Helicopters

An eerie silence has fallen over the city. Like the setting sun, everything is quiet, still, lonely. We walk through the rubble, our path precariously chosen. There are so many that need our help but we won’t help them all, we can’t.

I watch her lose her footing, stumble, instinct forcing my arm out to protect her. Her expression is half annoyance, half apology.

“We’ll find them Faith, I swear,” I try so hard to sound confident, certain that my words are true.

“I know, I know,” she replies, her voice tight with unshed tears.

They’re among the missing, her children, her husband, along with countless others. Despite that, or perhaps because of it she’s here, her uniform dusty, her spirit broken and her body battered. I offer my hand, pulling her across the chasm running up the center of what was once King Street.

The 55th precinct is one of the few stations relatively intact. It’s become a headquarters of sorts. I file my casualty report with the desk Sergeant. There’s a continuous relay between the station and the firehouse, someone will alert the paramedics.

File a report, gather new supplies, and then back out to the streets, that’s all we’ve done for days. We sleep at the station, neither of us has anyone to go home to, or homes at all for that matter.

“You coming Boz?” Faith asks. She’s tired, her exhaustion obvious now.

“Maybe we should take a break Faith? How long’s it been since you’ve eaten? Slept?” I don’t mean to sound worried, but I am, she pushes herself too hard.

“I can’t, not yet, not yet.”

I nod, of course I’ll follow her, what else is there to do?

We make our way east, towards Faith’s apartment. It’s outside our search grid but she brings us here at least once a day. They’re not here, and if they are, they’re not among the living. I can’t tell her that, she needs to hope and besides, it’s not like we’re helping much anywhere else.

Where her building once sat is now a large crater. It’s like that everywhere, entire blocks of the city, gone, like they never existed. I spoke to Ma, she’s all right, so’s Mikey, apparently. I don’t know about my father, not sure I care.

It’ll be dark soon. The streets aren’t safe at night, not even for two seasoned police officers. We need to get back.

“Faith, come on, we gotta go,” I motion to the ever darkening sky.

“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles. In truth, I think she’s still in shock. She shouldn’t be out here.

We begin the long walk back, our RMP useless given the current condition of the roads. Above us the searchlights from dozens of army helicopters blaze through the sky.

The station’s running off generator power, fuels limited so only essential areas have light. The locker rooms are dark, I’ve almost become accustom to it. The first night sent me into a panic attack, Faith was forced to spend the night comforting me.

Tonight I take solace in the darkness, allow it to wash over me. My sleep’s restless, I can escape the dark but my dreams, they’re always waiting for me. Tonight is no different.

~*~

Breathe

Sweat clings to my forehead, spilling into my eyes, blurring my vision. It’s a cold night but it seems warm.

Breathe

Looking to my right I see Faith, her back pressed against the red brick of the building. Fear dances across her features.

Breathe

“On three,” I hear myself say. She nods her understanding.

“One”

“Two”

“Three”

“NYPD, freeze!” her voice catches slightly but only I notice.

“On the ground, now!” my voice echoes through the alley.

Breathe

A low rumble muffles my last words. The sound is deafening, there’s no particular direction to it, it’s everywhere, and it’s nowhere. At first I think they’ve shot at us, but soon realize to sound is too loud for gunfire. The perps we’ve cornered use our moment of confusion to flee. We don’t even bother to chase them, our eyes locked on the sky.

~*~

I awake with a start. The memory of that night so vivid, so real, I try to suppress it but am unable to stop the flood of memories from washing over me. I’m pulled from the memory by the sound of Faith’s voice. She dreams too, every night, it’s always the same. I leave the warmth of my blankets to kneel by her side.

“Faith, Faith, wake up, it’s okay, it’s just a dream,” I say in what I hope is a soothing tone.

“Bosco? Oh God, Emily, Charlie. We have to find them, we have to.”

Tears stream down her face. I take her into my arms and rock her gently, muttering words of comfort.

“We will Faith, we will.”

Neither of us will find sleep again tonight. I watch as Faith stands and leaves the room. She returns a few minutes later with two cups of what now passes as coffee.

“Here,” she states, her tone professional, like she didn’t just spend the last few minutes crying in my arms.

“Thanks,” I reply before sitting back on her cot.

They won’t let us back on the streets so soon so there really isn’t anything to do but wait. Faith sits beside me, our combined weight causing the makeshift bed to buckle, it holds, but barely.

Faith leans against me, her warmth lulling me into a feeling of safety. What if we hadn’t been together that night, what if I’d lost her? I notice Faith dozing off and take her coffee from her. Brushing aside her hair, I place a light kiss on her temple before once again returning to my dreams.

I wake next to Faith feeling stiff and groggy, despite my early notion, sleep did come. I carefully move Faith in an effort not to wake her. Slipping from the bed I go in search of a washcloth. Most of the city’s water is contaminated and what’s not needs to be conserved so showering is out of the question. I long for a good shower, to wash away the dirt, the exhaustion, and the pain.

Faith stirs from her spot. It won’t be long before she’s insisting we hit the streets, she’s relentless.

As expected, a rationed breakfast later, we leave the precinct. The morning’s cold, dark. I can just make out where the sun is in the sky. It’s hazy, thousands of dust particles obscuring it’s light, and it’s warmth.

I’m not really sure who ‘they’ are, but ‘they’ say the worst is yet to come. Climate change, disease, water and food shortages, we’ve lost so much and still there is more to lose.

Most of the survivors have already fled the city, not that there’s anywhere for them to go, or that it even makes that big a difference. Those that remained are either injured or looking for trouble. We gave up trying to stop the rioting and looting the first night. The 55th lost 7 men that night, including Sully.

There are still so many unaccounted for, the list growing longer and longer every day. We do what we can, but it’s not enough.

I fiddle with my dust mask while waiting for Faith. She’s in with the desk Sergeant getting our orders. God, what I wouldn’t give for a decent cup of coffee right now, something to take the chill out, jump start my body.

“Hey, you ready?” her voice startles me.

“Yeah, where we off to?” I ask.

“Grid 83B, we gotta guard some paramedics while they go in for a rescue operation,” she replies. Her eyes are distant, rescue operations always bring her hope, if someone else is alive maybe her family is.

“Can we drive it?” I hate breaking her from her reverie but we do have a task at hand.

“No, Arthur’s completely torn up. I really wish I’d bought new boots when I had the chance, but Fred, he thought it was a waste of money,” she says with a laugh, it’s meek, but it’s there.

I offer a sympathetic smile before shouldering our gear. It takes us just over an hour to walk the 6 blocks. Half the time is spent backtracking when something obscures our path.

Despite the cold, I’m sweating by the time we get there. A small area has been cleared out to give the meds room to work. There are several trucks scattered throughout the street, all military.

We spend the better part of the day on the sidelines, keeping onlookers from interfering with the operation. I notice several other uniforms doing the same thing, but none I recognize.

“Boz? Isn’t that Alex and Doc?” Faith asks motioning to a pair of paramedics leaning over the body of an elderly man.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is. I wonder where Carlos and Kim are?” I say out loud without realizing it. I haven’t even thought to look into Camelot’s casualties.

Faith doesn’t respond but her expression is grim.

“It’s cold enough to snow.” She says instead.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t.” Snow would only make the situation worse. With absolutely no power, people would freeze in their homes.

Two unknown paramedics appear in the doorway of one of the few remaining buildings. Between them they’re carrying the body of a young girl. She can’t be more then 14. One of the lost just became one of the dead.

I hear Faith’s intake of breath. It’s not Emily, but it’s her she sees. She watches as the girl is loaded onto one of the trucks, her body covered by a thin white sheet. Many more will join her before the day is through.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Faith whispers next to me.

“You can,” I state, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“How do you know? Huh Bosco? How the fuck do you know? Who did you have to lose?”

Her words sting, it’s not the first time she’s lashed out at me, and it won’t be the last. As much as I want to be angry with her, I can’t. I know she’s hurting, I know she doesn’t mean it.

“If you give up Faith, who will find them?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” She looks genuinely remorseful, a lone tear tracing it’s path down her cheek.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.” Whether or not my words offered any comfort I don’t know, but she offers me a small smile and I feel better.

16 more bodies are found before the day is through, 16 dead, and none living. Now there is nothing left to do but return to the station, despair replacing any remnants of hope.

~*~

The station is unusually quiet when we return. Normally there are throngs of people crowding in the entrance way, some with injuries, some with complaints, and some just wanting news of loved ones.

I suppose it would be worse if we still had phone lines. Millions of people all calling 911, for what? To be told to sit tight, that someone would be there as soon as possible. Except now as soon as possible means days, not minutes. Still, we can’t tell them much more in person.

I follow Faith into the briefing room. A list of the confirmed decease is kept on the far wall, new names written in pen each day. She checks it often, sometimes several times throughout the day. Their names are never on it. I’m not sure it wouldn’t be better if they were.

Sighing Faith sits in one of the hard wooden chairs. Her arms resting on her knees, her face cradled in her hands.

“Come on, lets go get cleaned up,” I hear myself tell her.

“Alright,” she responds numbly.

The locker room is practically empty and I again wonder where everyone is. I notice Ty sitting on the far side of the room, his back against a locker, his gaze fixed on the floor. I make my way over to him.

“Hey. You holding up alright?” I ask.

“Could be better, you?” he replies, trying and failing to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Yeah, better,” I trail off. “You know where everyone is?”

“The national guard set a curfew, said they needed a few uniforms to help enforce it,” he tells me.

He sounds bleak, like he doesn’t think it’ll help, he’s probably right. Rather then respond I simply nod.

“You need anything,” I leave the words hanging, knowing he won’t ask, not me at least, maybe not anyone.

His only acknowledgement is a slight tightening of his jaw. Lost for any other words I leave, returning to Faith’s side. She hasn’t moved from where I left her. She stands, staring into the mirror in front of her. She doesn’t look at her reflection, but rather through it.

“Here,” I say leading her to the wash station.

A small bucket, clean cloths and soap rest in the sink. There’s no running water. Portapotties have been set up in the back parking lot. Pre-boiled water sits in a waste can by the door.

I fill the bucket and return to find her still standing, still staring. She’s become almost comatose. I wet her cloth, lathering the soap into the coarse fibers and begin washing the days’ dirt from her face. Her eyes close, tears spill over her cheeks leaving tracks in the grime.

“There, good as new,” I say once I’ve finished.

She looks remarkably better but water can’t wash away the lines, or the dark circles beneath her eyes. She blinks and I watch as she slips out of her daze. Without a word she moves towards her locker and begins to change.

I don’t spend nearly as much time on myself as I did Faith. Just enough to feel clean and renewed. I notice Faith leave the room but concern myself only with changing. I’ve already run out of clean uniforms. The only clothes that are my own were the ones in my locker. A pair of jeans, a t-shirt and some sweats. I choose a clean t-shirt and sweats. They’re far more comfortable for sleeping.

By the time I’m done changing Faith’s returned with two trays of rations. Dinner consists of precooked stew, thin, meager. It’s not much but it’s more then most. Ty passes my invitation to join us. He hasn’t eaten much since Sully’s death. I watch as he curls on his side, eyes staring into the dark.

The meal passes in silence. The stew sits in my stomach like a lead weight but still I’m hungry. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t. It hasn’t even been a week but already it feels like years.

“Bosco? What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know. Get inside, Faith. NOW, get inside!” I scream pushing her towards the nearest doorway.

Inside the staff and patrons of the small diner are too busy staring out the large front window to pay us any mind.

“Basement, do you have a basement?” I shout.

“Um, yeah,” one of the waiters replies pointing to a narrow staircase at the back of the kitchen.

“Get everyone down, now!” I order.

“Bosco? Bosco?”

I jump at the sound of Faith’s voice. She’s looking me with concern, her eyes questioning.

“Yeah, sorry,” I reply.

“You alright?” she queries.

Shit, what did she say? Why can’t I get these images out of my head?

“Sorry, just thinking. You where saying?”

“It wasn’t important. You done?” she asks pointing to my empty bowl.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say as she collects the dishes. I’m asleep before she returns.

It’s still dark when I wake. Glancing at Faith I notice she’s sleeping peacefully for once. Ty’s still staring into the night, his eyes unblinking, his breathing shallow. The temperature outside has dropped considerably in the night. My breath leaves icy trails in its wake. A shiver runs through me, but it’s not from the cold.

Some of the 55th have returned from their shift, filling the already crowded room. Cots line the walls and the scent of perspiration hangs in the air.

I haven’t moved in almost 3 hours. It’ll be light soon. The atmosphere is foreboding, the room thick with tension and sorrow. An alarm rings out over the intercom startling me from my pensiveness. I scramble from my bed, not bothering to change in my haste.

Faith is by my side in an instant, worry etched on her features.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

I shrug, uncertain myself. We gather in the briefing room. Looking around the room I realize just how few of us are left. Officers from 6 precincts fill the room, and still there is room for more.

“Settle down people,” the commanding sergeant orders.

The room becomes silent, all eyes focused at the front of the room.

A few minutes later we’re filing out, rushing to change. Ten minutes later the army buses are roaring down the street, heading east.

There was fear of this happening. FDNY has been running around for days trying to shut off gas mains. Each leak requires just one spark. We’ve been lucky so far. That’s about to change.

Thick black smoke hangs in the air. So thick I can’t breathe, even with my mask. The fire’s set off a chain reaction, moving from leak to leak. Everywhere flames light up the predawn.

Hydrants are useless so pump trucks have been brought in. The process is slow, we’ll lose another few blocks before noon. Faith and I begin ushering the onlookers back from the scene. They’re reluctant but the continuous explosions and the threat of arrest gets them moving.

A commotion to my left causes me to turn my back on the crowd. An elderly woman is frantically screaming a name I can’t quite make out. I rush over to her.

“Ma’am, you have to get back, come on,” I bark while attempting to pull the woman from the street.

“Please, Anna, she’s still inside,” she whimpers, pointing towards the burning building.

“Go,” I tell her before running into the blaze. In the background Faith screams my name.

I can barely make out the stairs through the smoke. I feel my way across the floor until I hit the first step. Somewhere upstairs a woman’s voice is calling for help.

An explosion rocks the ground sending me to my knees. I pull myself up with the banister and continue my assent. The halls are dark, lit only by the encroaching fires. My lungs burn, my head swims but her cries edge me on.

“NYPD, where are you?” I call out into the blackness.

“Here,” a faint reply echoes from my left.

“Please, my daughter.”

I can see the woman now, she’s trapped beneath a support beam. I won’t be able to move it on my own.

“Where?” I ask.

She motions to the back room and I tell her to sit tight while I go in search of her child.

The girl’s sleeping peacefully, like the world isn’t crashing down around her. In truth, she’s most likely unconscious. Bundling her into my arms I rush from the apartment without a second glance. I take the stairs 3 at a time and soon I’m outside.

“Bosco, thank god,” Faith’s voice rings out, tinged with panic.

“Take her,” I shout before turning back to the apartment, the mother.

A second explosion throws me clear across the street. The wind’s knocked out of me. Brick and plaster rain onto the street, added to the rubble. I stand, stunned. The building is gone.

My legs give way and I find myself sitting on the curb. I saved a life today, and left another to die.

“Boz?”

She sounds distant but I feel her hand on my shoulder so I know she’s next to me.

“How’s the girl?” I reply.

“Alex has her. She’s gonna make it,” she tells me.

“For what? It woulda been better if she’d died peacefully with her mom.”

Don’t say that, she’s alive. You did all you could, more even. You did good.”

When I don’t respond she sits next to me, her legs curled under her. Her hand leaves my shoulder to rub small circles on my back. Her touch is warm, comforting and I find myself leaning into her. Tears form in my eyes and I realize I haven’t cried. Not once. I can’t stop them now, they flow freely down my face, landing softly on the street.

~*~

The sun is low on the horizon by the time I move from my spot on the curb. Hours have passed yet it feels like only seconds. It could be days for all I know, time no longer has much meaning. It’s odd that such a small thing could make it all so real. The loss of one woman, one mother and suddenly reality sinks in. It still doesn’t make sense.

A brief flash of Doc standing over me, bandaging my wounds, flashes across my memory. I try to concentrate on it, bring back even some small detail, but it is lost as soon as it came. All around me smoldering piles of rubble are all that remain of the block. A few firefighters linger, seeking out hot spots, but most have left.

Faith is no longer by my side. I’m not really sure when she left. Did I ask her to? More memories surface and I wonder how much I missed. Glancing around I automatically seek her out. It doesn’t take me long to locate her. Soot and ash mingle with sweat giving her face a haggard appearance. Her shoulders are hunched forward and her eyes are downcast. She looks very much the picture of a woman defeated.

