Part Fourteen Cattrell’s lead foot pushed the sedan through a fall of branches blocking the on-ramp of Highway 280. He looked at his watch, realizing that it was only 24 hours ago that he stepped foot

Part Thirteen Cattrell slowly made his way back to Boone’s house, driving his sedan along narrow side streets. His mind moved sluggishly as well, clogged by the strange conversation with Cassandra. He

Part Ten In the rundown Castro District, Cattrell spent the better part of the day smoking cigarettes at the Fedora Bar, and drinking whiskey. After losing count, he flipped the barkeep a digital coin

Part Nine Cattrell could hear a machine cutting something in the distance. It was a soft purr, which he mistook for a cat. He realized that in his slumber, his fedora had fallen over his eyes. He pulled

Part Eight Cattrell pounded the steering wheel with a fist, and then picked up his pre-paid bitcoin phone and dialed Boone’s number. It was late, but he didn't care. “Boone residence.” The reception was

Part Five In a seedy alley near North Beach, Cattrell turned his cobalt blue sedan into an old, dilapidated motel. The Town House. It looked the same as always: a small, spider-webbed blacktop parking

Part Four These days the streets were devoid of cars. Vagrants owned the roads with their bottles of booze, half lidded with the wonderment of some personal nostalgia. Gas stations were spent husks of

Part Three Cattrell stepped away from the window and stood in front of Boone, who was still holding his whiskey. The Himalayan followed him. “So did someone steal the 101, or did it bail out on your family?”

Part Two “I always wanted to replace that chip, but it made the droid -- different,” Boone told Cattrell a year ago as he sat at his dining table drinking a glass of Irish whisky. Although the morning

Part One: Prologue “Where the hell are you?” Cattrell whispers in a heavy breath that clouds the side window of the dark blue Chrysler sedan. He wipes the sleeve of his wool trenchcoat along the glass,