17“Well ... that was unexpected,” Jason says, once we are alone in the car and driving through the night of Grand Junction. “To say the least,” I agree.“What do you make of it?”“I’ve seen the original Mission: Impossibleand just about every spy movie ever made ... So, usually when the former mentor, the only person you think you can trust, suddenly shows up from being presumed dead, that’s rarely a good sign.”“You don’t possibly think he’s tied up with the Marching Tides, do you? Why would Zeke be working to destroy his ownempire?”“No ... I don’t know ... ” I say, thinking of the twitching fingers. Zeke was definitelyhiding something. “I just have a bad feeling ... ”I refrain from revealing that Zeke expressed concern Jasonmight be tied up with the Marching Tides, or might even be the mysterious ‘Rick’, himself. Or, for that matter, that I’m not entirely convinced that Zeke is wrong
18The next morningwe agree that since we’ve decided to cut ourselves off from Zeke we should probably get the hell out of Colorado before he catches on and tracks us down himself. Unfortunately, we realize that if Zeke issomehow tied up with the Marching Tides, we’ve compromised our current mode of transportation by giving him a ride from the dispensary to the diner. But unless we’re going to steal a car or backtrack to L.A. or Vegas, none of which seem like particularly good ways of staying under the radar, we’ll just have to take that risk. Agreeing we should get out of Grand Junction sooner rather than later, we grab a couple of bagels from the motel’s continental breakfast station and hit the road. We figure as we’ve been more or less going northeast thus far we should probably switch it up a tad and instead head south toward Albuquerque, New Mexico.Between stopping for food, gas, and pit stops, the drive takes most of the day so we pass the time discussing our ne
19As promised,we drive into Phoenix around mid-afternoon. Jason navigates us into an impressively affluent neighborhood; the kind that I’m pretty sure would cause most people to start having convulsions if they were to simply lookat the price of a house here. At the end of the street is an estate that makes all the other houses on the block look like slums. Gated entrance, video security cameras, twenty-foot brick wall with ornate barbed metal spikes bordering the entire property. The house itself is hidden behind the wall and a small grove of trees just beyond the gated entrance but you can just make out some turrets poking up beyond the canopy of the trees. It comes as absolutely no surprise to me when Jason confirms that Overkill Mansion is, indeed, our destination.“Like I said,” Jason says with a shrug, “Frank has done well for himself by going straight.”Almost makes me think about going straight, myself. Almost. If I thought there was any chance that there was
20We find a restaurant—a realrestaurant, not just a diner, for once!—to have some dinner, then seek out a motel to spend the night. We agree we shouldn’t check the Dark Web app until we’re ready to leave Phoenix, or whatever location we are currently at whenever we check in, just in case we do set off any silent alarms. After checking into our motel room, we decide it’s a good time to switch up our appearances and identities again. I adopt a chin-length blonde wig accompanied by brown-tinted contact lenses and a new prosthetic nose. This time Jason decides to be the one to go ginger with hair dye and a fake beard.Our new disguises donned, Jason asks, “So, what do we do now? We’ve got the whole night ahead of us since we can’t check the Dark Web app until the morning.”“Well, we could ... you know... ” I smile.“I don’t think we should repay Frank’s hospitality by killing some random Phoenician immediately after Frank risked his career to help
21First thing thenext morning, we check our new Dark Web app. Sure enough, the first post on the Marching Tides board is a bulletin from the enigmatic Rick, increasing the bounty on my head to six million bucks. On the plus side, Rick still wants me brought to him alive at all costs, so I guess I should be thankful for that small favor. Jason’s life is, apparently, still considered expendable, though. Stupidly, I break the number one rule of the internet, which is even more true for the darkside of the internet: neverread the comments. Not entirely surprisingly, the majority of the comments are along the misogynistic lines of, “Oh, I’ll bring her in alive ... what I do to her beforethat is a different matter ... ” And people honestly wonder why I killed twelve men—I killed one woman, just to try it out, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying—for pleasure before T.H.E.M. recruited me? Seems pretty self-explanatory, to me.Rick doesn’t app
22In the morning,I decide it might not be a bad idea to give myself a bit of a cover story so I call down to the front desk to complain about the noise from the room next door last night. “They were blasting their music so loud, and it was after three in the morning, it was so damn obnoxious. They woke me right up out of sleep!”“Did you call to notify us at the time of the incident?” the operator asks. I can tell from the tone of his voice that this is a conversation he has had one hundred times too many.“Well, no ... ”“Then what exactly do you expect us to do about it? If you’d told us about the incident at the time it was happening, we could have addressed the matter and resolved it without causing you any further discomfort. Unfortunately, our engineering team has not yet cracked the secret of time travel, though I assure you they are working diligently on it, so at this point of the morning there isn’t anything we can do to address the problem.”I sudde