It’s hot, unnaturally so. My hand reaches out to touch the brick of the only remaining structure. Heat sears through me and I pull my hand away. An ugly burn covers my palm. No doubt it’ll blister.

“You should get that looked at.”

I jump at the sound of her voice and realize I’m still staring at my hand.

“Yeah,” I respond automatically.

Realizing I’m still somewhat dazed Faith leads me to the nearest bus.

The paramedic is young. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been on the job no longer then 6 months. Once this is over, if this is over, he’ll have more experience then most veterans.

“You’re gonna need to go in for that,” he tells me.

“I’m fine,” I reply.

“He’ll go,” Faith answers, giving me a glare.

“We’re heading that way, we can take you.” He speaks to Faith, completely ignoring me and my protests.

I shrug off Faith’s hand and pull myself into the back of the bus. She climbs in beside me, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern. I want to shout at her, tell her I’m fine, there are other people that need help more then I do.

The ride is long, exceedingly long. In fact it probably would have been quicker to walk the 3 blocks. Faith is staring at me, I don’t acknowledge her gaze, instead I stare out the back window, watching the ruined streets pass by.

Most of Mercy is still standing, the building’s worse for ware, but it’s intact. The front entrance is overcrowded with people. They spill out into the parking lot where a green army tent has been set up as a triage. Even more people huddle beneath its peak, coats pulled tight against the cold.

I take my place in line while Faith hunts down the necessary paperwork. It used to be that cops got preferential treatment in hospitals. I know it seems unfair but city workers take care of their own. There is no distinction now.

Faith returns with several forms and a yellow card. I’ve already been classified as a low priority, it’ll be a long wait. In her other hand she balances two coffees. I take the card and my coffee and leave her to fill in the required information. Clutching the Styrofoam cup like it’s the only thing keeping her warm, she moves to a small folding table set up in the corner.

Hours pass before I reach the head of the line. Faith hasn’t left my side. She hovers next to me like she’s afraid I’ll keel over at any moment. My hand burns, my lungs hurt and my head throbs. All I really want to do is go home. Except now home is a cot beside my locker.

I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky. The west coast was completely destroyed. Entire cities sunk into the ocean, others buried in dirt and debris. No one survived. Maybe they were the lucky ones. Their deaths instantaneous, ours, ours will be slow. The few that remain will have nothing left but memories.

“Boz?”

“Yeah?”

“We can go in now.” Her eyes search mine as she speaks, the words, meant as a statement, come out a question.

I nod and motion for Faith to lead. Following behind, I cradle my hand, away from Faith’s worried eyes.

There is easily four times the number of people inside as out. The halls are filled with them. The stench of decay and death lingers in the air. I nearly choke as my senses are bombarded. Faith uses her sleeve to cover her nose.

Hospital beds line the halls. Every available space has been used, no corner left unoccupied. The hum of the back up generator reverberates off the walls, an odd companion to the moans of the sick and injured.

A young orderly leads us to an unoccupied bed. The sheets, crisp white, stand out in the dimly lit hall. He leaves as soon as I’ve sat. An old woman occupies the bed next to mine, her face sunken and gray. I realize now why the place smells of death, no one has had time to remove the bodies.

“Faith, you don’t have to stay. I’m sure someone can give you a lift back to the station,” I say, hoping to spare her from the countless hours of waiting.

“I’m staying,” she tells me, her tone defiant.

“Faith,” I begin.

“Don’t start with me, I’m not leaving.”

I know better then to argue with her, she’s made up her mind, and once it’s set, convincing stones to sing would be easier.

“You want another coffee?” she asks suddenly.

In truth I haven’t finished the first. I don’t intend to. It’s hot, but that’s pretty much all I can say about it.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“I’m gonna get a refill, I’ll be back in a bit,” she tells me.

She’s not going for coffee. We haven’t been in Mercy since it happened, for all she knows Fred and her kids are here. She had Swersky check for her, but he wasn’t able to get much, just that they hadn’t been brought in. She won’t believe that until she sees with her own eyes.

I ease back against the wall and take in my surroundings. Aside from the dead, and very fragrant, woman next to me, there are a total of 6 beds crammed into the hallway. The generator provides limited power so the only source of light comes from the emergency lights spaced sporadically throughout the hall. The one above me flickers, casting shadows across the floor.

Directly across from me a young boy lays sleeping. His mother crouched by his side, her hand resting on his arm. She looks frightened and tired. Everyone I see looks the same. Like zombies, half dazed, still in shock. No one speaks, no one smiles, no one makes eye contact. They’re all afraid.

Tearing my eyes away from the boy I notice Faith returning empty handed. She looks glum and I’m afraid to ask her what she’s found.

“Hey,” I say, regretting the words as soon as I’ve spoken them.

“They’re not here,” she replies. She doesn’t try to hide that she looked, she knows I know, and she doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry.”

I can’t even count the number of times I’ve used that word in the last few days. It’s lost meaning. Even now it sounds hollow in my ears.

Before Faith has the chance to respond the doctor arrives. He’s older, or maybe he’s young but seems old in the light, and circumstances. He offers me a small smile before examining my hand.

“You really ought to have a skin graph. I don’t know when we’ll be able to do it, but it’ll leave a nasty scar if we don’t,” he says, exhaustion and frustration seeping into his voice.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind the scar,” I say. After all, what’s a scar, what difference could it make?

“You left handed?”

“No.” His question throws me.

“You should be alright then. I’ll give you something to take the swelling down but it might be a while before you get full use out if it. You might never,” he explains.

I’m not entirely sure how to respond to that. It’s not like I need the hand, and it’s not like there’s much I can do about it.

“It’s fine, I just want to get out of here,” I say with a pointed look at the woman next to me. If the doctor notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Faith takes my good hand while the doctor wraps the other. I try to tell her it’ll be alright but the words don’t come. In truth, I’m not sure it will be. I’m given a tube of anti-biotic ointment and instructions on how to bandage and look after the burn. He gives me his card in case there are any complications. I don’t bother telling him the phones are out.

I allow Faith to help me off the bed. Her hand lingers on my arm as we walk down the hall. The burn still hurts but the pain is receding, I’m left now with a dull ache. A thousand thoughts dance through my head. What if it never heals, what if I’m left with only one functioning hand, what if I can’t work?

“You okay?” Faith asks for the tenth time today.

“It itches a little, but the cream helped,” I tell her. She knows I’m lying, knows I’m scared, but doesn’t call me on it.

Faith helps me back into my coat, carefully placing my arm into the sleeve. Her touch is gentle, soothing. It’s early, or late depending on your perspective, we’ll be forced to walk.

We make our way to the exit. It’s raining outside, cold, icy rain. The streets are slick with a thin sheen of ice. Light from the overhead emergency sign casts an eerie glow off the road’s surface, sparkling in the night like a thousand tiny diamonds. It’s breathtaking. A sense of calm comes over me, something I haven’t felt for days, or expected to feel ever again.

For a moment I forget the pain, forget the memories and let the stillness of the night wash over me. The rain cleanses, purifies my soul. I breathe in the cold, damp air. The rain’s dispersed most of the dust, and for once the air seems fresh.

Beside me Faith shivers. She looks like a drown rat. Wet hair clinging to her face, framing her features. Water beads on her nose, the occasional drop falling softly to land on the front of her coat. She’s beautiful. All around us the world lies in ruins but here, in this moment, there is tranquility and I can’t help but smile.

~*~

The air has become stagnant, broken only by the falling rain. It’s not as heavy as it was before. It hangs in the air like a mist, covering everything in dampness, like the morning dew. Fog settles over the streets, thin and shallow. I can’t remember the last time we had fog. Filtered moonlight breaks through the clouds, causing the swirling mass at our feet to illuminate. It’s an odd sight against the backdrop of concrete and twisted metal.

Our pace is quick, not enough to draw attention, but neither of us wants to linger. The city’s quiet, a false sense of calm hangs in the night. I’m not entirely used to it, and it feels off. The streets are deserted save for a few stray dogs. They’re everywhere in the city now, their owners either dead or missing. Most will starve before the winter’s over.

Faith and I avoid them, intent only on our destination. Most of the streets have been cleared, those that haven’t have become silent tombs to the many who have died, their bodies still buried under the fallen buildings. One of the strays trots by, a human hand in his mouth. Bright red nail polish adorns perfectly manicured fingers, standing out against the pale blue pallor of the limb. Shuddering, I avert my eyes.

Faith doesn’t notice, her eyes searching the ground at her feet. I see no reason to point it out and usher us around the corner, away from the sight. Ahead, lights flicker, distorted by the fog and distance. They’re unnatural, man made. Fresh fear courses through my veins.

I stop dead in my tracks. Faith looks perplexed, giving a start when she too sees the lights. It could be someone in need of help, or it could also be someone looking for trouble. Either way, two uniforms are not going to be a welcome site. We’ll be lucky if we get out of this alive.

“Bosco, we need to get out of here,” Faith whispers, her own fear causing her voice to crack.

“Come on,” I say, pulling her towards an alleyway. Best to stay out of sight until we know who they are, and what they want.

The alley runs several car lengths back and is completely dark. We manage to find a relatively covered area to hide. Obscured by several dumpsters and fallen support beams we crouch low. I feel like a coward hiding, we’re the police, we shouldn’t have to hide from civilians.

My fear is soon replaced with anger, anger at sitting here, anger at not being able to walk down the street, and anger at this uniform. Only my concern for Faith keeps me quiet, I won’t confront them while she’s here.

I feel Faith shift beside me. There isn’t much room and we’re pressed together, our backs against the wall. Everything is wet, my clothes, the wall, and the ground. It soaks into my bones, chilling my soul.

The small space smells of spoiled meat and decay. Several rats scurry across the ground. I ease my gun out of my holster, and notice Faith do the same. It’s a last resort, we’ve been told to conserve ammunition. No one’s sure how long it’ll be before we run out.

The same can be said for most things. The grocery stores and shops have been completely looted. We’re running low on food, medical supplies, even basics like toilet paper. Given a few months, there might be nothing left. Things will get worse then, I’m not even sure I can imagine it.

I can just make out their voices now. They’re harsh and they carry through the night. Peering around the dumpster, I get my first good look at the group. Kids, a dozen in total, all in their late teens and early twenties. Raucous laughter and vulgarity spew from them, their behavior suggesting drunkenness. One of the boys breaks away from the others, walking deeper into the alley. Beside me I hear Faith’s sudden intake of air, she’s seen him too.

I motion for Faith to remain silent, pressing my index finger to my lip and giving her a beseeching look. Pressing further back into the space I hold my breath. The sound of my heartbeat seems to echo through the street and I suddenly envision them hearing it and coming to investigate.

The guy stops no more then three feet from us. He stumbles before bracing himself against the wall and fumbling with his belt buckle. The strong scent of urine assaults my senses and I nearly gag. It takes all the effort I can manage not to shy away from the small stream running towards us.

The sound of breaking glass and the cheers of his companions draws him from the alley. I watch as he rounds the corner, disappearing from sight. I sigh with relief and lean back against the wall. Beside me, Faith’s eyes follow the young man, wide with fright.

Staying low to the ground I move along the wall, remaining hidden in the shadows. I reach the cross section and lean against the broken corner of the building. Their voices are further away but louder. It seems Faith and I have walked into a riot.

We can’t risk staying here. Eventually someone will notice us. Faith’s made her way over to me. She sees my intention and shakes her head. I motion for her to move closer and whisper in her ear.

“Faith, we have to get out of here. How long do you think it’ll be before they’re right on top of us? We can’t hide, not anymore.”

Her expression is conflicted. I can tell she knows I’m right, but making a break for it will only draw their attention. We haven’t slept in days, my one hand’s useless and we haven’t eaten. We won’t be able to out run them if we’re seen.

“Stay low,” I tell her before moving out onto the street.

Crawling along the ground I move quickly between obstructions. A car to cover us here, a fallen wall there, always keeping something between us. Faith follows behind me like a shadow, her mouth tight with apprehension.

I wince every time my foot crunches a piece of glass, or disturbs a pile of rocks. The noise seems to resonate through the street. Each time I freeze, waiting for them to descend on us. It never happens, they’re own noise muffling ours. Still, my next step is placed with caution, avoiding anything that might make a sound.

I pause beside the hollowed remains of a Jeep, it’s color obscured by dust. 100-foot expanse lies between us and the nearest cross street. If we can make it around the corner we’ll be safe. The smell of smoke hangs in the air, they’ve started torching buildings. More have gathered, a crowd of at least twenty now runs rampant through the streets.

I turn and look Faith in the eye, without words telling her to run. She nods before standing and running towards the corner. Relief washes over me as she disappears behind a building. Remaining low I move to follow her.

Halfway to my destination, shouts emanate from the crowd. Turning to look over my shoulder I notice several rioters pointing at my retreating form. My eyes locked on the group, I stumble, falling to the ground. Faith’s at my side within seconds.

“Run,” I tell her.

She shakes her head ‘no’ and pulls me to my feet. By this point everyone has noticed us. They move towards us, slowly at first but their pace increases as their confidence mounts. Many carry wooden boards and blunt pieces of metal found in the wreckage. They were never intended to be used as weapons, but the crowd carries them as though they were.

We run.

They give chase.

My lungs burn, my muscles ache and my heart races. The sound of my boots hitting the pavement rings out. I lag behind Faith, keeping myself between her and the rioters. Me, they might kill. Her, I’m not sure I want to think about what they’d do to her. They’re close enough now to make out their words. Harsh angry cries are directed at us. We continue to run.

I feel my strength waning. My knees are like jelly and it takes all my effort to place one foot in front of the other. I briefly consider stopping and drawing my weapon. I could maybe kill six before the rest got to us. Not enough, it won’t help. I mutter up a small prayer, begging God to save Faith. ‘Let them take me, save Faith’, becomes my mantra.

Out of nowhere, lights appear in the sky, accompanied by the metallic whirl of fast moving steel. Without breaking stride I look up. Two UH-60 Blackhawks are beginning their descent. Hope surges through me and I offer a silent thanks to the heavens above.

Wind from their blades beats down on us. The shear force of them causing my already weak legs to buckle. They land, in the middle of the street, barrel guns facing the surging tide of rioters. The sight is enough to frighten our pursuers, sending them scattering into the night.

Faith once again pulls me to my feet, half dragging, and half carrying me to the waiting helicopters. I manage to find a reserve of strength and walk the last few paces on my own.

“You guys have no idea how glad we are to see you,” I shout over the roar of the great, hulking black birds.

One of the crew extends his hand, puling Faith into the fuselage. Glancing at his shoulder I notice the absence of an insignia, a private. I allow him to pull me in directly behind her.

Blankets are draped over us, I wasn’t aware of the cold until now. My body is wracked with shivers. Shock, I realize. Faith looks relieved and exhausted. I imagine the same expression is mirrored on my own face.

I brace myself against the cabin door as we lift into the air. Beside me Faith presses a hand against her stomach, she’s never liked to fly. Having flown in several helicopters in my ranger days, I’m used to it.

“What the hell were you two doing down there anyway?” the private questions.

“We were at Mercy,” I say holding up my bandaged hand, “We were just on our way back to the 55th, King and Arthur,” I add as an afterthought.

A sergeant barks orders to the pilot and soon we’re angling left, heading towards the station. Still braced against the wall, I move over to sit next to Faith. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is slow and measured. I take her hand and am rewarded when she looks up and smiles.

When the precinct comes into view the last remaining traces of tension leave my body. We made it. The pilot waits patiently for us to climb out and clear the landing area. Turning back I watch them ascend into the night sky. They move with grace. I hazard a glance at Faith and when I turn back their black forms have blend into the darkness, disappearing from sight.

People stare at us as we run towards the station. Two cops being transported by helicopter is not something you see everyday, particularly in the early hours of the morning. I notice there are far too many people in the streets, something’s happened.

The precinct is crawling with activity. Cops, paramedics, and even firefighters bustle around the exterior. Spotting Swersky, I make my way towards him.

“What’s going on?” I ask above the din.

“They found Kim and Carlos, trapped, but alive. We’re going to get them out,” he tells me, a smile replacing his all to often defeated expression.

~*~

I know it’s a dream as soon as it begins but I’m trapped by it all the same. A myriad of washed out colours, like the entire world is contained within a watercolour painting. Lines are blurred, images distorted. There is no sound here, but everything echoes, mocking the stillness.

