~4.5~

John ate his fill of the wild turkey and then left what remained of the carcass for a colony of cats he knew. Had it been later in the season, there were places where he could have securely hidden a supply of meat for later retrieval, but he wasn’t convinced the cold weather was truly there to stay just yet.

Actually, he realized as he thought it over just moments after disposing of his leftovers, this wasn’t completely true. He felt… he knew… that the previous night’s chill had marked the proper onset of winter. It was merely ingrained habit which kept him following the customs of the calendar when every instinct in his body told him that autumn was over and done with for the year.

He didn’t mourn its passing. He actually preferred the winter to the fall. City winters were hard, and many wouldn’t live through it, but the onset of winter eventually led to summer, his favorite time of year. There was Shakespeare in the park, and he could walk around shirtless in more parts of town without getting looks.

Autumn was the death of summer. It was when the year flagged and failed. Winter was when it was reborn. Hadn’t the bard written, “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer…”?

Winter weather could make it harder to track the source of the mysterious attacks, but the cold gave him a reason to keep moving.

That was a good thing, since he had no idea where or how to start looking. He set off through the city of Jericho at random, letting fate and instinct guide him. Sometimes he walked the main streets, and sometimes he prowled the back alleys and rooftops. If he hadn’t already killed the turkey when Ivan approached him, he would’ve fasted and let the hunger sharpen his mind and instincts.

Eventually his trek took him to a desolate city park, and he felt it: here. This was the place to begin.