Asylum

Hot on the Trail

Lana Elwood

The scoundrels appear to have made it to civilization. Cerberus and I stumbled across the ashes and loose bones of dogs. I remember making a joke about them being Cerberus's family, given his name is that of a dog. The nearest area of human contact happens to be a no-good, rundown, dirty town: the perfect environment for a group of latent criminals.

"If you had been in a storm for a few days outside, what would be the first thing on your mind, dog boy?" I ask Cerberus, who tends to stand in my blind spot, which I hate.

"Getting clean and eating food," he half-correctly answers.

Turning to his always disheveled appearance, I glare. "They already ate. Someone like Sarah and Kya can't let the dead dogs go to waste." Spinning back towards the town, I start reading storefronts. "They want to get clean and they want to know where they are. These kids are broke and looking for new clothes, so they must've stolen something."

Without telling him, I begin walking, causing Cerberus to sigh. "Can't we at least try to work as a team?"

"No." I weave my way in and out of crowds, mentally ripping apart anyone who shoulders me too hard or accidentally elbows me. Finally, the dread of bustling civilians ends when I find the store I'm looking for: a shithole convenience store with a freshly cleaned out grill and a ton of missing clothes from the scarce racks. "Bingo."

Diving into the shop, Cerberus cries out, "Why are we going in here? You never tell me anything..."

"Just watch and learn," I bite, coming up to the counter worker. He's fat, bald, greasy, and the epitome of every scumbag pig. "Hey, you see any kids come in here with a ton of crap? About five of them, they all look kind of sketchy."

"Nah, lady. Only kids I seen all day were a tall guy and a short one with suspenders on. Both were real strange, lemme tell ya. Now if you're done," he sighs, aggravated with my bothering. "I've got work to do."

"This shop is a ghost town," Cerberus negates, saddling up next to me. "What did they look like exactly? How long ago were they here? What'd they buy, if anything?"

"They ain't bought nothin', kid. One guy had, uhh, red highlights and the short one had curly hair. Came here about an hour two hours ago. Now that's all I know. Buy something or get out," he demands, rubbing his shiny head.

"Fat tub of lard," I mumble under my breath. Once we get out of the shop, I pause and think. As unkempt and untidy as he was, that POS gave us some valuable information. We're on the right track. Those delinquents passed by here not too long ago. We've made up a lot of time. They must really be dillydallying and wasting their time like the complete fools they are. At this rate, I'll have them cuffed or killed in no time. My guess is that they're taking their time with exploring the area rather than making headway like anyone with half a brain would do...

A paper skirts over the sidewalk, the wind carrying it this way. Inconveniently, it clings to my leg. I bend over and pick it up, wondering what trash some lazy jerk couldn't manage to throw away. It's a map of the state: Maine. Go figure. It's no mystery why it's fluttering around like floating garbage; nobody uses maps anymore – technology is replacing paper bit by bit. You'd have to live under a rock not to know that...

Or maybe not a rock...maybe Asylum. Entering a deeper line of thought, I scrutinize the map a bit more. There are hot restaurant locations, main highways, car repair shops, airports... Hey, hold on a second...the nearest airport isn't too far away. Not at all, if you have a car. It would make sense for the kids to go to another country or at least to the other half of this one, but where would they go? But where would they get the money? Also, they have no worldly experiences, so wherever they go, they'll be at a "square one" state. It's not like they have homes to go to.

Everyone either hated their home life or they don't have any family or anyth –

Ren. Ren has a home. In fact, he has one in Japan. That's about a 14-hour plane ride, if I can recall.

"Reaper?" Cerberus interrupts my thoughts like the annoying bastard he is. "You onto something?"

"Yeah: my last nerve. I'd prefer if you only speak when spoken to," I snap. "You have the Asylum certification and badges?"

"Yes, sir," he grunts, digging into his pockets to fish out the requested items. "Why?"

"For a dog with three heads you sure display zero brains."

"Maybe because I'm not a dog and I don't have three heads?" he sarcastically bites, glaring at me with gray-green eyes.

"We're going to Japan. My bet is that our favorite group of criminals are going to Ren Walker's home."

Hesitantly, Cerberus speaks. "If you're wrong then this is going to be a huge setback..."

"I'm not wrong!" I quickly nip. Gritting my teeth, I focus on the location of the airport. "I'm never wrong."

"For the sake of the mission, I hope you're right," Cerberus grouches, crossing his arms. "But for the sake of my own ego, I hope you're wrong."

"You can talk to me about being wrong when you don't screw up and release five fugitives," I instantly snap back. "Now hail a taxi; we have an airport to get to."