Something tugs at the back of my mind, something I’m supposed to remember. It’s important. A girl, something about a girl. Faith? I try to focus on the name, conjure up a face. Why can’t I remember?

It’s cold, or maybe it’s warm. It seems to alternate between the two. A flicker of movement catches my eye. Turning, I find nothing. I should be alone here. Aren’t I? Something about a girl.

~*~

I awake with a start and realize we’re moving. For a moment I can’t remember where I am. The dream’s still so fresh in my mind. I wonder what it means.

In a rush, the past few hours come back to me, the riot, the helicopters, Kim and Carlos. I must have fallen asleep. Swersky was right. We shouldn’t have come.

“How much further?” I ask, not even sure who the question is directed at.

It’s Faith who answers me.

“Another three blocks. God, it woulda been faster if we’d walked.”

She seems upset, tension rolling off of her in waves. It’s understandable, everyone’s tense these days.

Glancing at my watch, I realize we left the station twenty minutes ago. The dream seemed to last so much longer. I usually don’t remember my dreams, and if I do they’re certainly never linger long. I only wish I could make sense of it.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Faith asks suddenly, wanting confirmation. Not that they’re okay, just that someone could survive this long.

“I’m sure they’re fine, or at least, they will be,” I tell her, placing my hand on her arm for emphasis.

She nods. I don’t think she’s given up hope. It waivers but she clings to it.

We make an abrupt turn and I only now become aware of our location. We’ve been here before, Faith and I. Numerous times, they were right under our nose.

The entire streets been cordoned off. Firetrucks, ambulances, and several military vehicles are scattered throughout the clearing. Aside from city personnel, there’s not another person in sight.

We pull to a stop next to one of the few remaining buildings. It’s been set up as a temporary command post.

“You guys should go inside, get yourselves cleaned up, something to eat,” Swersky tells us.

“Yeah, thanks,” Faith replies.

Rather then repeat her words, I simply nod. Food sounds pretty good right now but I’m not certain if I’ll be able to eat.

I move into the building, Faith following on my heels. I’m sure at one point it was some sort of shop, a deli, or maybe a bakery. Now only the shell remains, four walls, and the floor. The ceiling’s missing, looking up I see nothing but sky.

The sun has just begun to rise, bathing the sky in rich oranges and soft pinks. Murky clouds sit low on the horizon. They’re heavy, thick. The sun is practically obscured by them.

Everything blends together, the clouds, the sky, and the dust still hanging over the city. It’s so much like my dream I’m overwhelmed by it, unable to tear my eyes away. The faint chill of winter hangs heavy in the air. I pull my jacket closed against the biting cold. I notice Faith do the same.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” I hear her say beside me.

“Get used to what?” I ask, uncertain what she means.

“The sky, the sun. I miss the sun,” she explains.

I nod my agreement. It’s there, but not like it was, nothing’s like it was.

We sign ourselves in, it’s become procedure now. They don’t want anyone left behind. A small table has been set up. A thermos of coffee rests near the edge. Beside it sit loaves of stale bread and withered fruit. Only a week ago there would have been donuts, maybe muffins.

I gnaw on the bread. It’s hard, unappetizing, but food is food. Faith stares at what I can only assume is an apple. It’s small, shriveled and brown. She makes a face with the first bite, but finishes it.

“Lets see if we can find a place to get cleaned up. I really need to change this bandage,” I tell her.

She nods and makes her way further into the building. We find an unoccupied corner and I lean against the wall, sinking to the floor. My entire body aches, my hand throbs and my stomach growls. The bread did little to ease my hunger.

“Stay here, I’m gonna go see if I can scrounge up some clean bandages,” Faith says looking around for the nearest bus.

She returns a few minutes later, a small arsenal of medical supplies under her arm. She kneels in front of me, taking my hand in hers.

“I can do it,” I tell her, not wanting her to feel obligated.

“No you can’t,” she replies.

She’s right. It would be next to impossible to duplicate the complicated wrappings with one hand. Faith removes the old gauze, tossing it unceremoniously onto the floor. She pulls out a bottle of antiseptic from her pocket and dabs some on a piece of cotton. I tear my eyes away, the sting causing me to wince.

The streets are filled with cops, paramedics and firefighters. Everyone remaining from the 55th is here. Concern, and hope guide their movements.

My eyes drift off the people and onto the street itself. You can still make out the lines that once divided traffic. They’re broken, pushed apart by erupting pavement and falling buildings. Glass litters the sidewalks. Very few of the buildings have windows remaining.

A hint of colour catches my eyes. Buried in the rubble, a child’s bike, it’s red still apparent, despite the dust. There was a school around here. We’d driven by it so many times.

“All done,” Faith announces.

“Thanks,” I reply before standing and moving outside.

Most of the day’s spent waiting. I feel useless waiting here. I’m not sure how they pinpointed their location but I can point to it. They’re buried beneath piles of broken cement and wooden frames. How anyone could be left alive in there is beyond me.

Cranes have been brought in, bulldozers, backhoes, anything to help clear a path. Men carry shovels, others lead search and rescue dogs. Still more stand on the sidelines, ready to take over at a moments notice.

“What the hell is taking so long?” I mutter.

“They need to work slow, the whole place could cave in on them if they’re not careful,” Faith explains.

Shaking my head I lean against the side of one of the trucks, closing my eyes, blocking out my surroundings. I’m exhausted, only the cold keeps me standing.

“Boz? Boz? Are you okay?” a voice calls out into the darkness.

“Faith?” I hear myself ask.

“What the hell happened?” She’s afraid, terrified even.

I shake my head, only just noticing our surroundings. We’re in a basement. Only moments before we’d been outside. How did we get in here?

“We need to get out of here!” her voice pulls me, breaking my concentration.

Debris blocks the stairs. Dust covers everything. It clings to my skin, burns my eyes. It’s even found a way into my throat. I move my hand to wipe the dust from my eyes. My fingers find dampness. Pulling my hand away, I stare at it in wonder, blood.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t look deep,” Faith tells me.

The truck shifts as Faith leans beside me. I blink in an effort to rid my self of the memory that keeps dancing across my vision. I’m doomed I realize, doomed to relive the moment, over and over. I wonder if Faith thinks about it, if it haunts her. Everything is still so fresh in my mind. The dust, the heat, the burnt smell of sulfur lingering in the air, and the bodies, bodies everywhere.

A cold wind howls from the north, whipping through the streets. It billows my coat, wrapping it around me. For a moment I feel ensnared by it. With it comes the first real sign of the long winter yet to come. Soft snow begins to fall, swirling across the sky. It blankets the ground, covering the world in whiteness. Icy tendrils creep up broken windowpanes, their patterns catch, reflecting in the sun.

Beside me Faith dozes, that state half way between sleep and consciousness. My own exhaustion seems distant. I suddenly feel more awake then I have in days. Everything becomes clearer, every image crisper.

I wander over to where I’d seen the bicycle. It’s not hard to find. Further back lays a cluster of children’s toys. Bending, I push aside some of the dirt revealing a small white horse. Its rider carries a bow and set of arrows. I imagine some small child, playing at Cowboys and Indians. I wonder if he survived.

“What is it?” Faith asks, sinking to her knees beside me.

“Nothin’, just some kids stuff,” I tell her, tossing the toy back to the ground.

“I’m not gonna find them, am I?” she asks, eyes following the small horse.

“Don’t say that, you will.”

“Alive?”

I don’t have an answer for her. I can’t very well tell her yes, I could be wrong.

“Come on. Lets go see if they need our help,” I say instead.

Shouts break out cutting off my words. We’re on our feet immediately.

“Boz?” she asks as we watch everyone running towards one of the backhoes.

A K9 whimpers and digs furiously in the debris. They’ve found them. Glancing at Faith, I grin before rushing over to the site. Men are on their knees, digging away the remaining bits of concrete by hand. Kneeling, I join them. Faith watches, her expression unreadable.

It takes four of us to move the final slab. Dirt floats in the air, melding with the snow to obscure visibility with its haze.

“Hello?” Someone calls out into the crevice.

We wait. The street becomes still and silent while we listen for some sound, however faint.

“We’re down here!” Carlos voice breaks through the air.

Cheers ring out. I move aside to let Doc and Alex down, lead by an unknown firefighter. Several people slap me on the back. There is newfound energy in the air, it hums with intensity.

Moments later they emerge from below. Carlos looks worse for wear, but he’s alive. Upon seeing Carlos, the crowd begins to applaud. Carlos, looking uncomfortable at the sudden attention, manages a shy wave. His actions only spur everyone on.

Doc and Alex follow behind, Kim laid out on a stretcher. She’s awake, pale, hurt, but awake. She smiles at the crowd but the effort’s obvious. Carlos hovers by her side, concern written across his face. I instantly think of Faith, I don’t think I’d be handling it nearly as well if it had been her that was injured.

They load Kim in the waiting bus. Carlos and Doc climb in behind her, leaving Alex to drive. I watch as they pull away, slowly making their way across the broken streets. Once they’re out of sight I turn back to Faith. She’s smiling, a genuine smile, it lights up her face.

I find myself smiling back, feeling happy for the first time in days. It’s not that I was even all that close with Kim or Carlos, but they’re part of the family, and now they’ve come home. Heading back to the station, my heart feels light. If only everyday could be like today.

~*~

A flicker of recognition crosses my mind. I know this place. I try to focus my thoughts, bring up the memory, but it eludes me.

I’m in a room. I recognize it now. It’s the room from my dream. Am I asleep? Glancing around I realize I must be. The walls blend into the floor, curving up into the ceiling. It hurts my eyes to stare at it too long. The room seems small but every step I take brings me further away from the edge of it. There are no doors, no way out.

Bosco.

I hear a woman’s voice calling me. Who is she? Why can’t I remember? I turn the length of the room, trying to find the source of the voice. I’m alone. Wind caresses my arm. I have a fleeting memory that there shouldn’t be wind here.

Turning, I find what was once a wall, has now become a corridor. A glimpse of white draws my attention. A woman. Before I can question what I’m doing, I’m running after her.

The hall twists, sometimes wrapping around itself. I’m certain I must be running in circles. I pass several forks, sometimes with as many as five or six branches. Still, I follow the woman.

She darts down a side passageway, disappearing from sight. Rounding the corner I find myself back in the amorphous room. Torches now line the walls, the flames casting shadows off their smooth stone surface. A table sits in the center. For a moment I wonder if this is perhaps a different room. My footprints scattered over the dust-covered floor prove me wrong.

Frowning, I make my way over to the table. It runs the entire length of the room. Intricate carvings adorn the legs, twisting around in endless patterns. The top is plain, worn smooth with time and age.

Seven clay bowls lay scattered across its surface, dust marring their beauty. They too have carvings etched into their sides. It almost looks like writing. I stare one, trying to make sense of it. Either I’m wrong, or the language lost. One of the bowls has a large crack down its center. Others seem ready to fall apart with a mere touch.

The air shifts, suddenly becoming very cold. Goosebumps cover my flesh. The hair at the back of my neck stands on end.

Bosco.

~*~

“Bosco.”

I awake with a start and realize it’s Faith calling my name. I stare at her in confusion.

“Faith?”

“Well it’s about time. I’ve been trying to wake you for twenty minutes now,” she tells me.

“Um, sorry, I just…” I trail off, not knowing what to say.

Something tugs at the back of my mind. Shaking it off, I climb out of the cot, making my way to the sinks. Wordlessly Faith hands me a wash bucket and cloth. I splash the luke-warm water against my face, hoping to clear away the memory of the dream.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Little after seven,” she tells me.

We’d returned from the rescue at three o'clock. I’m pretty sure I was asleep the instant we got back.

“Seven? Damn, well that would explain why I’m hungry. How bout we grab some dinner,” I say, hoping food will help me get through the rest of the night.

Faith stares at me, cocking her head to the side ever so slightly. I can’t tell if she’s worried or confused. Maybe a little of both.

“What?” I ask, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

“Seven am Boz. You okay?”

I’m sure she must be joking. There is no way I slept that long. God, it feels like I haven’t slept in days.

“Um, yeah, I know, I was just,” I lie.

Other then a tightening of her jaw, she doesn’t acknowledge the lie. She turns and moves towards her locker.

“Swersky wants us out there today. He’s worried about something,” she says, her back to me.

“He say what?”

“Nope,” she replies while spinning the combination on her lock.

I have a feeling today is not going to be a repeat of yesterday.

Breakfast consists of prepackaged cereal and weak coffee. We eat in silence, neither of us wanting to break it. Faith’s already dressed. I change quickly and before I know it, we’re back out on the streets.

Swersky wouldn’t say why he wanted us out there. Just said the city needed a police presence today. It seems ridiculous to me, us being out here hardly helps. Still, there isn’t much else to do.

Most of the streets are still deserted. Here and there, we come across a cluster of people. They huddle in corners, or stand around open fires burning in the hollowed out remains of oil drums. Children play in the rubble, unconcerned with the world around them. They don’t understand what’s happening, I’m not sure any of us do.

Most of the people ignore us. Some offer smiles, others glares. A disheveled man stands atop a pile of crates. His clothes are ragged, his skin covered in dust and ash. He holds a worn bible above his head, as if it’s proximity to the sky will grant him passage into the heavens above.

He looks mad, and probably is. It isn’t until he speaks that I realize why he seems so familiar. It’s Fred.

Faith stops abruptly at the sound of his voice. She turns, mouth falling open.

“Fred?” she mouths, eyes wide with shock.

Her back straightens and she moves over to him. He doesn’t notice her, he’s too absorbed in his message.

“AND I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying with a voice of thunder, Come.”

I stare at Fred, shaking my head. Doesn't he realize what Faith has been through? He couldn’t have at least let her know he was alright. No, of course not, he has to stand in the street, reading from the fucking bible.

“Fred!” I hear Faith call out.

He ignores her, continuing with his passage.

“And I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow, and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering, and to conquer.”

“Fred,” she cries again, her voice harsh, angry.

She grabs his sleeve, pulling him from his podium. He seems shocked at first, staring at her as though he doesn’t recognize her.

“Faith?” he finally questions.

“Fred, you, you’re, where are the kids,” she finishes, her tone panicked.

“Kids, um, I, I don’t know. I don’t have time for this, I have to,” he says, gesturing to the stack of crates.

“Fred! The kids!”

She’s screaming now, hands firmly grasping his collar, shaking him violently. Tears form in her eyes. Only her rage keeps them from falling.

“I don’t know,” he spits, shaking off her grip.

He moves back from her, staring at her in contempt.

“I’m surprised to see you Faith. I would’ve thought your judgment would have been swift,” he says.

For a moment I think she’s actually going to hit him. I can envision it perfectly. I wouldn’t stop her if she did. Hell, I want to hit him. Instead she turns, hands clenched into small fists at her sides.

“Come on Bosco, we’re leaving,” she orders.

With one last glance at Fred, I turn and followed Faith. Behind me, Fred cries began anew.

I practically have to run to catch up with her. She’s furious.

“Faith, slow down,” I shout.

She stops, her shoulders falling forward in defeat. A tremor runs through her, whether anger or sorrow, I don’t know. Grabbing her arm, I turn her towards me.

“Faith. Look, I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else to tell her.

She laughs then, it’s desperate, almost maniacal. I find myself stepping back from her. Her eyes shin with intensity, their depths a swirling mass of blue smoke and haze.

“Guess I was worrying for nothing, huh,” she jokes, her tone bitter.

“At least he’s alive,” I tell her.

“Alive? That’s not Fred. Fred died, that man, that thing, that’s not my husband. God, how could he not care about Emily and Charlie?”

Tears form in her eyes, her face twisting in agony and heartache. Her tears overflow, tracing paths down her cheeks. She wipes them away with the back of her sleeve.

“Faith. If he’s okay, you’re kids probably are too,” I tell her, placing my arm on her back, patting her awkwardly.

“Yeah. But where?” she asks.

I don’t answer her. She doesn’t expect me to.

The remainder of the shift passes without incident. Faith hasn’t spoken to me. Her eyes are still tight with anger. The sun’s sitting low on the horizon by the time we head in.

The station’s quiet, most of the precinct having yet to check in. Despite the sixteen hours sleep I had the night before, I feel like I haven’t slept in days. The countless hours on the streets is finally starting to take their toll on my body. Faith looks ready to drop where she stands.

We slowly make our way to the locker rooms, every step seeming a challenge. Only a few cots are occupied. Ty’s sleeping for once. He calls out into the night, struggling with some unseen force before returning to a fitful slumber. My mood remains dark.

