Isibel was frozen and she found she couldn't summons herself to leave her crypt. She knew they'd be looking for her. She knew she had to get out of the house but she was terrified. She trusted her intuition and stayed in the cramped space, she couldn't say how long but when she finally maneuvered her way out of the cold, damp grave she realized it was early morning and the sun was coming up. She'd concocted a plan in those hours of terror, alone in the crawl space. She would dress in one of Nole's military uniforms and wool coats. She'd be disguised, at least from a distance. She'd wear her civilian clothes underneath. He was large enough that it wouldn't be a problem. She'd try to make it out of Tlaloc and into her parent's old neighborhood, the bombed out Syvil. That would get her closer to the boundary between the safe zone and war zone. Ironically the only way to save herself would be to enter the war torn territory. She didn't know what she'd do once she got there. Maybe she could locate Caius or Nole. She didn't know but she had to leave.

Isibel ventured down into the cellar and up the steps to the steel bulkhead. She felt her dark attire would make her less conspicuous in the pre-dawn. She lifted one of the steel doors and peered into yard in the purple glow of early dawn. She scanned the perimeter of the yard. She didn't see any police officers or soldiers. She slid out of the hatch and kept herself crouched as she snuck across a neighbor's property and onto an adjacent street.

Isibel moved easily through the neighborhood streets and it didn't take long for her to get to the road to Syvil. Adrenalin pumped continuous fear through her body and her senses were keen. She tried to move stealthy but she was clumsy and the clothing made every movement feel like a dream, one of those frustrating eerie nightmares, trying to run but disabled by a weight and uncoordination that made it impossible to advance at all. The danger right behind, breathing down her neck. Death and danger flowing down like lava, following her and threatening Isibel with her inevitable fate. She was in a panic.

Death and danger flowing down like lava...

She entered Syvil's boundary and immediately she was thrust back into the ghost town. She hadn't been in Syvil during the morning hours since she was a child. The boundary between Tlaloc and Syvil was a stretch of woods several hundred yards deep. After the evacuation, trees and shrubs had been planted between the two communities and since that time they had grown tall and thick. There was an icy clearing that had once been the main road between the two communities. Once Isibel made it through the strip of woods and crossed the road, it was all derelict, burned out houses. There were no street lights. A blanket of fresh snow added a beauty to an otherwise dismal place.

She let out a breath and scanned the horizon. Even with the terrible circumstances, the rising light of dawn was not lost on her. The only times the sun cast beauty on the world were dawn and dusk. For some reason the soot and smoke in the air created marvelous light storms close to the horizon. Brilliant pink, orange, and yellow for just a few minutes at the beginning and end of each day. When Isabel crossed the road into Syvil, it was just the right time of day to see the rising amber red glow reflected in the ice crystals on the surface of the snow. During that short time the snow seemed clean, disguising the gray sooty layer on the surface. The pristine beauty before her was enhanced by the lack of footprints or tire tracks. She realized this was a liability because as much as she tried to tread lightly, each step left evidence of her entrance to the neighborhood and to her exact whereabouts. She had been foolish to wait so long to run away, the rising light would reveal her tracks. Soon the sun would be high enough that the gloom would return under an opaque, sooty brown cloud cover.

She heard a loud crack and instinctively jumped back then ran towards her parents' former house. She stopped and looked back to see a large ice cycle crash as it fell from the eave of one of the houses nearby. That was the cause of the sound and she stood numb, paralyzed. It was ominous and in an instant she rushed towards her childhood home. Her original plan had been to pass through the safe zone quickly, enter the woods that bordered the other side of Syvil and into the battle zone. When she looked behind her again, in the distance she saw the green hue of police vehicles approaching Syvil. It was a stupid choice to enter her old house, but it was close by and instinctively she ran towards it in some vestige of childhood safety as if her parents were still there. As if she could run into the past and feel protected whether she really was or not. But, with her tracks and her obvious connection to the house, it would be the first place they'd look for her. They likely had hounds and articles of her clothing. The police nor the hounds would follow her into the battle zone but that was several miles from her location. She'd have to find a way to hide and wait it out.

She saw the green hue of police vehicles approaching Syvil.

She slipped in through the back door as she had with her lover on so many occasions over the past few months. She navigated the burned out, snow covered kitchen into the small opening they had made to enter the bedroom. The wall was completely covered in wooden slats, save for the make-shift doorway they had cut into the wall and covered with a quilt. She rushed into the room and made the pointless gesture of pushing a dresser in front of the little opening in the wall. At first she crouched in a corner. Terrified, she started to cry but caught herself and assumed an even keener vigilance as she heard the vehicles crushing the snow in front of the house. Instantly the room filled with glowing green. She took deep breaths and her brain scanned the room for a plan.

The waiting was again nightmarish. It took too long for them to take action. She imagined them out front, strategizing. She wanted to run but she didn't know where they were. She slid towards the window and looked out. She didn't see a vehicle but she heard footsteps outside and ducked in time just before the bright white of a flashlight broke through the window. She was lucky she'd moved underneath the sill. The light scanned the room. Her eyes followed the light and realized the room looked empty. For at least a moment they'd focus on the front of the house or around the property. The officer withdrew the light. She heart him yell out "the back of the house is empty."

