“You can pay whenever you’re ready,” the server said after dropping off the bill.

Clara noticed there was a phone number and name written on the bill. Julien—that’s a strong name. She looked up at the man and caught his bright smile. While surprised, it was refreshing, like she was back to the days of being Clara Grey, the hunter.

She imagined herself taking him for a spin. It had been a while since she had been with a man, and it might have been fun to go down memory lane. However, she had to get moving, and trouble was following in her wake. So she pulled out her credit card to pay what was owed and planned to add a generous gratuity.

The name Matthew was familiar, and common outside of biblical references. However, Evelyn was not exactly Christian—

“Know thine enemy,” Clara whispered.

Evelyn was communicating to someone who would normally be her sworn enemy. This biscuit knows that hunters have intimate knowledge of biblical texts.

“For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale’s belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the earth’s heart,” Clara said, reciting from memory Matthew 12:40.

The number three came up an awful lot in the verse. So either Evelyn was telling her to use three as a key, or there was some sort of pattern or formula to be applied. Let’s keep this simple.

Clara’s priority was to re-establish contact with the outside world. Had she not been blown to kingdom come, she would have reached the rendezvous point by now. While daylight bought her some time, the delay would give Evelyn reason to worry. I can’t imagine how she’d react after hearing about two large explosions where I was hunting…

At the outskirts of a small city, she pulled into the parking lot of a big box store. Everything she needed was inside, minus any armaments. That will have to wait.

Since it would take a bit of time to order and finish their meal, Clara stripped off her rags and hit the shower. She washed away the mess from yesterday’s follies and moaned as the heat radiated through her sore back. While the water headed for the drain ran pink from all that dried blood, Clara emptied what was left of the shampoo and conditioner. When satisfied that her hair was clean, she hurriedly towelled herself dry.

“Figures,” Clara said.

Every outfit was on the short side, so Clara made do with a pair of jeans, which fit like capris on her. She grabbed a bra that carried the scent of detergent, and with a few creative knots it would suffice.

Clara switched vehicles twice in the last few hours. She figured it would throw off potential pursuers, assuming anyone was following her at all. Now that she had some breathing room, Clara pulled into a remote motel lot.

She parked in an isolated space and killed the engine. Once the interior lights faded away, it was just her, the sound of the pinging engine, and the night sky. Alas, her view of the stars were drowned out by the ‘No Vacancy’ sign flickering in and out of existence.

After twenty minutes, the sky took on shades of purple and red as a precursor to the rising sun. Shortly thereafter, a man left his room with a bag in hand. He tossed it onto the passenger seat of his truck and drove off.

As Clara circumvented the city, the airwaves remained curiously silent. Considering what blew up, this should make national news.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Clara said.

She suspected social media like Bealzabook and Twitcher were on fire, assuming the stories were not actively being blocked. It was easy to silence the people when excuses like the algorithm were readily accepted as a way of tipping the scales. Now we just blame the machines for their bias…