I practically fall into my cot, not even bothering to remove my shoes. Right now sleep is the only thing I need. From the corner of my eye, I notice Faith standing in front of her open locker. A clean shirt rests in her hand. She stares at it before pulling off her uniform, rolling it into a ball.

I shift to get a better angle. It’s not that I want to watch Faith changing, just that I can’t seem to take my eyes off her. She’s thinner then I remember. Her skin clings to her, her ribs protruding at her waist. She hasn’t been eating.

Before I can question her, she pulls the fresh shirt over her head, and moves to her own cot. I watch as she shivers, pulling the coarse wool blanket around her neck. She remains that way, staring at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts.

“You okay?” I ask finally.

“Fine,” she replies.

I nod before realizing she can’t see me.

“Okay,” I say, not wanting to push the issue.

“How could he not care?” she whispers. I’m not even sure I was meant to hear.

“I don’t know Faith, I just…” I begin.

She doesn’t answer but I can tell she’s crying. My heart constricts and I feel my own eyes begin to water. Sitting, I push aside the blankets, leaving the warmth of my bed to kneel next to hers.

“It’s gonna be okay, we’ll find them, you’ll see,” I tell her.

She turns, burying her face in the crook of my neck. Warm tears spill over her cheeks, landing on my shirt, soaking it. I wrap my arms around her, stroking her back and murmuring what I hope are words of comfort. Her tears continue to fall.

~*~

Sunlight flitters across my eyes, waking me from a restless sleep. Looking down at the warm body next to mine, I realize Faith’s still asleep. Her hand lies against my chest, her body curled slightly around my own. I don’t remember falling asleep in her cot, but most of the night remains a blur.

She begins to stir, the motion causing the small bed to creak in protest. Lifting my hand, I push aside a wayward strand of hair. Sleepy blue eyes meet mine.

“Hey,” I say.

“Sorry,” she replies while moving off of me. She seems uncomfortable.

“Don’t be,” I tell her.

I sit up, resting my back against the wall, my legs still stretched across the cot. She moves so that she’s facing me, her body twisted in a casual, subtle manner. She smiles then, a smile born of hardship and loss, a smile laden with doubt and uncertainty.

I bring my hand up, cupping her cheek. The gesture is meant to be soothing, comfortable. It’s early, no one else is awake, but still her eyes dart about the room. I don’t linger long, just enough to feel certain she knows I’m here, that I won’t leave her, that I’ve always got her back.

“I’ll go grab breakfast,” I tell her.

My body objects leaving the warmth of the bed and blankets but my stomach guides me. Sparing one last look at Faith, I leave the locker rooms. I make my way down to the small kitchen that now occupies what was once the break room.

I worry about her, I know she doesn’t want me to, but I do. Everyday that goes by she sinks further and further into depression. I know it’s related to her kids, I just wish there was something I could do about it. I haven’t confronted her, she’d only deny it, tell me she’s fine. Faith and I don’t lie to one another, but we keep our secrets.

I push aside the thought as I reach the break room. Glancing down, I realize I must look quite the sight. My clothes are dirty, worn and wrinkled. I pay them no mind, everyone else looks about the same. Still, I figure I ought to spend the time and at least brush the dirt of them.

My current state of dress is forgotten as the strong sent of food reaches my nose. Porridge today, and coffee. I grab two bowls, a withered pear for Faith, and two cups of coffee. I don’t bother with the tray, instead balancing the meal across my arms. Less to clean up later, I reason.

Faith hasn’t moved from her spot when I return. She looks like she could use another few hours rest. I make a mental note to suggest it to her. We have a free day today, not that we’ll use it. Lieu’s been very particular about free days. He insists everyone have at least one day off for every six worked. I’d rather be out there, but Faith needs this, she just doesn’t know it yet.

“Breakfast me lady,” I joke, trying to lighten her mood.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling up at me.

I sit next to her on the bed, settling our meal in between us. Faith sniffs disdainfully at the oatmeal, instead choosing to start on the pear.

“You’re going to eat that,” I tell her, although it’s more of a command.

“Fine,” she replies, I think she’s grown tired of arguing with me.

Breakfast passes in silence. It strikes me that there is so much silence lately, too much in fact. I have the sudden desire to cry out, scream, something, anything to break the stillness. I don’t.

“So, what do you want to do today?” I ask instead.

“Um, I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, maybe we should go to the hospital, look in on Kim,” she replies.

Truthfully, I hadn’t really thought much about Kim, or Carlos for that matter. I guess there have just been so many other things on my mind.

“We can do that, and I wouldn’t mind making our way over to Ma’s, seeing how she’s holding up,” I respond.

“Let’s do that first,” she tells me, giving me a tight smile.

She knows I worry about Ma. I haven’t been over to see her since it happened, I guess today’s as good as any.

I notice Faith’s finished her meal, so I grab the bowls and bring them back downstairs. When I return, she's changing. She’s run out of clean clothes but she has some sort of cycle I have yet to figure out. I watch her for a moment, once again concern with her current thinness.

Moving to my own locker, I pull out a reasonably clean shirt. My old one joins the pile on the floor. I add another mental note to find someway of doing laundry. The thought makes me laugh, earning a confused look from Faith.

“Sorry, just, never thought I’d miss doing laundry,” I explain.

“Yeah, me either,” she laughs.

It’s nice to hear her laughter. It echoes throughout the room causing several others to stir in their sleep. I smile at her, feeling positive about the day for the first time in a while.

It doesn’t take us long to dress and soon we’re outside. They day’s bitterly cold. A thin layer of snow covers the streets and sidewalks. Fresh white covers the brown slush beneath it, giving the streets a dull gray appearance. Usually at this time of year, I look forward to snow, especially around the holidays. This year it only seems bleak and depressing.

Ignoring the landscape, I make my way up King, heading towards my mother’s bar. Her apartment was one of the buildings that were destroyed in the initial impact. Fortunately she was at work, otherwise… I don’t like to think about otherwise. She’s remained there day and night, along with a handful of others. Mikey checks in on her, not often, but enough.

I’m reminded of my ranger days, we’d spend countless hours climbing through the streets of broken cities, death and decay all around us. We were trained to ignore it, get in and get out, the mission first and foremost. At first, I tired to ignore the scene around me, tried to imagine I was in some foreign country. It didn’t last long, there are too many memories here.

We pass a row of apartments, small walk ups, all lined together facing the street. The broken windows are boarded, heavy bolts on each door. A bay window looks out onto the street. Its panes are still intact but rod iron bars cover the outside. A hint of light pulls my attention, they have a tree up. Christmas is still several weeks away and I wonder why they’ve bothered this year. Maybe they need something to remind them they’re alive. Something to ease the despair that has become everyday life. I catch sight of the small figure adorning the top, her white robes flowing gracefully over the tree top. For some reason the sight fills me with hope.

“Boz?”

Her voice draws me and I look over at her in concern.

“Yeah?”

“Do you dream?” she asks.

I’m not sure what to think of her question, or why she’s asking it, but I answer her all the same.

“Every night,” I tell her.

“Me too,” she says glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer me right away and I briefly consider changing the subject. She speaks before I have a chance to.

“Mostly about Em and Charlie. Sometimes about that night, what happened. But then there are these other dreams. I don’t know what they mean, but they’re so real,” she begins.

She has my full attention now. I actually stop walking, turning to face her.

“About?” I ask, my voice cracking ever so slightly.

She moves off the street, finding a seat on a large piece of concrete. She draws her knees up, resting her head on top of them before answering me.

“I’m in this place, I don’t know where it is. Everything’s the same, but different,” she begins, furrowing her brow as she recalls the details.

She pauses, as though she’d embarrassed to tell the rest, or maybe frightened, I can’t tell. When she speaks again her voice seems distant, cold, devoid of any emotion.

“The colours aren’t right, they’re too dull. And there’s a table in the center of the room, with these bowls on it,” she explains.

My own dream flashes through my mind and I interrupt her tale.

“Seven? Seven bowls, right?” I ask.

“How did you know that?” she questions, looking across at me.

“I had it too,” I tell her.

“What do you think it means?” she asks, looking up at me in bewilderment and confusion.

“I don’t know, but it’s important, I think,” I tell her.

I know it should strike me as odd that Faith’s shared my dreams, but for some reason, it doesn’t. I don’t understand it, but I think maybe the dream means something. What, I don’t know. Still, if Faith’s had it, it can’t be mere coincidence.

She nods before once again resting her head on her knees. Her eyes run over the street, taking in the chaos. She seems confused by it, but we all are.

“What if it never gets better Boz? What if this is all there is? I sometimes wish we’d died that night,” she confides.

I turn my head and stare at her, my mouth hanging open. The dream vanishes from my thoughts as I realize the implications of what she’s saying. I don’t know how to respond to that. I want to grab her, shake her, scream at her. How could she want to just give up like that? She’s the only thing keeping me going right now.

“Faith. Don’t say that. Okay, just don’t. You’re here, I’m here, and no matter what, we’ll make it through this,” I reply.

She shifts from her spot, turning to look at me. Her eyes are clouded with pain, sorrow, and something I can’t quantify.

“I know. I know,” she says.

Without waiting for my reply, she stands and begins moving down the street. I have no choice but to follow her. She doesn’t speak again until Ma’s bar becomes visible in our sight.

“Well, we made it,” she says.

“Yeah, come on,” I say, grabbing her arm and guiding her to the bar.

The building’s better off then most of the places we’ve seen. It’s probably helped constantly having someone here. Looters haven’t been able to ransack the place. Inside the room is dark and cold. The floors have been swept clean, the rubble tidied into neat piles. I spot Ma immediately.

“Hey,” I shout.

“Maurice? Oh baby, I was so worried,” she says putting down a dish rag and hurrying over to us.

She pulls me into a tight embrace causing me to blush.

“You look awful. Have you two been eating?” she asks, looking between Faith and I.

“Ma,” I say in mock annoyance.

She doesn’t give me a chance to get in another word. Grabbing my arm, she pulls me towards the back. Faith follows at my side, an amused grin on her face. She understands a mothers concern.

Before long, we’re fed, wearing clean clothes and completely relaxed. Even Faith looks like she’s having a good time. I’m glad we came here, not only to make sure Ma was alright, but the atmosphere is calming.

Ma spent the better part of the morning recollecting stories, telling us of her own adventures since the catastrophe. All happy stories, no one really wants to hear the bad. She offered to let us spend the night, but we can’t, and she knows that.

“I want you to come visit at least once a week Maurice,” she orders before pulling me into a fierce hug.

“You take care of him Faith, make sure he stays out of trouble,” she says before awkwardly hugging Faith.

I promise her I’ll be back soon, and then we leave. It’s only noon, but seeing Ma, I feel like I’ve had a weeks worth of rest. Looking across at Faith, I notice she seems more relaxed. The lines on her face are gone, the bags beneath her eyes, faded. Even her step seems lighter.

It takes us just over an hour to get to Mercy. I make a note to leave early this evening, not wanting to be caught in the middle of the night again. The place looks the same as it did when we were here last. The people out front are different but they carry themselves with the same slow lethargic movements.

Inside the smell of death still lingers, but it’s fading, almost like the memory of a scent. Faith approaches the nurses station, returning a few minutes later with the details on Kim’s room.

Everyone is there. Carlos, Doc, Alex, even Jimmy. I suddenly feel like an intruder, like we don’t quite belong here. These people are her family, we’re just distant relatives.

Before I have a chance to say anything Doc spots us. He waves us over, a smile plastered on his face. She must be doing well.

“Hey,” Faith says beside me.

“Glad you guys could make it,” Doc responds.

“She doing alright?” Faith asks.

“Fine, she’s being released today. You guys want to stick around, we’ve got a bus coming to take us back to the station,” he tells us.

“Nah, that’s alright, we just wanted to see if she was okay,” I interject.

Faith looks at me out of the corner of her eye. I can tell she wants to question my words, but she doesn’t. Instead she moves into the room, leaving me standing with Doc.

I don’t know Doc very well and have no idea what to say to him. We stand in complete awkward silence for what seems an eternity. Finally he breaks it.

“You can go in, if you like,” he tells me.

I don’t know if I really want to go in, but anything is better then standing here. Nodding, I push my way past him and into the room.

Kim’s sitting up, looking much better then the last time I saw her. She’s laughing over something Faith’s said. I came in too late to catch it. She notices me first and offers a small smile. I move to the foot of the bed.

“Hey. How you doing?” I ask.

“Good, thanks for coming,” she replies.

I nod, uncertain what else I’m supposed to say. Faith saves me from having to think of anything. She gives Kim a quick embrace. It’s familiar, not friendly, but professional. Kim returns it.

“We should be heading, we just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Faith tells her.

“Okay, thanks. And I’ll see you guys as soon as they spring me,” she says with a smile.

We make our goodbyes before heading back out into the hall. I follow Faith to the exit, my steps light. We’ve almost reached the doors when a voice halts us. It’s Proctor. Emily’s here.

~*~

"Faith, I need your help,” I shout, struggling against a fallen support beam.

We’ve been trapped for hours. No one knows what’s going on outside, or when help will get here. For all we know, everyone else is dead.

“Boz, I can’t, it’s too heavy,” Faith replies, collapsing on the stairs.

I sit beside her, my own body weak and worn. My head hurts, the wound isn’t deep, but I probably need stitches. The makeshift bandage has soaked through, blood once again drips into my eye.

“Here,” Faith says, pressing a cloth against the cut.

She instructs me to hold it in place before routing around for additional supplies. There are six others trapped with us, all with various injuries. Nothing life threatening. She doesn’t speak as she changes the dressing, but her expression tells me it’s worse then she originally let on.

“Maybe we should try another way, one of the windows or something,” she ponders while wrapping my head.

“We’ve tried everything, the door’s the only way out,” I reply.

Faith opens her mouth to respond, but before she has the chance, the earth lurches, knocking us to the ground. Tremors shake the building, causing dust and mortar to fall upon us. I practically throw myself over Faith, worried the entire building will collapse on us.

As if by some miracle, the support beam covering the doorway groans, shifting slightly. I don’t wait for the ground to still before rushing over, pushing it off the door. We usher everyone outside, away from the crumbling building, and into chaos.

“Mrs. Yokas? Are you ready?”

The doctor’s voice breaks the stillness of the room. Glancing at the clock, I realize we’ve been waiting just over an hour. I feel guilty for getting lost in thought, but looking across at Faith, I realize she wouldn’t have wanted my conversation anyway.

“Mrs. Yokas?”

She doesn’t answer. The only acknowledgment of hearing his words is a slight twitch of her jaw. She stands suddenly, walking across the room. Her body is wrought with tension, so much so she’s shaking. I move closer to her, not enough to impede her space, but enough so that she can sense my nearness. I know she needs my presence, she just won’t ask for it.

I watch helplessly as she steadies herself, a look of resolve crossing her features. She brings her hand to the window. Knuckles rap across the glass, echoing through the room. The sound is dull, unnatural, it seems to overwhelm the small space, causing me to wince involuntarily.

She shuts her eyes as the blinds open, as if shutting out the sight makes it less real. I hover by her side, my gaze never leaving her eyes. I don’t look, I can’t, this isn’t my cross to bear.

The instant her eyes flicker open, I know. I see recognition in her eyes, followed by pain, so much pain. A muffled sob escapes her lips and I barely have enough time to catch her as she falls.

I fall to my knees with her, holding her tight against me. I need to be her rock right now, her anchor. If I let go, I’ll lose her. That’s something I can’t handle. Behind us the blinds close, they have their answer. Jane Doe 467696 has a name, Emily Yokas.

It takes all the strength I can manage to lift Faith to her feet, usher her from the room. My arm’s draped around her protectively, like I can somehow shield her from this place. She doesn’t fight me. Her body shakes uncontrollably, I register that it must be shock, but continue walking until into we’re back upstairs.

I deposit Faith onto one of the hard orange plastic chairs in the waiting room. We won’t be allowed to leave until she’s filled out the necessary paper work, and claimed the body. I don’t think she’s capable right now, so I resolve myself to stay strong, do it for her if need be. It’s not easy, in truth, I think of Faith’s kids as my own. I know that seems silly, but they’re the closest thing I’ve got to a family.

I sit beside her, uncertain how to proceed, what to say. Sorry just seems so hollow. I watch as she pulls her knees to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. Her sobs have subsided but tears still flow freely over her cheeks. She’s still shivering, slightly, but I notice. Without a word I walk over to the nurses station to request a blanket.