23I wake upthe next morning before Jason and decide to check the Dark Web. I start up the pay-per-use phone, log into the app, and immediately see there is a new post from Rick. It reads, simply: “Dear Sarah, I know you’ll read this. I will see you soon. Hasa Diga, Ebowai.”The world drops out from under me. The meaning of those last three words is clear. There were only three people in the diner when I made that Book of Mormonreference to Zeke; myself, Zeke, and Jason, and unless we’re going for a Fight Clubtwist ending here where it turns out I’ve had a split personality working against me this entire time—for fuck’s sake, I sure hope we’re not going down thattired out trope—that means either Jason or Zeke have ratted me out to Rick, or might even beRick.I climb out of bed, doing my best not to make too much commotion and wake Jason, and start pacing the room, trying to sort out my thoughts. It makes absolutely zero sense for Zeke to turncoat on his
24I slowly cometo my senses, dazed and confused. Gradually, I remember the seizure; my radar intolerance frequently results in temporary memory loss. I take a look at my surroundings and see I’m in some sort of abandoned warehouse—obviously not the same one from Vegas where Jason and I had confronted Chuck, Gale, and Jared, but as far as abandoned warehouses go, there’s not that much variety. You end up kidnapped in one abandoned warehouse, you’ve ended up kidnapped in them all.I’m in an old, splintery wooden chair but I don’t appear to be restrained at all—verytrusting of my elusive captor. They do not appear, however, to have been so trusting as to leave me with Borden for it is conspicuously missing from the sheath under my waistband. This fucker is going to pay ... no onetakes Borden from me.I survey the rest of the room and see two other chairs across the warehouse, both occupied by captives who are unconscious—but breathing—andbound fir
EPILOGUESo, where doesthis leave us now? I don’t have much more to say on the matter. I’ve now killed both my parents, a surrogate father figure, and the only man I’ve ever even come close to feeling what some might describe as love for. I suppose I could spend my energy hunting down the rest of the Marching Tides and make sure they don’t spill T.H.E.M.’s—and therein my—secrets to the world, but honestly, I don’t have the energy to care about all that now. I got the revenge I was looking for, and it cost me all of the people I ever cared about.I suppose I’m a little concerned that the remaining Marching Tides may try and hunt me down and avenge the death of their leader—my mother—but I say let them try. I will be more than happy to kill any one of those fuckers who tries to fuck with me.So, what now? I have to admit Jason’s idea of finding the beach from The Shawshank Redemptionhas a certain appeal. If only he hadn’t felt the need to go all ‘patriarchal protector’ o
24I slowly cometo my senses, dazed and confused. Gradually, I remember the seizure; my radar intolerance frequently results in temporary memory loss. I take a look at my surroundings and see I’m in some sort of abandoned warehouse—obviously not the same one from Vegas where Jason and I had confronted Chuck, Gale, and Jared, but as far as abandoned warehouses go, there’s not that much variety. You end up kidnapped in one abandoned warehouse, you’ve ended up kidnapped in them all.I’m in an old, splintery wooden chair but I don’t appear to be restrained at all—verytrusting of my elusive captor. They do not appear, however, to have been so trusting as to leave me with Borden for it is conspicuously missing from the sheath under my waistband. This fucker is going to pay ... no onetakes Borden from me.I survey the rest of the room and see two other chairs across the warehouse, both occupied by captives who are unconscious—but breathing—andbound fir
23I wake upthe next morning before Jason and decide to check the Dark Web. I start up the pay-per-use phone, log into the app, and immediately see there is a new post from Rick. It reads, simply: “Dear Sarah, I know you’ll read this. I will see you soon. Hasa Diga, Ebowai.”The world drops out from under me. The meaning of those last three words is clear. There were only three people in the diner when I made that Book of Mormonreference to Zeke; myself, Zeke, and Jason, and unless we’re going for a Fight Clubtwist ending here where it turns out I’ve had a split personality working against me this entire time—for fuck’s sake, I sure hope we’re not going down thattired out trope—that means either Jason or Zeke have ratted me out to Rick, or might even beRick.I climb out of bed, doing my best not to make too much commotion and wake Jason, and start pacing the room, trying to sort out my thoughts. It makes absolutely zero sense for Zeke to turncoat on his
