It took ten minutes before Bergman finally passed blissfully into unconsciousness, and barely eleven before Dimov finished with the latest round of healing and began shifting the blame.

"I told you this was a bad idea."

"We are going to have to hole up here for the night," Kali said, peering out a nearby window and firmly ignoring Dimov's words. "We all need the rest, anyway."

"We should get off the top floor. We do not want to be pinned here." Alarion flipped through the pages of one of the coded journals as he spoke. His expression was tight, focused on the task more than the conversation, even as he contributed to the latter.

"Give him half an hour to rest. I don't want to try to carry him down those stairs. Dimov, tell the Captain-"

"That I told you this was a bad idea?"

"Do you really think this is the time or forum to gloat, sir?"

"Why not? Were you planning on listening to me in any other?" Dimov shot back. "We are out of position, down a soldier, and we have nothing to show for it. I told you this was dangerous and a waste, and now here we are."

"With respect, sir-"

"Ah, now respect from the provincial?"

The sharp pop of Kali's knuckles filled the small space as he turned away from the window, a fist clenched. Dimov flinched, his legs gathered beneath him in an expectation of violence that never came. "With respect, sir, this is not productive. If you wish to reprimand me for my suggestion after the task is complete, that is your prerogative. Until then, we need to get out of this Mother-forsaken town."

Dimov's nostrils flared as the young man drew a deep breath, pride battling with intimidation before the latter won out. "On that, we can agree."

"What day is it?"

Both men looked at Alarion, who had his finger on an empty page.

"Excuse me?" said Dimov.

"What day is it? Of the year."

"It is-"

"I mean in total," Alarion clarified.

Already irate, Dimov looked ready to pull rank, but it was Kali who answered, "One hundred and sixty-one."

Alarion nodded firmly, then tossed the book to Dimov. The Vitrian fumbled twice and dropped the book to the floor. Rather than pick it up, he turned an angry gaze to Alarion. "Make your point, specialist."

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"We need to search this town."

"Make your point coherently," Dimov said, with the sort of whiny irritation only a teenager could muster. "And quickly."

Alarion pointed to the fallen book. "It has seven hundred and thirty pages. Five hundred and twenty-six are filled in."

"And?"

Kali swore under his breath. "They're not hiding from the fiends."

"They are hiding from us," Alarion agreed. "That is some sort of journal or record book. One page a day, two years to a book. They wrote the most recent page today."

Color drained from Dimov's face. "Collaborators?"

It wasn't unheard of, though it was exceedingly rare. It took a special sort of lunacy to work as a living servant for the dead. The few who chose such a path were misanthropes and death cultists, men and women who sought to burn the world down around them, or believed that they would achieve a sort of twisted eternity if they came back as revenants. They were few and far between, in part because the infestation couldn't care less about its erstwhile allies. The fiends made no distinction between collaborators and any other meat. They butchered them all the same.

"Or something worse. It would explain why they never reported the infestation and why they are hiding from us. But not why they are still alive," Kali said. "He is right, we need to search the town."

"We also need to watch over specialist Bergman," Dimov replied. "Doing both would spread us dangerously thin. We could request another unit?"

"We'd be waiting here at least a day and slowing the entire search to a crawl. Even if we find something here, there is no guarantee it leads us to the boil."

"So what is your suggestion, Sergeant?"

"You two should go," Kali said. "You don't have the firepower to watch Bergman alone, and I'm stronger than Orphan. It is the best of a bad situation."

Dimov glanced at Alarion, who merely shrugged. "We are both Vitrian trained, a better pairing on that alone."

The Vitrian bristled at the words, at the suggestion that their training somehow made Alarion his equal, but eventually he nodded. "I will inform the Captain. We will start nearby, with a full sweep of the plaza. If nothing else, we may find something the specialist can use for our initial gambit. Assuming the damage doesn't make him blind."

It was a sobering thought, one that brought Alarion back to Bergman's side. The young man was breathing slowly and steadily, deep in the grip of a desperately needed sleep. If not for the crust of blood tangled in his lashes and dried to his cheeks, he would have looked utterly normal.

They're connected to everything.

Bergman's haunting last words resounded in Alarion's mind. He'd kept them to himself, not out of any attempt at subterfuge, but because he didn't know what to make of them. Better to wait for his comrade to explain the thought himself than for them to twist themselves into knots trying to make sense of the cryptic declaration.

"Make sure he is safe," Alarion said at last. They were not words that needed to be said, not to the sergeant, but he said them anyway.

"Return before dawn. And keep your line open."

"Understood."

Dimov stepped to the side as they spoke, dispensing with the large backpack that he'd worn for the duration of their expedition. While most of the others were all too happy to have Alarion, or rather Kotone, carry their gear, the long-distance transmission pack was Dimov's burden to bear. It was their one link to the command post, and through them, the other members of their section. Without it, they were cut off, blind to any strategic movements made by either side.

It was also, unfortunately, exceedingly fragile. Even with Dimov's presence enhancing its durability, the pack was unsuitable for active combat. There were latches to remove it in a hurry, but if they suspected danger there was no need to wait.

"Store it. We will check in hourly."

"Kotone, put the pack away, please."

"Yes, Miss! Yes, Miss!"

Alarion caught the look Dimov was giving him and frowned. "It is a long-"

"So you have said," the youth interrupted. "I am more surprised you know how to say please."

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