The seem to understand what’s happening. I don’t think anyone’s told them, but they recognize the look of loss. One of the older nurses, she could almost be my mother, hands me a wool blanket, her smile sympathetic.

I return to Faith’s side, she hasn’t moved. I settle the blanket across her shoulders, taking the time to arrange it just so. My task complete, I look up, only to notice her staring at me. I try to smile but it comes out a grimace.

“You need anything?” I ask in a soft whisper.

She shakes her head but doesn’t take her eyes off me. I feel self-conscious under her gaze, but maintain eye contact. The tension becomes too much and I clear my throat, hoping she might tell me what she wants me to do.

“He left her to die Boz,” she finally says, her eyes flashing with anger.

For a moment I’m not sure who she means, then the image of Fred, bible in hand, flickers through my memory. I don’t know how to respond to that. I want to tell her it’ll be alright, that Emily’s in a better place. I don’t though, I’m not sure it’s true.

Instead I pull her towards me, slowly, giving her ample opportunity to pull away. I’m not surprised when she doesn’t, somehow I knew she needed this. I rock her, back and forth, gently, hoping the motion is soothing. She becomes so still, I begin to think she’s fallen asleep.

I notice a doctor heading towards us, clipboard in hand. Faith pulls away from me, sitting up, her back straightening, her entire body becoming tense.

“Mrs. Yokas?” he asks.

She nods, not trusting herself to speak.

“I have some forms you need to fill out before we can release your daughter into your possession,” he explains, handing her the clipboard.

She takes it wordlessly. She signs her name, not bothering to read it over. We’ve both seen numerous release forms, they’re always the same.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Have you made arrangements?” he queries.

“No, I um, I haven’t had a chance,” she tells him, her voice cracking slightly.

“Well, when you have, just let us know, we’ll arrange transportation,” he replies.

I’m not sure how doctors know, maybe years of experience, maybe just some deeper connection with people's emotions, but he knows. Knows she needs to be alone. Knows there is nothing more he can say, or do. He takes the papers, retreating back the way he came.

“Come on,” I say, rising to my feet and offering her my hand.

She takes it, her face expressionless. The precinct will cover the funeral cost, that’s not a concern. What is a concern is where we go from here. She has closure, but it doesn’t lessen the pain.

It’s not until we’re outside that I realize the late hour. The sun sits just above the horizon, it’s light fading rapidly.

“Maybe we should see if we can get a lift back to the precinct,” I suggest.

“No. There’s something I need to do first,” she tells me.

She begins to walk in the opposite direction from the 55th. I’m not sure where she’s going, but I follow her all the same. It’s not my place to question her actions right now. Now, the only thing I can do is stay with her, try and offer her what little strength I have.

The faint chill of winter hangs in the air. It’s going to snow again. There’s something about the night that suits my mood. Everything is still, dark, quiet. Faith doesn’t speak, but she marches forward, intent guiding her footsteps.

It isn’t until we round the next corner that I become aware of our destination. She’s going to see Fred. I suppose it makes sense, he does deserve to know. Even if he won’t care, he’s still her father.

The street is empty, everyone having left to find shelter for the night. A low rumble echoes through the night, the sound of vehicles, and helicopters. The army has a patrol out. Faith stops directly in front of the crates we’d found him on yesterday. She stares at them for a moment, she seems confused, and somewhat surprised that Fred isn’t here.

With a slight shake, she begins moving again, walking towards one of the abandoned buildings. Something feels off, wrong, but I don’t stop her. She needs to do this, all I can do is try to keep her safe.

Inside several people cluster in groups, huddled under blankets and scraps of clothing. Few look up at our entrance, most ignore us. Faith’s eyes scan the crowd, searching each face for Fred. When she doesn’t find him, she moves deeper into the building.

I’ve about given up hope on finding him tonight. I open my mouth to tell Faith it’s time to leave when suddenly her posture stiffens. There, in the back of the building, isolated from everyone else, Fred sleeps.

Without a word, she moves towards him. He remains motionless, his breathing slow and steady. She stands over him, staring down at him, her expression unforgiving. I wonder if she intends to hurt him. The thought becomes real as she kicks him in the ribs. He comes awake with a start, clutching at his abdomen in pain.

“What the…” he cries, looking up at Faith in puzzlement.

“Get up,” she tells him, her voice cold, empty.

I know I should stop this, I know she’s not thinking straight. She’s hurting, and right now, she’s not exactly in control of herself. Despite that awareness, I remain frozen.

“Faith, so nice to see you again,” he spits, contempt oozing from every pore.

“I said, GET UP!” she repeats when he doesn’t stand.

She waits a moment, allowing him to rise to his feet. His hand hovers protectively on his ribs, but he smiles at her, his expression entirely sardonic.

“What do you want Faith? Can’t you see I have more important things to deal with,” he tells her, gesturing around the dilapidated building.

“What do I want? What do I want?” she cries, angry tears streaming down her face. “Emily’s gone Fred, she’s dead, you left her to die!”

Her hands clench by her sides, her entire body trembling. This time I’m certain it’s rage. Fred doesn’t even have the decency to look upset, or shocked. He sneers at her.

“She was judged Faith. Are you upset she’s gone? Or that she was found to be a bigger whore then her mother?” he mocks.

I watch as she raises her hand, striking Fred straight in the nose. My mind screams at me to stop her, but my body doesn’t cooperate. Helplessly, I continue to watch.

I can’t make out what she’s screaming, her words lost in their harshness. I’ve seen Faith beat down criminals, I’ve seen her fight off would be attackers, but never, never have I seen her this violent. Fred doesn’t fight back. He takes her blows, hit after hit, blood pouring from his wounds. The only sound in the room is her screams, and his laughter.

Fred falls to the ground. I notice Faith making no move to back off, so I finally interject. In three short strides I’m across the room, pulling her off him.

“He’s not worth it Faith, he’s not worth it.”

She struggles against me, her rage blinding her to everything else. After what seems an eternity, she stills. She blinks several times before turning back to Fred. Her hand moves to her mouth as she realizes what she’s done. The reality of the situation sets in and she collapses.

I gather her into my arms, practically carrying her from the building. No one spares us a second glance. Undoubtedly they heard the screams, knew exactly what transpired, but fear guards their tongues. I’m not even sure Fred’s alright, but right now, I don’t care. Faith’s my only concern.

It isn’t until we’re outside that Faith finally pulls away from me, standing on her own. She stares at her hands, Fred’s blood covers her porcelain white skin, marring their beauty. Her eyes are haunted, her expression horrified.

“It’s alright, come on, let’s get out of here,” I say, once again grabbing her arm.

I pull her towards the next street, stopping by a rain barrel. She thrusts her hands in, washing them until I’m certain she’s reached bone.

“Faith, we need to move,” I repeat.

She nods, drying her hands on her jeans. In the distance an army jeep roars through the streets. I pick up our pace, hoping to reach it before it disappears around the bend.

Faith doesn’t speak, but she keeps up with me. It isn’t until we’re on the back of the truck, heading towards the station that she her tears begin anew.

~*~

I don’t think anything could have prepared me for this. Being trapped inside, I didn’t realize the full extent of the damage. I can no longer tell where buildings once stood, where streets once ran. Everything melds together, until there is nothing left but destruction. Thick black smoke hangs in the air, blending with the dust, obscuring vision. It burns my lungs, causing me to choke, double over in a fit of coughing.

Beside me, Faith stares, her expression a combination of shock and horror. Screams ring out from every direction, they’re muffled only by the sounds of alarms and the wails of sirens. The words, this isn’t happening, run through my mind. It isn’t possible, this only happens in the movies, not here, not to us.

I feel as I’m frozen in place. I want to move, I know I should, but it’s as though some unknown force holds me in my place. Terror, I realize. And sadness, such overwhelming sadness. I’m surprised I don’t buckle under its weight. Crumple, like some piece of steel, hard and unyielding until the pressure becomes too much and I fall.

“Oh my God. Boz? What the hell happened?”

I hear Faith’s voice beside me, her tone laced with fear, confusion.

“I don’t know. I just…” I can’t seem to find the words. I don’t think they exist.

I can’t see, something I’m glad of. I don’t think I want to know the true extent of the damage. It’s enough to know its there, just beyond my vision. I can feel it. It surrounds me like a cloak, covering me in its wrongness. The world has been thrust into hell, and I want to scream.

The jeep pulls in front of the station. I mumble my thanks, not knowing if the driver hears. He doesn’t say anything as we climb out. Nothing, as he drives away. His tires spin on the loose gravel, sending dust into the air. I turn away before it can reach me.

Faith still hasn’t spoken. I’m not sure what I expect her to say, or what she expects me to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I’ve lost the will to try and figure it out. Wordlessly, I lead her into the station, past the staring eyes of those inside, and towards the locker rooms.

She heads straight to her cot, not bothering to change. She curls on her side, bringing her knees to her chest. She looks so much like a small child, lost, confused. She shivers slightly, but doesn’t climb beneath the blankets. I grab my own, laying it across her, covering her in its warmth.

“Here. It’s cold, you’ll need this,” I say by way of explanation. She doesn’t respond, not that I expected her to.

I don’t bother trying to find a replacement, the sheets will do. I don’t change before climbing under them. They provide little warmth. I focus on blocking out the cold, until sleep finally overwhelms me.

~*~

For a moment, I feel as though I’m floating. My body, light and buoyant. The world seems to spin, and suddenly, I’m falling, the earth rushing towards me at a dizzying speed. My eyes shut involuntarily, and I take a deep breath, knowing it’ll be my last.

When I open my eyes, the room comes into focus. It’s become such a familiar place, I no longer even question it. The night the dream stops, then I will be concerned. Until then, I have come to expect it, accept it.

I walk the length of the table, staring into its depths. The details are sharper now, clearer. The top, most likely oak, shines with dull uncertainty. I briefly imagine someone leaning over it, polishing the wood, trying desperately to reveal the grain, restore its beauty.

Footprints still cover the floor. They’re all my own, I’m almost certain of it. More and more each time I come. So many now, the bright red marble is visible beneath the dust. I’ve never seen anything like it. I imagine myself in some great palace, some place built before the dawn of time. It’s a foolish notion, but who can question the minds thoughts in a dream.

I move to the edge of the table, staring at the bowls. I’m tempted to touch one, pick it up, feel its weight. I reach for the one closest to me, my mind screaming protest. My fingertips graze it’s cusp, it burns through me like acid. My hand recoils.

I keep expecting something to change. It nags at me, until I’m certain it must be true. Everything is always the same. The same walls, bleeding into the same floor. The same endless corridors, the same table, the same bowls. Six.

Six.

There should be seven.

Staring at the table top, I recount them several times. Always reaching six. I’m sure there were seven. I don’t know what it means, but it terrifies me. A search of the room yields nothing. No bowl, no evidence that anyone but me has been here.

~*~

I awake with a scream.

Faith’s cot lies empty. I’m not sure where she went, but a moment of panic consumes me. I throw the covers aside, stepping out onto the cold, hard floor. I do a brief survey of the room, hoping she’s simply moved somewhere. Not seeing her, I turn to the door, reaching for it just as it opens. Faith looks startled, and very nearly drops her tray of food. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I thought I’d grab breakfast,” she tells me.

Her eyes seem clearer this morning. I’m not sure if it’s a front, or if a nights rest is all she needed. Either way, I’m not going to question her. She doesn’t need that right now.

“Thanks,” I reply, offering to take the tray.

She shakes her head, giving my still bandaged hand a side glance. Looking down, I realize I should have changed the dressing last night. There’s no sense in letting it get infected.

“I’ll change it after breakfast,” I tell her.

She nods, moving over to the cots. She removes one of the bowls, kneeling down next to Ty. She whispers something to him, I’m too far away to hear what. To my surprise, he takes it, and eats.

She returns to sit next to me, rationing out the remaining food. I offer her a small smile before digging in. I want to ask her if she dreamed last night, but this isn’t the time, or the place. Instead I busy myself with eating, hoping food will help quell the nausea I’m feeling.

“I spoke to Lieu,” she says suddenly, “he wanted me to take the day off, but I told him I needed to be out there.”

“You sure?” I ask,

“Yeah, I need to do something, you know?” she replies.

“Yeah, I know.”

And in a way I do. There’s something about the job that’s so consuming. No matter what’s going on in your personal life, it takes you away from it. Besides, I wasn’t looking forward to paroling the streets alone.

“I’m coming with you guys,” a voice beside me declares.

Looking over, I notice Ty, his bowl empty, his posture confident. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, but I nod, letting him know he’s welcome. We could use all the help we can get right now. Maybe he needs this as much as Faith does.

She smiles at him, a smile of understanding, comfort, and sympathy. He returns it. I notice he’s dressed, and wonder how I’d missed it before. I guess I’ve been so caught up in my own problems, Faith’s problems, I hadn’t had time for anyone else’s. The thought should make me feel guilty, but it doesn’t.

Ty offers to clear away breakfast while Faith changes my bandage. The swelling has gone down. Now, only an ugly red scar remains. Dirt covers the wound, and I’m once again concerned with infection. Faith seems to feel the same. She roughly washes it out, applying enough antiseptic to burn, causing me to pull my hand away. She grabs it again, shooting me a dirty look. Reluctantly, I let her finish.

They wait while I change. My clothes, fresh yesterday, are now the worst ones I own. I toss them into the locker, the pile of unwearables growing ever larger. I rush, not bothering to brush the new ones off, I don’t want to keep them waiting.

Outside, the sun has just begun to rise. The day is clear, well, as clear as it can be. I heard once that they sky might never clear again. Nuclear winter they call it, although no atom bombs have been detonated. Even now, the sky seems scorched. Dust particles, reflecting the light, glow red. I instantly think of fire, and that’s what it looks like, the sky is on fire.

We’ve been assigned to the waterfront today. It’s outside our usual jurisdiction, but now, the word is meaningless. We go where we are needed. The trip takes nearly two hours, by the time we arrive, my feet feel ready fall off. Ty seems in good spirits. He doesn’t talk, but his steps seem light, his presence calm. Faith walks between us, her own steps heavy, as though she’s forcing herself to move forward.

I haven’t been near the water yet. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this isn’t it. Where once sat a great expanse of water, now runs a small creek. I could easily jump over it. I wonder where it all went. Did it evaporate in the heat? Flood away somewhere else? So much has changed, the landscape around me is barely recognizable anymore.

A scent lingers in the air, I can’t quite place it. It’s stale, and sickly, not in the least bit pleasant. I nearly gag from it. Looking down into the muddy banks, I’m able to identify the smell. Rotting fish corpses, stuck in the mud, or floating belly up in the shallows, meet my gaze. They’re bloated, tinged in shades of greens and blues. The sight causes my stomach to churn.

Leaning over, I vomit noisily, noticing Faith doing the same. Only Ty remains unaffected, the only indication he’s noticed, is a tightness in his lips. Despite the vileness of this place, several people line the banks. Some, washing clothes, others, filling buckets. I’m not sure I’d want to go near that water, even if it meant my life.

We turn away from the scene, walking along the bank. I’m still not quite sure why we’re here. I sometimes wonder why we even bother. I often think it would be easier just to give up, become one of the nameless people on the streets, fighting only for survival. I long to take Faith away from all this. I’ve heard there are places up north, untouched by the devastation, the cities still standing. We could start a new life, a new existence. I know she won’t go. Not while her son’s still missing. I wonder what will happen when we find him, if we find him.

Gunshots pull me from my thoughts. Instantly we crouch down, staying low to the ground. My weapon is clutched in my hand, I don’t remember pulling it. I notice Faith and Ty, both armed, peering around, seeking out the source.

Shouts draw our attention. A man, probably in his late 30’s stands over two figures. One lies wounded, clutching his chest, blood seeping out between his fingers. The other, a woman, kneels above him, looking terrified. The man trains his gun on both.

Without thinking, I rise from my spot, my gun held in front of me, ready to fire at a moments notice. He hasn’t noticed me, but the woman has. Her gaze shifts, betraying my position. The man spins, turning to face me. The world lurches into slow motion.

His shot echoes a fraction of a second after mine. I watch him fall before something hits my chest, knocking me to the ground. All the air vanishes from my lungs. I can’t breathe. The woman screams, Faith screams. Ty moves towards the man, checking for a pulse and finding none. He’s radioing for help as Faith kneels at my side, pulling my head into her arms.

“Bosco?”

“Am I hit?”

“Yeah, just hold on, alright.”

Her tone is meant to be soothing, but I don’t miss the hint of panic in her voice. She’s afraid. I’m afraid. Only Ty seems unaffected. He stares at us, not blinking, not reacting. I think maybe he’s trying to ignore it. Afraid of what will happen if he acknowledges it.