22In the morning,I decide it might not be a bad idea to give myself a bit of a cover story so I call down to the front desk to complain about the noise from the room next door last night. “They were blasting their music so loud, and it was after three in the morning, it was so damn obnoxious. They woke me right up out of sleep!”“Did you call to notify us at the time of the incident?” the operator asks. I can tell from the tone of his voice that this is a conversation he has had one hundred times too many.“Well, no ... ”“Then what exactly do you expect us to do about it? If you’d told us about the incident at the time it was happening, we could have addressed the matter and resolved it without causing you any further discomfort. Unfortunately, our engineering team has not yet cracked the secret of time travel, though I assure you they are working diligently on it, so at this point of the morning there isn’t anything we can do to address the problem.”I sudde
21First thing thenext morning, we check our new Dark Web app. Sure enough, the first post on the Marching Tides board is a bulletin from the enigmatic Rick, increasing the bounty on my head to six million bucks. On the plus side, Rick still wants me brought to him alive at all costs, so I guess I should be thankful for that small favor. Jason’s life is, apparently, still considered expendable, though. Stupidly, I break the number one rule of the internet, which is even more true for the darkside of the internet: neverread the comments. Not entirely surprisingly, the majority of the comments are along the misogynistic lines of, “Oh, I’ll bring her in alive ... what I do to her beforethat is a different matter ... ” And people honestly wonder why I killed twelve men—I killed one woman, just to try it out, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying—for pleasure before T.H.E.M. recruited me? Seems pretty self-explanatory, to me.Rick doesn’t app
20We find a restaurant—a realrestaurant, not just a diner, for once!—to have some dinner, then seek out a motel to spend the night. We agree we shouldn’t check the Dark Web app until we’re ready to leave Phoenix, or whatever location we are currently at whenever we check in, just in case we do set off any silent alarms. After checking into our motel room, we decide it’s a good time to switch up our appearances and identities again. I adopt a chin-length blonde wig accompanied by brown-tinted contact lenses and a new prosthetic nose. This time Jason decides to be the one to go ginger with hair dye and a fake beard.Our new disguises donned, Jason asks, “So, what do we do now? We’ve got the whole night ahead of us since we can’t check the Dark Web app until the morning.”“Well, we could ... you know... ” I smile.“I don’t think we should repay Frank’s hospitality by killing some random Phoenician immediately after Frank risked his career to help
19As promised,we drive into Phoenix around mid-afternoon. Jason navigates us into an impressively affluent neighborhood; the kind that I’m pretty sure would cause most people to start having convulsions if they were to simply lookat the price of a house here. At the end of the street is an estate that makes all the other houses on the block look like slums. Gated entrance, video security cameras, twenty-foot brick wall with ornate barbed metal spikes bordering the entire property. The house itself is hidden behind the wall and a small grove of trees just beyond the gated entrance but you can just make out some turrets poking up beyond the canopy of the trees. It comes as absolutely no surprise to me when Jason confirms that Overkill Mansion is, indeed, our destination.“Like I said,” Jason says with a shrug, “Frank has done well for himself by going straight.”Almost makes me think about going straight, myself. Almost. If I thought there was any chance that there was
18The next morningwe agree that since we’ve decided to cut ourselves off from Zeke we should probably get the hell out of Colorado before he catches on and tracks us down himself. Unfortunately, we realize that if Zeke issomehow tied up with the Marching Tides, we’ve compromised our current mode of transportation by giving him a ride from the dispensary to the diner. But unless we’re going to steal a car or backtrack to L.A. or Vegas, none of which seem like particularly good ways of staying under the radar, we’ll just have to take that risk. Agreeing we should get out of Grand Junction sooner rather than later, we grab a couple of bagels from the motel’s continental breakfast station and hit the road. We figure as we’ve been more or less going northeast thus far we should probably switch it up a tad and instead head south toward Albuquerque, New Mexico.Between stopping for food, gas, and pit stops, the drive takes most of the day so we pass the time discussing our ne
17“Well ... that was unexpected,” Jason says, once we are alone in the car and driving through the night of Grand Junction. “To say the least,” I agree.“What do you make of it?”“I’ve seen the original Mission: Impossibleand just about every spy movie ever made ... So, usually when the former mentor, the only person you think you can trust, suddenly shows up from being presumed dead, that’s rarely a good sign.”“You don’t possibly think he’s tied up with the Marching Tides, do you? Why would Zeke be working to destroy his ownempire?”“No ... I don’t know ... ” I say, thinking of the twitching fingers. Zeke was definitelyhiding something. “I just have a bad feeling ... ”I refrain from revealing that Zeke expressed concern Jasonmight be tied up with the Marching Tides, or might even be the mysterious ‘Rick’, himself. Or, for that matter, that I’m not entirely convinced that Zeke is wrong