But Wendy, whom everyone had pinned their hopes on, just shook her head in distress: "No, I don't know. There were too many people in the subway, and in my premonition, I didn't notice anyone else. For example, Jack, I didn't see you at all in my vision."
Wendy's words left the three anxious companions suddenly stunned, as if waking from a dream, turning to look at Jack. "Now that I think about it," Kevin muttered, "Jack, you weren't originally in the first subway car. If we hadn't caused a commotion, you wouldn't have taken the brunt of the impact."
"No, no, no, that's not the point!" Julie jumped up excitedly, her big eyes scanning Jack up and down several times. "Whether you were in the first car or not, with your crazy powers you wouldn't die anyway! Maybe you aren't even on Death's list! By the way, what's up with your powers? I mean, it's just like a comic book superhero! Do you have some kind of super ability?"
"No superpowers, just pure martial arts. One big monk and a greasy old oil dealer—you could do it too." Ordinary folks being amazed by special powers is such an old gag, so Jack didn't want to get tangled up and steered the conversation back: "As for Death's list, I'm not sure, but I doubt I'm lucky enough to stay out of it. Anyway, we're all in this together now, especially since we don't know the order of attacks. We need to pool our brains."
These three scaredy-cats didn't look too reliable, so Jack took the lead: "Wendy, you can sense death premonitions, so you're sensitive to Death's attacks. You need to keep an eye out for any signs. Julie, Kevin, you guys help watch the details around us—report anything weird immediately. I remember there were nine survivors from the Train Car 081 Incident, and we've got four here. First priority is to find the other five."
Maybe it was Jack's crazy powers, or maybe his calm voice and leadership, but Wendy and the others looked a lot better, even a bit more energetic. Wendy said right away, "I know two of the other five—they're my roommate and a friend. As for the other three, I've already sent them my phone number. If they have any ideas, they'll probably contact me."
Just as she finished speaking, a phone rang—it was Wendy's.
Wendy glanced at the others, carefully picked up her phone, and pressed the answer button: "Hello? Who is this?"
Jack heard a woman's voice from the receiver: "You're Wendy, right? Hi, I'm Femi Foster, one of the survivors from Train Car 081. I heard what you said at the police station and thought it was pretty interesting."
Wendy's eyes widened in disbelief: "Interesting? You call this kind of thing interesting?"
The voice on the other end sounded oddly excited: "Yeah, bizarre events, unexpected deaths, those unbelievable death setups—don't you think it's fascinating?"
Wendy couldn't take her tone anymore: "Don't you get it? Death is coming after us!"
"Death? Please, I'm a novelist, I've poked fun at gods plenty of times. If Death was real, it wouldn't wait until now to come for me. Anyway, Wendy, whether you believe it or not and I don't, swapping information can't hurt. Even if it's just as you say, all I want is—show me proof, convince me. If you can convince me, I'll do everything I can to help. Trust me, a big-shot writer can get a lot done. Alright, come to my place, I'm at 16 Saint House Drive."
"Saint House Drive?" Wendy said in surprise. "You mean that Saint House Drive?"
"Yep, the fancy villa district. Told you, I'm a big-shot writer." Click—the call ended.
Well, no matter what her attitude was, they'd gotten their first lead. According to Kevin, it didn't matter where you were when Death attacked, so the four of them had no objections to visiting the villa district.
Kevin lived in the suburbs, in one of those pointy-roofed houses like you'd see in an American small town, with a yard and tree-lined streets. Across the road, a neighbor was mowing the lawn. As soon as the four stepped outside, a gust of wind rustled the leaves. It was November, late autumn, and the yellow leaves shivered down in the chilly breeze.
"A chilly wind?" Jack remembered something from the guide and glanced at Wendy: "Is this some kind of omen? Feel anything?"
Jack, looking at Wendy, didn't notice a few plastic bags swirling up from the curb in the wind. A blue bag floated over, weightless and silent, drifting right toward Jack. Wendy shook her head, Jack turned around—and the bag landed squarely on his face.
At the same time, another bag floated across the street, landing on the face of the neighbor mowing the lawn. Taken by surprise, the neighbor panicked and yanked the bag off. But as his hands left the mower's steering wheel, the mower veered off course and crashed into a toolbox by the yard. The box burst open, spilling a tray of nails right into the mower's blades.
In an instant, with a clatter, several nails shot out like bullets from a firing pin, whistling straight for Jack's face! At that moment, Jack's vision was blocked by the plastic bag—he couldn't see the sharp metal coming his way. Wendy and the others tried to warn him, tried to shove him aside, but they were just too slow—the danger was moving way faster than they could react.
But just because they couldn't keep up didn't mean Jack couldn't. The plastic bag blowing in silently was unexpected, but those flying nails—their whistling sound was unmistakable!
In the next moment, Jack raised his hands. Even with his eyes covered by the plastic bag, he moved quickly and precisely. Smack—like catching a bug mid-air, Jack neatly snatched a nail. Smack smack smack—his hands flashed again and again, not missing a single one. A moment later, Jack stopped. He opened his palms, and a dozen nails clattered to the ground at his feet, while he himself was completely unharmed.
This chapter isn't over yet~.~ Click next page to keep reading!
Wendy and the others were stunned.
Jack pulled the plastic bag off his face: "Looks like that wind really was an omen. We should watch out for things blowing in the wind. And yeah, I'm definitely on Death's list."
Just then, the neighbor from across the street hurried over—a chubby uncle, looking quite friendly. He apologized nonstop and hoped Jack would go to the hospital for a checkup. "Those were old nails, all rusty. Even a tiny scratch could cause tetanus." The uncle was all apologies: "Blame this blasted wind and those blasted plastic bags!"
Plastic bags? Jack's mind flickered—he felt like something was flashing through his thoughts, but it was gone before he could catch it.
Right then, Wendy was staring at the uncle's waist. There was a magazine rolled up and stuck in his pocket, half sticking out. Wendy felt like something weird about that magazine was calling to her.
"Are you reading a magazine?" Wendy interrupted. "Can I take a look?"
"This?" Wendy's random question left the uncle a bit confused, but he handed her the magazine anyway: "My wife gave it to me—it's some history book."
Wendy opened it and saw the cover: big yellow letters spelled out 'Gender Equality!' Looks like the uncle's wife was hinting at something. But when Wendy's gaze landed on the subtitle, her expression changed—it felt oddly ominous. The subtitle read 'The Struggle and Sacrifice of Feminists,' with the word 'Sacrifice' dripping with blood, enough to give anyone chills.
"Feminist—Femi Foster?!" Wendy suddenly looked up, urgent: "That's a sign! The next target is Femi Foster—quick, we have to save her!" (Chapter 100! Chapter 100! Woohoo!)