Hours seem to pass before the low moan of sirens can be heard in the distance. Faith swaps compresses, pressing deeper into the wound. I nearly cry out, the pain radiating throughout my body. Tears have formed in her eyes, but she holds them back, trying to remain strong.

I’m dimly aware of my surroundings. Everything seems to move in still frame. I feel as though I’m dreaming. The sensation of floating once again comes over me. I briefly think this is a dream. Then why can’t I wake up.

I realize I’m being loaded into a bus, Faith by my side. She smiles softly at me, trying to tell me it’ll be alright. I believe her. I feel darkness calling me, the sweet bliss of unconsciousness. I fight it, trying desperately to remain awake. Faith’s eyes dance above me. Her face is blurred, and I wonder why I can no longer focus on it.

“Faith?”

“I’m right here Boz, just hold on, we’re almost there,” she replies, squeezing my hand for emphasis.

I nod, or at least try to. My body doesn’t respond. I’m cold. And numb. I’m only half aware of both sensations, like my mind is disconnected.

“The other man, the one with the girl?” I ask, only just realizing someone else had been hurt.

“Shh, don’t worry about it, they’re taking care of him,” she tells me, but her eyes hold a sadness I recognize all too well.

He’s dead.

The last thought crushes what’s left of my resolve. I allow the darkness to wash over me, drifting into a restless sleep.

~*~

The blackness recedes, leaving nothing but surreal brightness. I blink, bringing the room into focus. I’m beginning to tire of this. This room, this place. I close my eyes willing it to change. Willing myself to wake up. This is a dream, I should be able to control it.

Nothing.

The room remains unchanged. I feel as though I’ve stumbled into some puzzle. The pieces, lying before me, and if I can only figure out where they go, it’ll make sense.

“Boz, I don’t know if you can hear me…”

The bowls. It has something to do with the bowls. I’m almost certain of it. I move to stand by the table. Six, still six. The number calms me somehow, I don’t know what I would have done if it had changed. It still doesn’t make sense. I want to cry out in frustration. They seem to stare up at me, mocking me with their presence.

My patience is wearing thin. I leave the table, pacing in circles around the room. The corridors are gone now. Lost to the soft contours of the stone walls. No windows, no doors. No end to anything, yet it’s a prison all the same.

“What am I supposed to do?” I cry out, my voice filled with confusion, anger.

Only my echo responds. Rage burns within me until I’m shaking from it. I storm back towards the table, wanting, needing to do something, anything. I reach out, grabbing one of the bowls by its base.

It’s cold, freezing in fact. It scorches through me, burning in its ice. Without pause, I throw it at the wall, watching as it shatters. The pieces fall to the floor, leaving no mark, making no sound. For a moment I can only stare at them. I hadn’t expected it to break. I didn’t think this place would allow it.

“Boz, you’re not allowed to leave me…”

The ground seems to lurch beneath my feet. It’s as though the floor has become liquid, swirling around, trying to pull me into its depths. I stumble, falling against the table. What have I done?

The walls seem shift, darken. They move. Looking closer, I realize it isn’t the walls, but flies, thousands upon thousands of them. They’re everywhere. They cover the walls, the floor, and the table. The crawl in the bowls, piles upon piles of them. They swarm around me, covering my skin, filling my mouth, blinding my eyes.

They hum with a deafening intensity. So much noise, I can’t block it out. I can’t breathe. I keep trying to suck in air, only to feel them enter my lungs, creep through my bloodstream. They’re everywhere. I collapse under the weight of them. They consume me.

Blink

I find myself standing in the room from my dreams. I can no longer count the number of times I’ve been here. Silence echoes through the space. I remember noise, but that can’t be right, sound doesn’t exist here, does it? A quick survey indicates nothing has changed. I’m beginning to hate this place.

I make my way to the table. An unnamed fear courses through me. I stand frozen at its base, staring at its top. Five. There were six. Visions dance through my memory. I feel as though I should know what happened to the sixth. It’s there, at the edge of my consciousness, but it escapes me. Something moves on the table. I squint, leaning over, my eyes seeking out the source. A fly, his wig caught in the grain of the wood. He struggles to free himself. I swallow a mouthful of bile.

“I can’t lose you too…”

~*~

It takes me several moments before I become aware of my surroundings. False white light hits my eyes, momentarily blinding me. The rank smell of disinfectant assaults my senses. It’s underlined with the faint smell of decay. Hospital, my mind supplies. Warmth spreads through my hand, Faith.

“Faith?”

“Hey, I’m here, I’m right here,” she whispers. She’s been crying.

I return her squeeze, my eyes seeking out hers. It takes me a moment to bring her into focus. I’m met with the swirling gray of her irises, bloodshot red tingeing their corners. She looks tired, and relieved, and something else I can’t name.

I struggle to recall why I’m here. My body has that dull ache that comes with injury and painkillers. Numb, so that I’m only aware of it’s existence, not it’s force. The room is dark, shadows dance across the walls. I try to sit, but Faith pushes me back into the bed.

“Don’t. You need to rest,” she tells me.

“What happened?” I ask.

“You don’t remember?”

I shake my head, the motion making my dizzy. The last memory I have is Faith changing my bandage. I think it was this morning. I’m not certain anymore.

“You were shot. It caught the top corner of your vest, went in on an angle,” she informs me, her tone betraying her worry.

All at once it comes back to me, the water, the shooter, the girl. I wonder why I blocked it out. It’s as sharp as day now. I know the answer to my next question, but I ask it all the same.

“The man, the one with the woman. Is he…?” I ask, my words trailing off. I instantly regret asking.

Faith’s expression saddens and she shakes her head. I close my eyes, letting her explanation wash over me.

“There was nothing they could do. He was hit in the chest, bled out on the scene. The girl's alright, a little shook up, but okay,” she tells me.

I sigh, knowing it didn’t matter. Me being there probably made it worse. Maybe not, at least the girls alright. Or she will be.

“You got the perp though, a perfect shot. They think he was trying to rob them, for some prescription meds,” she tells me, her tone disbelieving.

I’m beginning to doubt we’re doing any good out there. How long before the entire city is left to the rubble. Man against man, fighting one another. For food, water, medication. How long before all that’s left are scavengers.

“I need to get out of here,” I say, struggling once again to sit up.

Faith shakes her head, her eyes pleading with me not to argue. I can’t help it. I hate this place. Hospitals have always bothered me, now, it’s worse. I know it’s useless to fight, when Faith decides to put her foot down, it stays down.

“Alright, I’ll stay,” I tell her, lying back onto the bed. “You should get some sleep. I promise, I won’t go anywhere,” I tell her.

She looks exhausted. More then she usually does. The past few days have taken their toll on all of us. But Faith, she lost a daughter, and a husband, and almost a partner. She needs rest.

“I’ll be fine,” she tells me, pulling her chair closer to the bed. The legs scratch against the floor, screeching. The sound causes me to cringe. She yawns, betraying her words. I know she won’t leave my side, even if it means sleeping in the hard plastic chair.

“Okay, but I reserve the right to have them sedate you if you don’t,” I tell her, hoping to lighten the mood.

She laughs, its slight, I’d probably have missed it otherwise. But it’s there, and it makes me smile.

“Get some rest,” she tells me, a soft smile stretching across her face.

I nod, closing my eyes. I’m tired, but I won’t sleep. I’m terrified of the dreams, I don’t want to return to them. Instead I listen to Faith next to me. She shifts several times, trying to get comfortable. Soon her breathing becomes even, steady. I open my eyes, glancing over at her. She looks so peaceful, so still. Her head rests on her hand, her legs tucked under her. It can’t be very comfortable, but she’s fast asleep.

The soft beep of monitors and the hum of the generator become my only companions. My shoulder aches, the painkillers wearing off. I’m tempted to wake Faith, ask her to find a nurse. I don’t. Mostly because I know she needs rest, but also because I doubt they have enough to go around as it is. I don’t want to deplete their stock.

I try and concentrate on the room. Rain spatters against the window, blocking out the night. Everything is dull, but tidy. I’m almost surprised they manage to keep the place so well organized, so clean. They’ve probably had more patients in the past week then they usually have in a year. I wonder how many of those went straight to the morgue.

I can still see the faces of the dead. Staring up at me from the debris. The image is burned into my memory. They’ll haunt me for the rest of my life, that I’m certain of.

We walk through the streets, not stopping. In a situation like this, we need to check in. It’s the first thing you learn at the academy. In case of a disaster, check in. Don’t stop to help, check in. I want to help. I need to. But at the same time, I’m not sure I can. Where would I start?

Faith shuffles beside me. She’s dazed, her eyes wide, her expression pure shock. I think I’m still numb. The reality of it all has yet to sink in. I’m not sure I want it to. I’m still hoping this is some bad dream, some nightmare from which I have yet to wake.

The ground smolders. The air, thick with smoke, ash, burns my lungs. Even through my makeshift mask. People mill in the streets. Some helping, some looting, some standing and simply staring. No one seems to know what to do. I wish I could tell them, but I don’t know either.

The devastation is everywhere. No corner of the city is untouched. I wonder how widespread it is. Is there anything left? Are we the only survivors? I push that thought aside. I need to have hope, need to believe we’ll be okay. That those we love are okay.

We pass our RMP, the car crushed under a slab of concrete. We’re not far from the station, but I have a feeling it’ll take use a while to get there. If there is a there to get to. Beside me Faith stumbles, falling to her knees. She cries out, clutching at her ankle.

“Are you okay?” I ask, offering my hand.

“I’m good, I think I just twisted it. It’ll be fine,” she tells me.

I know she’s lying. She limps the rest of the way, refusing the offer of my hand. I don’t push her. Now is not the time to start an argument. We need each other. And we need to be thankful that we even still have each other.

My eyes open and I blink, trying to force out the memory. I glance at Faith, her face is twisted, like she’s seeing something she doesn’t like. She mumbles in her sleep, the words ‘no’ are the only ones I can make out. I don’t know what she’s seeing.

I lift my arm, the effort causing me to wince. I grasp her hand, shaking her awake. She comes to with a start, her eyes wide and panicked.

“Hey, it’s alright. You were having a nightmare,” I whisper.

“Oh god, Boz. I can’t do this anymore,” she cries.

I move to the side of the bed, pulling the covers back. I motion for her to join me, and I’m not surprised when she does. She positions herself carefully at my side. Tears stream down her face, but I don’t ask about them. I know. And she knows I know.

I fall asleep moments after her, drifting into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

I stare at my reflection for a moment. The past few nights have been dreamless, something I’m thankful for. I imagine the pain killers have something to do with that. I’m actually starting to look rested. Still thin, my eyes still sunken, but I look better then I did. I glance down at my clothes. They’re slightly wrinkled, but clean. Another improvement.

Ty was nice enough to bring me my service uniform. Although technically, it’s not mine. The pants are too long. They hang awkwardly over my shoes. The jacket’s too tight. The buttons pull across my chest. It’ll have to do. I’m standing in the small washroom, adjacent to my room. The only light, muted gray dawn, filtering through the window.

Faith has yet to arrive. She stayed the night, leaving this morning to change. She didn’t want me to come, insisting I remain here until formally discharged. Truthfully, I’m doing better then I had anticipated. The space between my chest and shoulder still burns. An ugly red scar, bound together with sutures, is all that’s left of the bullet entrance wound. It remains hidden by a thin piece of white gauze.

They provided me with a sling, requesting that I keep the arm immobilized. I’ll need to wait for Faith to help me put it on. Four days in the hospital has left me eager to get out, despite the circumstances. Anything is better then being trapped here.

A light rap on the door indicates Faith’s arrival. I open the door, greeting her with a soft smile. Her own dress blues hang off her. Either they were hers and she’s lost more weight then I feared, or they belonged to a much larger woman.

“You ready?” she asks.

“Almost. Could you?” I ask, holding up the sling.

She nods, taking it from me and motioning for me to turn around. I oblige her, offering my arm. She reaches around me, setting my arm before fastening the straps behind my neck.

“Thanks,” I say, turning around.

“You don’t have to come, not if you’re not ready,” she tells me.

“I’m ready. And I want to,” I reply.

She smiles, forcing back a tear. I take her hand with my free one. It’s the first I injured, but thanks to the flood of antibiotics they’ve pumped through my system, it’s almost healed. She grasps it lightly, leading me to the door.

Downstairs, an army jeep waits for us. I climb in beside her, sinking back into the seat. I’ve been trapped in the hospital so long, I’d almost forgotten what it was like out here. The streets are still broken, but much of the rubble has been cleared. Pushed away to the sides of the road, allowing access, however limited.

Buildings loom around us. Hollowed out shells, skeletal in their appearance. Empty windows stare down at us like dead eyes. It’s early, the sun just peaking over the horizon. The city is silent, and barren.

The cemetery comes into view. Beside me, Faith tenses. I squeeze her hand, letting her know I’m here. Today will be hard. Every day is hard, but today, we bury her daughter. The jeep stops at the gates. I climb down, offering my hand. Faith takes it, stepping off onto the sidewalk.

There are only a select few people here. Faith wanted it that way, something small. Ty stands next to Swersky. Ma sits in one of the front rows, her eyes red from crying. She knows what it means to be a mother. She offers Faith a small smile. Faith acknowledges it with a nod. I’d asked if she wanted to track down her parents, or Fred’s. She declined. Fred is conspicuously absent.

I lead Faith to the front row of chairs, sitting between her and Ma. Emily’s coffin, pearl white, sits on a rig over her plot. Faith doesn’t look at it. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. Faith sits with a rigidness that comes with discomfort, false strength. She’s dangerously close to breaking down, but I don’t think anyone else notices.

Clouds roll across the sky, threatening rain. The sun’s still visible, but given a few hours, it won’t be. Faith had to fight to bury Emily. With so many dead, and the cities cemeteries non functional, it was almost a losing battle. Only the power of the mayor’s office allowed this. We have Swersky to thank for that. I was half expecting Ty to be upset. We haven’t buried Sully. Or any of the other officers we’ve lost. Their time will come.

The service is simple, short. A brief prayer, nothing more. Faith didn’t want a full service. Truthfully, I think that’s Fred’s doing. Faith no longer has much faith in God. And I can’t say I blame her. I’m not sure I do either.

The minister becomes silent and all eyes turn to Faith. She stands, moving to the side of the casket. She bends down, clutching a handful of dirt. Standing, she tosses it unceremoniously onto the coffin. Her face is stoic, barren of all emotion. I know it’s a façade.

The task complete, she leaves the cemetery, never once looking back. She doesn’t want to see Emily lowered into the ground. And it’s probably best she doesn’t. I follow behind her, not hurrying. I know she needs a moment to gather herself. There are too many eyes here.

Reaching her side, I fall in step behind her. She walks with purpose, determination. I don’t speak, and neither does she. Some things just don’t need words. And words only make some things worse.

It isn’t until we’re back on the sidewalk, just outside the main gates, that she turns around. I stop, waiting for her to tell me what to do. I don’t know what she needs, but I’m willing to do anything she asks.

She watches as those attending rise, each adding their own handful of dirt. It spills over the sides, obscuring the colour, trickling down like water. They’ll wait until everyone’s gone before they put her to rest. Faith hazards a final glance at the coffin before turning away, her eyes seeking out mine.

“It’s better this way, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Yeah, it is,” I respond, not certain I believe the words.

I move towards her, my movements slow. I come to rest mere inches from her, offering my arms. She comes into them willingly. A tremor runs through her, and she begins to sob. It’s quiet at first, building in intensity. I rub her back, holding her close.

Moments pass before her cries still. She pulls away, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve. She doesn’t acknowledge her breakdown, and I don’t expect her to. She smiles up at me before speaking.

“Thanks. For coming,” she tells me.

I nod, offering her my hand before turning towards the precinct. Faith wanted me to return to the hospital, but I don’t need to be there. They gave me what antibiotics I needed, and the wound’s healing nicely. Besides, Faith needs to sleep. Whether she’ll admit it or not, she doesn’t sleep at the hospital. I know.

No one says anything as we enter the station. Several officers glance at us, giving us tight smiles or nods. Faith keeps her eyes trained ahead. She moves past the front desk, down the hall and into the locker rooms. I practically jog to keep up.

The locker rooms are empty, something I’m thankful for. Faith pauses in front of the mirrors, staring intently at her reflection. I keep my distance, waiting for some sign she needs me. I’m not even sure she notices I’m here.

