I run a quick mental inventory and the wetware equivalent of a Power-On Self-Test. My brain’s nowhere near as slagged-down as it was yesterday, but my body still needs even more rest to overcome the protracted strain of the last couple of days. Memory fragments of a dream—a nightmare, really—drift through my mind. I died and went to hell, but hell wasn’t the stereotypical pit of flames and torture. It was a fragging parking lot—a world-sized parking lot—where everyone lived in their cars while they waited for ... well, I don’t know what they—we—were waiting for, and I don’t think I want to know. All I remember was that Cat was living in the next car to me, and she was a mite bent that I got her scragged. Understandable, and I’d probably have felt much the same.