Birds circled overhead as if I were carrion for them to feast upon. _Vultures_, I thought, _how appropriate._ Bright light burned my dry eyes as I worked to make sense of what had happened since I left her in that Portland office. Had it been a day or more? I lay on desiccated land, small, angular pebbles biting into my face, arms, and all other parts exposed to the elements. Where is the nearest desert from the Oregon hills?

I couldn’t muster the strength to push myself up, something in my left arm was malfunctioning, but I had enough in me to scream at the heavens, “_I’M NOT DEAD YET!!” _

__

No response from the birds overhead, an echo or a soul. I watched as a tumbleweed roll by, unhindered and uncaring, for in death it was able to fulfill its mission to spread and conquer. A luxury I did not have nor want. I very much wanted to be alive to see the fruits of my labor, and this excursion, while inconvenient, wouldn’t stop me from seeing my mission through.

I dragged my right arm to my face and read the coordinates newly printed in my skin. They thought they could dump me far away and I’d be lost. They greatly underestimated the power I had access to, and as soon as I could stand up, I was coming for them.