I realize she has no intention of leaving the mirror, so I move to my locker to change. The door squeaks as it opens, lack of use has left it rusty. The interior is clean, my clothes brushed and hung. I glance over at Faith, her reflection offers me a tight smile. My eyes soften. Even with everything that she’s been through, she still looks out for me.

I pull out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before neatly folding and hanging up my service uniform. Despite my desire to never see it again, I know I will. Faith leaves the sinks, moving to her own locker. She changes into a pair of sweats and a NYPD sweater. She looks comfortable, but her eyes tell me she’s anything but.

It’s still early, but there really isn’t anything to do. I won’t be allowed back out onto the streets for a while, and I won’t let Faith go without me. She sits cross-legged on her cot, her eyes staring into the distance. I mirror her position on my own, wanting to be near, but knowing she needs her space.

“You should try to sleep,” she says suddenly, frowning over at me.

I want to tell her I’m alright. I spent the last few days sleeping, the last thing I want is more. But I know she’s only being protective. Truthfully, I should sleep. It’s been a long morning and I don’t want to end up back in the hospital.

“Only if you do. You didn’t sleep last night,” I tell her.

She spent the better part of the night tossing and turning. Once, when I woke, she was standing by the window, staring out into the night.

“Yeah,” she agrees, laying back on her cot.

I follow her lead, staring up at the ceiling. Thunder crashes outside, and it strikes me as odd. It’s too late in the year for thunder. The sound of the rain lulls me into blackness.

~*~

There’s a sense of urgency in the air. Something’s wrong but I can’t place what it is. The room remains unchanged. I’m half tempted to ignore the table. It’s been days since I last visited the dream. I’m terrified to see how many bowls are missing. I need to though, something compels me.

The long oak table looms before me. I approach it warily, my eyes closing as I reach its base. I force them open, staring down at the worn top. Five. I frown, nothing has changed. I shudder, knowing it is wrong, there shouldn’t still be five.

I find myself glancing around the room, searching for some small difference. Nothing. I blink, realizing there is a difference, however subtle. Everything is blurred, faded. Colours are muted, dull. It’s as though someone has diluted the dream, made it less real.

Bosco

I spin, searching the room for the source of the voice. It seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. I recognize it. Faith.

“Faith?” I cry out. Only my echo replies.

A flicker of white draws my attention. Before I can comprehend what I’m doing, I’m rushing down the corridor.

“Faith!”

My cries have become more urgent, my need greater. I’m not sure why, but finding her becomes important, necessary. My own survival depends on it. The corridor has no direction, no destination. It seems to change as I move along it. She’s always ahead of me, always slipping around a corner as I draw nearer.

The stone is cold against my feet. Glancing down, I realize I am barefoot. The image of shoes flashes in my mind and suddenly I am wearing a sturdy pair of black combat boots. I’m so surprised, I stop, staring down at them. They fade, seeming to shift into nothingness. I focus on the image, watching as they solidify.

Bosco

“Faith?”

The boots are forgotten as I take up my pursuit. They ring out on the floor, echoing through the hall. Why won’t she stop? My pace increases until I’m sure my heart will burst from my chest. No matter how fast I run, she manages to stay a pace ahead of me. Exhaustion overwhelms me and I stumble, falling to my knees. Tears of frustration stream down my face. I lift my head, screaming to the heavens above.

~*~

“Faith?”

I blink, bring the room into focus. Obscured light shines under the door, letting me know it’s still daylight. I push aside the blankets, the dream still fresh in my mind. I immediately move to Faith’s cot. She’s gone.

“Faith?” I call out to the room, my voice a forced whisper.

“She’s not here,” Ty replies.

I glance over and notice him lying in his bed. His eyes hold a far away look, his face the picture of sorrow. I frown.

“What do you mean she’s not here?” I demand, trying and failing to keep the irritation from my tone.

“She left. Got up, got dressed and left. About an hour ago,” he informs me.

“You let her leave?” I ask, outraged.

“You think I could have stopped her?” he asks, sounding defeated.

“Get dressed. We’re going to look for her,” I tell him.

He blinks before glancing up at me. He doesn’t speak, but stands and moves to his locker to change. I open my own, pulling out my coat. Moments pass, but it feels like an eternity. Bile rises in my throat as my panic intensifies. I close my locker, waiting for Ty to do the same. We leave the precinct, heading out into the cold, wet night air.

“She say anything?” I ask, breaking the silence.

He shakes his head, guilt apparent in his eyes.

We struggle against the wind. It presses against me, wrapping me in it’s chill. Icy rain soaks through my coat, leaving me cold and damp. The day’s light is fading, murky gray clouds hand low in the sky. Ty shuffles beside me, his footsteps wary. There’s no one on the streets. It still strikes me as odd, seeing the city deserted. Normally the streets would be filled. Throngs of people, herds of cars. The silence is deafening.

I feel as though we’ve been everywhere. The site of her apartment, the hospital, the park. We even checked the abandoned building where we’d first encountered Fred. He wasn’t there. Neither was she. I’m half tempted to give up. I want to kill her. I know she’s hurting, lost. But she knows better then this. Taking off, wandering the streets, alone, it’s dangerous.

My arm is starting to burn again. I’m acutely aware of the wound. It pulses with pain, radiating through my chest. The rain isn’t helping. I’m cold, and tired. But I can’t stop now, not until I find her. It’s all so senseless. But most things are now. They have been since the first day.

I feel as though I’m walking through water. The air is heavy, thick. It suffocates me. I focus on my steps, trying to block out the devastation around us. We’re nearing the station now. The damage is less severe here, but it’s still evident. We haven’t stopped, afraid if we did, we’d never start again.

The precinct looms ahead of us. It’s relatively intact, something I find oddly comforting. Dozens of officers mill out front. My eyes immediately land on Sully and Davis. Relief floods me knowing they’re alive.

Beside me Faith stops, the reality of what’s happening sinking in. She brings her hand to her lips. It’s as though she’s fighting a building scream. I know, I want to scream too. Or cry. But there will be time for that later. I hope.

“She’s probably back by now,” Ty comments, drawing me from my thoughts.

“No. She’s out here, somewhere,” I tell him, my steps becoming laboured.

“Bosco. You just recovered from a gun shot wound. You’re practically asleep on your feet. We need to go back,” he tells me.

“Not without Faith,” I shout, becoming frustrated.

“You’re gonna end up killing yourself,” he replies.

“If I don’t find Faith, I don’t care,” I tell him.

I take us around a corner, my destination known. I’ve been avoiding coming here. Not because I don’t expect to find her. But if she is here, I’m not sure what I can do. The gates to the cemetery seem ominous. They arch into the sky, stark black against slate gray. A shiver courses through me.

Relief washes over me as I spot her. She’s kneeling, her hand stroking the cold red stone. Ty slumps onto a bench and after a moment, I join him. She obviously needs this moment, alone, and I won’t take that from her.

It’s as though she sensed our presence. She turns towards us, her eyes red with tears. I stand, leaving Ty on the bench and making my way to her. I kneel beside her, placing my hand on her shoulder.

“Hey. You okay?” I ask, feeling stupid for the question.

“Tell me he’s alive,” she begs.

It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Charlie. I feel guilty for not thinking of him sooner. I nod, gathering her into my arms.

“We’ll find him,” I promise.

“He’s all I have left,” she sobs, burying her face in my neck.

She’s all I’ve ever had, but I don’t tell her that. She doesn’t need that burden right now. I pull her to her feet, only my good arm keeping her from crumbling. I pull back, raising my hand to wipe aside a tear.

“Come on, lets get you out of the rain,” I say.

She nods, allowing me to half lead, half carry her back to the station. Ty follows behind us. No one speaks, no one needs to. It’s dark by the time we return, the rain changing to snow.

~*~

I don't remember falling asleep, but I know I have. This room exists nowhere else. The colours have regained their vividness, becoming almost too real, too perfect. The floor is practically bare now, my nightly visits lifting the dust from their surface. A strange sense of calm fills the air. I find myself growing wary.

The table still sits on the far side, its length dwarfed only by the size of the room. Curved walls surround me, blending into an infinite background. The corridor is gone, the room becoming endless once more. I know it should concern me, but for some reason, it doesn't. I'm not sure why it changes, only that it's a dream, and anything is possible.

I move to the table, somehow knowing what I'll find. Despite that knowledge, I'm still surprised by the sight. Five bowls still remain, but the fifth is lying in pieces, only four are intact. The shattered remnants of the fifth bowl seem to stare up at me, mocking me with their presence.

I reach hesitantly for one of the larger pieces. Somewhere on the edge of my memory, I remember touching one, the searing cold coursing through my veins. I’m surprised to feel nothing but the cool touch of clay. I turn the piece over, searching for some answer hidden within its worn surface.

If it does hold an answer, I cannot find it. Its surface is smooth, marred only by the same etchings found on the others. There is no pattern to the break, nothing to suggest what has happened. I run my thumb along its length, tracing the jagged edge. With a cry I pull my hand away, allowing the piece to fall to the ground. I note a paper thin scratch running the length of my thumb. Blood pours from the wound, dripping onto the polished red marble floor.

The bleeding doesn’t last long, the scrape barely noticeable. It stings though, reminding me of its presence. I glance down, only to find the floor bare, clean. I close my eyes, willing myself to wake up. I don’t want to be here anymore, I never did.

When I open them, the room remains. Glancing at the table, I notice the remnants of the fifth bowl are gone. I frown before once again turning the length of the room. I’m immediately drawn to the back wall. Where once there was only the curved plane of stone, now sits a window. It curves endlessly, its corners meeting at odd angles, I pull my eyes away.

I approach it slowly, not sure I want to see what lies beyond this place. Inside is strange enough. I know I need to, my own curiosity demands it. Familiar red sky meets my gaze. For a moment I think perhaps this is real. The sun is barely visible, blotted out by haze and dust. It's strikingly similar to the sky in the conscious world.

Nothing dots the landscape, only flat planes of dust and dirt. It stretches on, disappearing over the horizon. I search for something, anything that might trigger some memory. Buildings, a blade of grass, a tree, but find nothing.

I'm able to see part of the building I'm in. Outside the walls mirror the interior, the same smooth stone curving into nothingness. I can see no end, nothing to suggest a corner, a change in the façade.

A low rumble echoes through the land, shaking the building in its intensity. The sky lights up, murky red become vibrant scarlet, flashing to angry orange. I peer up, frowning as rain falls from an empty sky. No, not rain, fire. With a cry, I run, diving under the long oak table.

~*~

I wake covered in sweat, my heart pounding, my breath labored. Beside me Faith mumbles, turning onto her side. I wouldn't leave her side last night, terrified I'd wake to find her gone. Unconcerned now, I push aside the covers, slipping carefully out of bed in an effort not to disturb her.

I make my way to the sinks, pausing only to fill a water bucket. It's lukewarm, but it washes away the night’s sweat and dirt. I stare at my reflection for a moment, playing the dream over in my mind.

Pain radiates through my hand. Glancing down, I notice an angry red scar running the length of my thumb. I swallow, the colour draining from my face. Glancing back to the mirror, wide, frightened eyes meet my gaze. I suddenly feel ill.

I move to the door, leaving the room. I stumble down the hall, the ground seeming to tilt beneath my feet. My stomach lurches. I make it outside, around the side of the building into the small alley. There, I brace my hand on the wall, leaning over to empty the contents of my stomach.

Only when there is nothing left do I straighten. I use my sleeve to wipe my mouth, my lip twitching at the aftertaste. I remain outdoors for a moment, allowing the cold night air to wash over me. My breath leaves an icy trail in the air, catching and hanging for a moment before dissipating.

With a final shaky breath, I move inside, climbing the stairs to the locker rooms. I notice Faith, sitting up, her eyes wide with uncertainty and sorrow. I offer her a small smile, hoping I haven’t given her cause to worry.

“Hey, sorry, I just needed some air,” I explain, noting the softening of her eyes.

“That’s okay, I was just…” she trails off, leaving the thought unsaid.

I move across the room, perching myself on the edge of her cot. She shifts, moving to the edge to give me room. I lie back, opening my arms in invitation. She curls into me, no hesitation in her movement. The faint taste of bile still touches my tongue, but I ignore it.

I remain awake for the remainder of the night, not trusting myself to fall asleep. Exhaustion is a far better fate then the dream. Faith sleeps peacefully for once, the only sound her heartbeat, slow and measured. I’m momentarily lulled into a false sense of security.

Morning comes too soon, and despite Swersky’s protests, he relents and allows me to retake my place on the streets. I suspect his need for cops is stronger then his concern for my health. I’m glad for it, knowing I wouldn’t be able to tolerate spending days on end doing nothing.

Breakfast is sparse and unappetizing. We’re slowly beginning to run out of supplies, no one certain what will happen when we do. The food sits in my stomach like a lead weight, and I regret eating. Faith doesn’t seem to be doing much better, half her plate untouched.

I don’t bother lecturing, knowing I’m not in a position to say anything. Instead, I clear the dishes, leaving her to change. When I return, she’s sitting on the room’s only bench, staring at the tile floor. I move to my own locker, pulling out a jacket before moving to take my place at her side.

She glances up, resignation forming on her features. I offer her my hand, pulling her to her feet. She follows me from the room, her steps heavy and labored. Once outside, I pause, taking in the stillness of the morning. Low clouds hand in the air, threatening snow.

We make our way east, heading towards the rising sun. There really isn’t much that needs doing today, but our presence is still necessary. We walk, content to demonstrate that the city still has some semblance of control. We know it’s a front, but if it prevents a full scale riot, that’s good enough for me.

Faith hasn’t spoken all morning, and I find myself growing concerned. I hazard several glances in her direction, hoping to meet her eye. She keeps her gaze fixed on the ground, her expression mute.

Empty rows of buildings line the street, no one in sight. For a brief moment I wonder where everyone has gone. I know many fled the city, but some remained. Today there is no sign of anyone. It’s as if New York has become a ghost town, hollow save for fixed reminders of what once was.

Light snow begins to fall, bathing the landscape in white. I shiver, drawing my coat tight. I turn towards Faith, only to find the space next to me empty. I turn, overcome with a moment of blinding panic. It disappears as I spot her, standing in the middle of the street, staring at the sky. I make my way towards her.

“You alright?” I ask, knowing she isn’t but needing her word.

“Fine, just tired,” she tells me, the lie evident in her tone.

I don’t argue, or even question her. Instead, I take her hand, leading her to what was once a park. The ground is obscured by snow, the trees withered stumps now. We manage to find a bench, relatively intact. I sit on its end, pulling Faith down beside me.

She doesn’t speak, instead choosing to close her eyes, her head falling back. I leave her, somehow knowing this is what she needs. I mimic her posture, resting my own head mere inches from hers.

We make our way past the broken street and hollowed remains of squad cars. It isn’t until we’ve reached the front doors that we stop. I note the expression of horror, reflected back at me from dozens of faces. Faith hovers at my side.

“You guys alright?” Sully asks, only just noticing our presence.

“Yeah, you?” I reply, scanning the crowd for anyone else I might recognize. Few faces come to mind.

“Yeah. What the hell happened?” he continues

“I don’t know. I was hoping you might,” I respond.

He shakes his head, obviously not having an answer. We make our way inside, the crowd frightened and dazed. We’re ushered into the briefing room, finding seats wherever possible.

Hours seem to pass before Swersky appears, his expression grim. I tense, part of me hoping he knows what happened, another part, not wanting the knowledge.

“Settle down everyone,” his voice echoes through the room, stilling what little conversation there was.

“Right now, we don’t know what’s going on. What I can tell you, is that casualties are high. We won’t know the full extent of the damage for some time, but until then, we’re treating this as a national disaster,” he begins.

I glance at Faith, noting the look of concern in her eyes. I know she’s thinking of her family, wondering if they’ve survived. She seems haunted, and afraid.

“I want everyone out there,” Swersky finishes. I curse myself for missing the last portion of his speech.

The room stands in unison, everyone filling out in twos. I know we likely won’t sleep tonight, maybe not for some time.

My eyes open, blinking at the soft obscured light. Faith remains motionless beside me. I’m hesitant to wake her, but know we’ll freeze if we stay here too long. Fighting against myself, I lean over, shaking her awake.

She comes awake with a start, her eyes tinged with panic. Upon seeing me, she relaxes, sinking back into the bench. Her eyes remain open, staring up at the sky.

“I guess we need to move?” she asks, her voice a mere whisper.

“Yeah, we do,” I tell her.

She stands suddenly, moving towards the street. I push myself off the bench, jogging to catch up with her. Within moments I’m by her side, heading back towards the precinct. It’s too early to go in, but I don’t question her direction.