After that, the commotion started and voices one after another called out commands, plans. They spoke softly to one another and intermittently yelled for her to surrender.

"She's inside."

"Isibel, come out."

"Break through the front of the house."

"Wait there."

"Isibel — "

She put her hand over her mouth. She was breathing heavily. It caught up with her, the gravity of her actions. Her heart raced and in rapid succession the images of women, always wearing the same gray smock standing atop the mount of Tlaloc, arms free, held in place with chains around her waist. It had been some time, maybe months since the last sacrifice. These were horrific rituals. The woman restrained, waiting for a torturous execution and the lover — if his whereabouts was known — was captured and then forced to watch as the first stone was cast. He was given the choice to throw one as well or meet the same fate. Most often the Altman lover did participate throwing a rock towards his lover. That was why people believed Altmen could not feel love. That they were inhuman. Either way, the stone throwing would continue even after the woman succumbed and her body fell limp in the chains around her waist. She'd swing like dead game, forward or backward against the resistance of the metal chains. There would always be an instant when the crowd grew silent until an official walked over and unlatched her shackles. What followed was the sound of chains falling, the woman was released in a lifeless repose on atop a pile of bloody stones.

Isibel gasped but the sound of her own exhalation; the air being released was drowned by the sound of planks being pried open. The planks that separated the bombed out front of her parent's home from the bedroom that she'd shared intimate encounters with Caius. She moved stealthily and swiftly towards the window. She could see the light of the other soldier's spotlight illuminating the area in front of the house. The sound of planks splitting grew louder and she turned to see the green glow seeping through to the room she was hiding in. She pushed open the window and slid her body through. There was a thud but it wasn't loud at all. She looked around knowing that she'd leave footprints in the snow. She knew her scent was everywhere and once they'd ascertained that she'd been there in hiding and escaped through the window, they'd send out the hounds. They'd catch her soon, that was certain. It didn't matter. She couldn't focus on that, her self-preservation was illogical and animalistic. There was no doubt. They'd certainly sacrifice her. Not only had she broken laws against the human race but she'd exposed the government once before and there was a vendetta against her. She still had DNA documents proving they'd murdered her son. Nole knew where they were hidden and he would find a way to disseminate that information.

She knew her scent was everywhere.

She knew of a stream not too far from the house. She'd played there as a child, built dams and bridges. She could avoid the streets through a shortcut she'd used as a child; through several backyards. Behind one house there was a set of wooden stairs down to the bank of the stream. An older childless couple had built it for the neighborhood children. Likely the stairs were long since rotten out, gone. She moved quickly and was glad for the two layers of clothes. Even though it slowed her down a bit Nole's military issue pants and coat insulated her somewhat from the freezing air. She could hear the hounds in the distance. It was light out but she could see the woods a few hundred yards away. It was shadowed and in the soot filled air the visibility was poor. The stream was there beyond the last house on the spiral road. She passed bombed out houses, but still recognized the route. She'd traveled it so many times as a child. The dogs should have caught up with her, she thought. She couldn't be so far ahead of them. They'd almost broken through the wooden slats when she escaped through the window. They must have known she was inside the house. She couldn't have fooled them. She made it behind the house of the couple who'd built the stairs; they were likely long since dead. She walked across their snowy yard. It had the color of coal, all the soot blown to the edge of the woods. She walked through and when her foot broke through the top layer of snow, it was pristine white underneath. Another liability. Not only were there footprints but against the near black surface they'd be visible by land and air. She got to the edge of the stream and there was no sign of the stairs. It wasn't a long distance to the bank of the stream but it was steep and rocky. The stones were covered in ice. She turned and looked back towards the neighborhood. She saw the green strobe of the police vehicles. She crouched next to a tree and watched for a moment. She saw several police vehicles, oversized, tank like cars with compartments in the back big enough to hold several suspects. She saw three weaving up and down the roads. At the moment they were stopped about two blocks away. She could see through the charred and bombed out structures. The wind blew against her face and she pulled the collar of the jacket up around her chin.

Isibel didn't know what to do. She turned back towards the stream. She knew that she couldn't cross to the other side and into the woods. She knew if she were to make it to the war zone she'd have to walk along the bank of the stream in the moving water so she would leave no tracks and leave no scent. She'd freeze. She'd never make it.

The sound of the vehicles grew closer. She heard the engine stop and the door slam. Isibel heard their voices and could tell the police were just on the other side of the property. They must have located her tracks. She turned and started down the bank. As she did she slipped on the icy rock. When she landed at the bottom her head struck the ground and she lost consciousness for a moment. When she opened her eyes she felt crushing pain, she saw her glove had been torn off and her hand was badly injured. She tried to get up to keep going but found she was too dizzy and her body weight was too much. For some time that she lay there in and out of consciousness at the edge of the stream on top of ice and a few inches of water beneath her.