The prophetic ability rooted deep in his genes like a curse would not disappear because of a little fleeting warmth. Quite the opposite: when his mind was no longer constantly taut, locked in a frenzied struggle against the world outside, those bloody fragments of the future washed through his brain with even greater clarity and force.
It happened after an ordinary day of collecting corpses.
Warren returned pushing an empty cart and, as usual, placed the two blocks of Nutrient Paste he had traded for on the table fashioned from a scrap crate. He heard no response from Konrad, only bouts of stifled, ragged breathing, like those of a wounded beast, coming from the corner of the shack.
"Konrad?" A trace of worry crept into Warren's voice.
He felt his way to the corner and found Konrad curled up on the floor, his towering body bent double like a shrimp by agonizing pain. He clutched his head with both hands, his nails digging deep into his scalp. Blood trickled between his fingers, but he seemed utterly unaware of it.
"Ah... killing... blood... blood everywhere..." Garbled, agonized moans squeezed through his clenched teeth. "Eyes... the child's eyes... staring at me..."
Warren's heart sank. He knew those damned visions had come again.
He did not panic. He simply crouched down and reached out. Firmly, yet with a gentleness that brooked no resistance, he pried Konrad's self-mutilating hands away from his head, finger by finger, then held them tight.
"Look at me, Konrad." Warren's voice was quiet, but it struck Konrad's disordered consciousness like a heavy hammer. "Listen to me. Tell me what you saw."
Konrad gasped violently. His once-clear eyes were now bloodshot, their pupils contracted to tiny points with fear. Like someone just dragged back from the brink of drowning, he