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almost reached the turbine when I spot a partial footprint in the lamplight; half a heel, merely, and no other prints in a radius of two metres. Someone has been careful.  
    Someone clears his throat. Someone male. Adult. I jump in shock.
    ‘Micka,’ a stranger says, sounding as if he’s announcing the time.
    I press my mouth shut. The fingers of my left hand slowly probe for the large wrench inside my tool bundle. It’s there, right where the tip of my thumb is. I squeeze it harder.
    He takes two steps towards the edge of the turbine housing and jumps down, not twenty centimetres from where I stand. I can feel the air pulsating. His fast and fluid move scares me shitless. My heart chokes and my arms decide before I can form the trace of a thought.
    My right hand swings forward, burying the torch handle in his stomach. His right shoulder twitches — he wants to bring up his arm to block the attack — a familiar reaction. If I had the time, I’d be grateful for the many fistfights I had with Ralph. My left hand is already flying and crack! the bundle of tools makes contact with the man’s skull. He freezes, his upper body tipping forward a fraction. He grunts and his knees buckle.
    I don’t wait for him to hit the ground. I bolt. Hissing and grunting, I run past Ralph, who looks at me as if he’s encountered a ghost.

    ———

    I’m barely able to breathe when I reach our house. Mother stands in the corridor as though she’s waiting for me. She looks at my sweat-covered face, then over my shoulder and into the dark outside.
    ‘Where is he?’
    ‘What? Who? Ralph?’
    ‘No, Mickaela! The new Sequencer!’
    ‘The…’ The word gets stuck in my throat. On his last visit in spring, the old Sequencer told us that he’d be retiring and another would take over some time during summer.
    She grabs me by my shoulders and shakes me until my jaws rattle. ‘What happened, Mickaela? What happened? ’
    I can see where this is going.
    ‘Someone sabotaged the upper turbine. I found the man and hit him on the head because I thought he was about to attack me. He’s unconscious.’ I press my fist against my stomach. ‘Or worse. If he’s the new Sequencer, I’m fucked.’
    ‘We are not…’ she slaps me across my cheek. ‘…speaking such language in our house…’ and a slap for the other cheek. Her eyes are dark green and watery, her face pale. She hates me.
    I want to disappear. Like a magician, maybe, and leave a white bunny in my stead. She could have a less irritating and more loveable daughter. Saltwater presses against my eyes; I don’t want her to see it. I push past her towards the bathroom.
    With my face stinging and my eyes blurry, I yank off my clothes and hop under the shower.
    The Sequencer. The title alone opens doors. These men and women have the power to move entire cities with a single word: Cholera. Strangely, the word doesn’t taste of decomposition. It’s more like…the raspy, cold, dry, and almost salty taste of a piece of jagged rock.
    When the Great Pandemic hit, it was the water that killed almost ten billion people; the water in rivers, in the ground, in lakes. It was everywhere. The few handfuls of people who survived moved away from the poisoned lowlands, high up in the mountains, if they didn’t already live there.  
    Sequencers have been around since…well, since long before I was born. They are safeguarding the remnants of humanity. When a Sequencer visits your village, you treat him or her with the greatest respect. And never, under no circumstances, do you hit a Sequencer over the head.
    My stomach rolls at the thought of the crack I felt when the wrench made contact with his skull. There’s even a little blood on the tools’ linen wrapper; I saw it when I dropped the bundle in the corridor.
    I slide down the cold wet wall, grab two handfuls of hair, and pull hard. I want to turn back time so badly, so very badly.
    Understanding snaps me upright. If he’s dead, I’ll be