomed in to the middle of the alley between Western and First. This area would soon be filled with the hum and bustle of the waking city, but at that moment it was peaceful and still. I could hear the distant cries of seagulls waking in anticipation of another day spent scavenging around the waterfront.

I stepped off the street and into the alley. This was it.

I took a deep breath and readied myself. If there was something waiting in there, I really hoped that something wasn’t a murderous back-alley-dwelling human.

I walked past the rusted fire escapes and barred windows looking for anything related to that hidden screen in Zompocalypso, anything that might be connected to Rabbits.

But there was nothing.

No pattern hidden in the wet gray-brown cobblestones, no clues in the number of rungs that made up each of the fire escape ladders, no hidden messages in the graffiti spray-painted on the brick walls and dumpsters that lined the alley.

Had I been wrong about the extra constellation?

I was just about to leave when I heard a deep, low scratching sound coming from one of the nearby dumpsters.

I wrapped my hand around my key ring and arranged it so a couple of the keys slid in between my fingers—as if that was going to help me fight off whatever Seattle night terror was waiting behind the dumpster. I shook my head, let go of my keys, and walked slowly and carefully toward the dark green metal container, ready to run for my life if a person (or something worse) suddenly stepped out.

I was about three feet away when a large rat scuttled out from around the bin.

I jumped backward and almost fell over.

I wasn’t afraid of rats—Seattle had more than its share of them—but echoes of the strange otherworldly feeling I’d experienced when I woke up remained with me, and no matter how excited I was about following the potential clue I’d uncovered, I was still walking through a long dark alley alone in the rain.

I took a deep breath and pulled the wet dumpster away from the brick wall.

There was nothing there except for another rat.

This one was even bigger than the first. She was lying on her side on a pile of wet newspapers feeding a handful of little pink babies.

I carefully pushed the dumpster back into place and was about to switch my focus to potential connections between the businesses and addresses that made up the streets on either side of the alley, when I noticed another dumpster directly across from the one providing shelter for the brand-new family of rats. The last thing I wanted to do was disturb another rodent family feeding, but I’d come all this way. I knew that if I didn’t check everything it would gnaw at me, and I’d have to come back again later.

I took a deep breath, readied myself for any and all types of rat contact, and pulled.

One of the dumpster’s casters was missing, which resulted in a deep reverb-y scraping howl as I dragged the large, wet metal box away from the wall.

There were no rats.

But there was something.

The wall behind the dumpster was covered in a mess of numbers, letters, and symbols, all surrounding something familiar.

The circle atop the triangle.

The layout and style of the art were similar to that hidden screen from Zompocalypso. Seeing it here in this context felt like a glimpse into a secret world. My breath quickened and I could suddenly hear my heart beating in my ears.

“What do you think?”

I’m not sure whether I heard her voice before or after I’d taken out my phone and started taking pictures.

I turned around to face the speaker.

It was Easton Paruth.

I hadn’t heard her approaching. She must have entered the alley while I’d been moving the dumpster away from the wall.

“You’re following me?” I asked.

“I had Darla hide a bit of tracking technology in one of your shoes.”

“What?”

She didn’t answer my question. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

I stepped aside so she could get a better view.

“It’s beautiful,” she said as she stepped forward and placed her hand on the triangle in the middle of the wall.

“You’ve seen this symbol before,” I said.

Easton continued to run her hand along the wall.

“A circle atop a pyramid is a familiar sigil in the world of the game. It’s something we refer to as The Moonrise,” she said.

The strange symbol from my elevator dream suddenly had a name.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. But it’s deeply connected to the game. It’s something that normally appears as a marker—a sign that you’re on the right path.”

I nodded toward the wall. “Are you going to take a picture?”

“I do believe I will, thank you.”

She took about a dozen photographs from a few different angles.

“Why are you following me?” I asked.

Easton finally stopped taking pictures and put away her phone.

“Let me buy you a coffee. I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Are you Murmur?”

“Coffee,” she said.

She helped me push the dumpster back against the wall, and then started walking back toward the entrance to the alley.