The snow continues to fall, covering the street in white. It’s become almost ankle deep now, and shows no signs of relenting. We wade through it, the process long and arduous. The sky has become a dull gray, thick, heavy clouds hanging low on the horizon. I stumble, barely catching myself before hitting the icy ground.

The precinct comes into view, I can just make it out through the swirling mass of snow and haze. We press on, neither of us stopping until we are inside. The main doors slam behind us, echoing through the empty room. I frown, again wondering where everyone is.

We make our way to the briefing room. Inside, rows of desks are filled, additional officers standing in the back of the room. We move inside, my eyes seeking out Swersky. He frowns at our late entrance but says nothing.

We find a spot, along the back wall, next to Davis. He stares ahead, his expression part apprehension, part acceptance. I’m still not certain what’s going on, but the atmosphere is charged with tension.

“What’s going on?” I bend over to whisper in Davis’s ear.

“You didn’t hear over the radio?” he responds.

I shake my head, glancing at Faith. She seems as lost as I. My attention turns back to Davis, realizing he is speaking.

“The President issued an order turning all military control over to FEMA. They’re assigning a rep to us, he’s on his way,” he informs me, his expression solemn.

I glance at Faith, the impact of the decision causing her to frown. Transferring control to the Federal Emergency Management Agency is a last resort, something that should never happen. Things must be worse then we initially thought.

The room becomes silent once more. I turn my attention to the front, automatically recognizing the suit as a government official. He says something to Swersky, causing him to shake his head emphatically. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. Several moments of conversation passes, the room straining to hear. Minutes later, the suit moves aside, leaving a reluctant Swersky to mount the dais.

“Alright everyone, settle down,” he barks, earning odd looks from the silent room. “The 55th precinct is being converted to a management centre. Several of you are going to remain behind, the rest are going to be transferred to the 73rd precinct, where they’ve set up a temporary command post,” he continues.

I glance at Faith, her expression unreadable. The words, several, ring through my mind, and I’m suddenly dreading being separated from Faith. I know it’s unlikely, but Swersky’s not in control here any longer, and it’s doubtful his input will be asked for.

The room waits in silence, confusion mounting as Swersky leaves the dais, making room for the man in the suit. He pauses briefly, glancing at his notes before turning his attention to the room.

“A list of those officers remaining behind will be left in the locker rooms. I want anyone not on that list cleared out by 1300 hours. Until then, spend the time packing your belongings and gathering any supplies you might need at your new headquarters,” he states, not bothering to wait for a response before exiting the room.

I turn and follow Faith from the room, pushing her way outside and towards the locker room. The list is posted next to the sinks, I’m almost afraid to look at it. Faith makes her way to the front, squeezing between two unknown officers to scan the list. I remain back, knowing she’ll check for my name too. Moments later, she returns to my side.

“We’re both leaving,” she tells me.

I breathe a sigh of relief, not wanting to consider being separated from her. I notice Ty’s figure, his head falling forward as he finishes reading the list. He moves towards the door, Faith stepping forward to intersect him.

“You’re staying, aren’t you?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he replies, not making eye contact.

Faith moves aside, wordlessly letting him leave. I know I should feel some sense of loss, but right now, I’m staying with Faith, and that’s all that matters. Faith’s expression is unreadable, but I know she’s worried. Ty has no one now, and the thought concerns her.

I wait until the room clears before moving to my locker. We still have several hours before we need to clear out, but there’s nothing else to do, so I begin to pack. All of my meager belongings are shoved into my duffle bag. The edges bulge, the zipper barely remaining closed.

Across the room, Faith packs her own bag, folding each item with care and precision. Not knowing what else to do, I lay back on my cot, resting my head on my bag. I watch as Faith does a final scan of her locker. Content she has everything, she closes it lightly before moving to her own cot.

She sits, crossing her legs beneath her. She hasn’t spoken today, and I don’t expect her to now. I’m tempted to say something, but don’t want to break the stillness of the room. Instead, I close my eyes, hoping we won’t have to walk to our new home.

~*~

I wake to the feel of Faith’s hand on my shoulder. I realize she’s shaking me and wonder when I fell asleep. I sit up, casting her an apologetic glance. She shrugs it off, her own appearance suggesting she’s just woken up herself.

Grabbing my gear, I make one final sweep of the room before following her in into the hall. Outside nearly everyone is lined against the wall. A few officers mill about, clearly not part of the entourage. Ty is among them. I offer him a small smile before taking my place in the line, directly behind Faith.

Only once everyone is accounted for do they lead us outside. I note, with relief, two army buses, waiting in front of the precinct. I follow Faith to the back of the first bus, taking a seat near the rear wheel well. Faith slides in against the window, leaning her head on the glass.

The trip is rough and time consuming. The buses lurch forward, jarring against the broken ground. I grip the seat in front of me, cursing each time the bus runs over a crevice. Beside me Faith pales, her complexion tinged with green. I offer her a hand, smiling as she takes it.

We pull in front of the 73rd precinct nearly an hour later. Outside, unrecognizable officers await the bus. They lead us into the precinct, no one speaking unless absolutely necessary.

Our procession continues to a large training room in the back. Cots have been brought in, placed in neat rows in the center of the space. Portable shelving units line the walls, the privacy provided by lockers seeming unimportant and unnecessary.

We manage to find two cots, side by side near the back of the room. I stow my bags beneath my cot, not wanting to leave it on a shelf. Faith does the same, her eyes darting about the room. Whether she’s uncomfortable or merely apprehensive, I can’t tell.

We sit on our cots, facing one another but not speaking. No one seems sure what we’re supposed to be doing. I’m content to wait for orders, take this time to rest. Faith seems edgy. I can tell she wants to be doing something.

I glance down at my hands, both dirty and worn from the past few days. The small scar on my thumb has all but disappeared. The wound on my hand is barely noticeable, but the flesh is off colour, slightly puckered. My shoulder still aches, but I gave up wearing the sling. I don’t need it, despite Faith’s protests. I’ve endured worse.

Our footsteps are heavy as we leave the room. We stop only to gather med kits and sign in before heading out into the streets, chaos once again surrounding us. Ty and Sully follow behind, none of us wanting to stray far from one another.

“Damn, this is bad, really bad,” Ty comments, earning a scowl from Sully.

“You think this was an attack?” Faith questions, her eyes darting about nervously.

“No, I don’t,” Sully replies, taking the lead.

No other words are spoken as we make our way through the streets. We stop only to help those we find. More often then not, they are beyond our help. Still, we mark their location with bright orange flags, knowing the paramedics won’t be far behind.

All around us the thick, suffocating smell of smoke hangs heavy in the air. Dirt and debris whip by our feet, swirling in the wind. Several times we stop, wetting cloths to wipe the dust from our eyes.

My body aches, and my lungs burn, but I don’t stop. I can’t. There’s no direction to our path, only mindless wandering, seeking out of those we can help. Faith hazards several glances in the direction of her apartment. She wants to go home, but knows she can’t. Not yet.

“I’m sure they’re alright,” I tell her. She smiles softly, nodding her agreement. Her eyes tell me she doesn’t believe it.

The entrance of the precinct captain draws me from the memory. I shake my head, hoping to displace it. I only half listen as he introduces us to our new commanding officers. He issues several orders, telling us to grab assignment sheets on our way out. I stand, waiting for Faith to join me before moving to the front of the room.

A sergeant wordlessly hands us a sheet, not bothering to take our names. I assume they don’t really care who goes where, only that there are enough people out there. The paper is oddly officially, and I immediately note that it must have come from FEMA. They control our actions now, not the city.

I hand our orders to Faith, too tired to bother reading them. She’ll fill me in on the important details. She stares at the paper, her mouth twitching occasionally. Finally she pulls her eyes away, folding the paper before tucking it into a pocket.

“So?” I ask.

“They’ve set up a temporary medical centre on 78th, we get to stand guard,” she tells me.

“Great,” I mutter, moving down the hall and out into the night.

Outside, another sergeant requests our orders. Faith produces the paper, handing it to him with a slight grimace. She’s not looking forward to this any more then I am. He glances briefly at the paper, handing it back before pointing to a waiting jeep. With a nod, we make our way over.

“At least we don’t have to walk,” I comment.
“Hopefully we can get a ride back. We’re there until seven, it’ll be dark then,” she replies, a hint of fear flashing in her eyes.

I nod, offering what I hope is a reassuring smile. We climb into the jeep, four other officers joining us. The vehicle is crowded, but we manage to find room for all of us. This is the first time we’ve had any semblance of order, and for once, I find myself growing hopeful.

We’re the second stop, two of our companions having already been dropped off. The driver gives us barely enough time to hop out before pulling away, leaving us standing in the middle of the street.

A white tent sits in front of a converted church, one of the few buildings intact on the block. We move towards it, approaching the small, folding table beneath the peaked dome. A woman sits behind it, her scarf obscuring most of her face. She glances up at us, noting our uniforms before directing us inside.

Inside is warm, and somehow comforting. Cots and beds line the walls, most filled with people. White clad figures run between the cots, changing bandages and IV bags. The place smells of spice, heavy incense meant to disguise the smell of sickness.

A man dressed in green scrubs approaches us, his hands oddly clean compared to the clothes. His eyes flash to our badges, studying them for a moment to ensure they’re real. Faith offers him a sad smile. He ignores it.

“We need you outside, in the back. We’re having problems with people coming in, trying to steal supplies. There’s only so much to go around, we can’t just be giving them away,” he tells us, his tone defeated.

I notice two other uniforms standing near the side entrance, watching, a mixture of boredom and attentiveness on their faces. We make our way to the back, immediately spotting the two we are meant to replace. They look at us gratefully.

“Pretty calm night, you shouldn’t have too many problems,” the older of the two states.

“We’ll be fine,” Faith replies.

They nod, leaving us alone to watch the back of the building. The air is still cold, still damp. I shiver, wishing I’d thought to bring more then just my coat. A woman passes by, noting my tremor. She returns moments later with hats and gloves for both of us. I smile, Faith murmurs words of thanks.

“That was nice,” she says once the woman has left.

“Yeah, guess there’s still some decent people left,” I comment, wincing when I realize how jaded the comment sounded.

Faith either chooses to ignore the comment, or didn’t hear. She sits on the back steps, placing her head between her knees. I sit next to her, content to wait.

Hours seem to pass, the sun sinking slowly beneath the horizon. The cold has seeped into my bones, leaving my joints stiff and uncooperative. I stand, pacing the front walkway, trying to generate some heat. Faith appears beside me, her hand stilling my movement.

“What?” I ask, somewhat annoyed.

“You hear that?” she asks, her eyes searching into the darkness.

A low rustling breaks through the air, coming from the right. I squint, trying to see into the night. A shadow passes along the ground, moving to the side of the building. Glancing at Faith, she nods before pulling her gun. My own feels cold in my grip.

We press ourselves against the back wall, moving to the corner. Harsh voices ring out in the night, the words muffled by the wind. I place my hand up, silently telling Faith to cover me. Again she nods.

I pivot around the corner, my weapon trained in front. Two men rest by a side window, obviously trying to find a way inside. They haven’t seen me. They appear unarmed, but I don’t take the chance, keeping my gun pointed at their forms.

“NYPD, FREEZE!” I command.

The men jump, startled by my sudden appearance. One breaks away, taking off in the direction they came. The other remains frozen. I move to follow him, only to notice Faith already tackling him. I turn my attention back to the other.

“Place your hands above your head and move to the wall,” I order.

The perp does as instructed, moving to spread his hands against the wall. I move forward, my handcuffs dangling in my hand. A quick search reveals no weapons, I cuff the man, spinning him around to face me.

Only then do I note his age. He can’t be more then 12, if tall for his age. Frightened eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I’m unsure what to do. I grab his arm, leading him to where I last saw Faith. She’s managed to cuff the other boy, and stares at him in disbelief.

“You alright?” I ask.

“Fine. God, they’re just a couple of kids,” she responds.

“You two want to tell me what you’re doing sneaking around like that?” I demand, expecting an answer.

“We were just looking for a place to spend the night, maybe get some food,” the tall one answers.

“What’s your name?” Faith asks.

“Kyle, and that’s Scott,” the other responds.

She glances at me, clearly not knowing what to do. I motion to the church. Faith nods, pushing Kyle towards the building. I follow, Scott in tow. Inside, Faith leaves me with the two, both clearly terrified. She returns moments later with the same green clad man we met earlier.

“These the two?” he asks.

“Yeah, said they were looking for a place to stay, some food,” I respond.

“Where are your parents?” he asks, his question taking in both boys.

“I don’t know,” Scott responds, his expression becoming haunted.

The doctor nods, causing Faith to smile. She withdraws her keys, setting the first boy free. I follow suit, reattaching my handcuffs to my belt. The doctor leads the boys further into the church.

The remainder of the night passes without incident. Faith wears a small smile for the rest of the evening. Our replacements arrive early, telling us the jeep is waiting in front. We gather our things before heading through the church. Faith stops to say something to the boys, now laden down with medical supplies. Beds aren’t free, and neither is food, but the two seem willing to work for it. I can’t hear what she tells them, but they both smile causing her to grin.

The ride back is shorter, no one else needing to be picked up. We have the jeep to ourselves, both of us using the opportunity to stretch out, relax. The station appears ahead of us, unfamiliar, but still comforting.

Inside we are directed to the mess hall. Thick stew accompanied with stale bread makes for a wonderful meal, far better then we’ve eaten in days. Even Faith finishes hers. Her mood seems light, and I find myself smiling. She returns it, and I notice a brief sparkle in her eyes. It widens my grin.

We finish our meal in silence before moving to the training room. Despite the lack of privacy, I change, not caring who sees. Faith does the same, the days exhaustion and need for sleep overwhelming modesty. No one pays us any mind.

I crawl into my cot, pulling the rough wool blanket to my chin. Turning on my side, I face Faith. Her cot’s only inches from mind, but I still long to pull her into my arms. Instead I reach across, gently squeezing her hand.

“Goodnight,” I whisper.

“Night,” she replies.

I close my eyes, sleep washing over me.

~*~

The moment my eyes close, the dream begins. A dull ache fills my bones, reminding me of my exhaustion. I ignore it, pushing aside the pain before searching the room. The window remains, the sky outside once again calm. Moving closer, I notice the ground. The flat surface is scorched and blistered. Large craters cover the landscape, each bleeding into the next. I shudder, moving aside.

The table looms before me, pulling me towards it. I resist, but my feet move of their own accord, drawing me nearer. I come to a stop along the edge, my hands coming to rest on the surface. The wood feels rough beneath my palms, I can almost distinguish each grain. Abruptly, I pull my hands away, no longer wanting to know its texture.

Four bowls still remain, but one stands apart from the others. It’s filled with murky gray liquid. I gaze into its depths, not able to see the bottom. For a moment, I consider tasting the liquid, but the memory of my cut prevents me. Who knows what’s inside and what will carry over to the waking world.

The liquid shifts, a tremor causing the surface to ripple. I watch as the haze clears, leaving what looks suspiciously like water. A crack forms along the edge, a small piece breaking off, splashing into the centre. My jaw tightens, watching as others join it, the bowl crumbling before me.

~*~

I blink, staring at the ceiling for a moment before realizing where I am. The room seems to spin, and again I think I might be ill. Glancing across to the cot beside me, I notice Faith, her body curled into a protective ball. Several officers mill at the front of the room. I stand, making my way over to them.

They talk in hushed whispers, I can barely make out their words. I remain back, not wanting them to know I’m listening. The eldest of the group, obviously the precinct’s lieutenant issues an order to wake everyone. Something’s happened.

I leave reluctantly, making my way back to Faith’s cot. Kneeling beside her, I place my hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. She comes awake with a start, her eyes clouded in confusion until she recognizes my face. I smile.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice a mere whisper.

“I don’t know, something’s going on,” I tell her.

She struggles to sit, accepting the offer of my hand. She arches back, stretching out the night’s kinks. I sit next to her, watching as officers roughly wake the others. I’m not sure of the time, but it’s still dark outside. I feel like I haven’t slept at all.

“Everyone up!” the precinct sergeant barks.

He waits for us to comply, his expression tired and worn. I glance around the room, noting the look of sleepy confusion on everyone’s faces. I turn my attention back to the front of the room, waiting for him to speak.

“We have reports of several riots breaking out in Hell’s Kitchen. Our assistance is being requested. I want everyone to suit up and meet in the front lobby. For those new to the station, riot gear is kept in room down the hall, someone will direct you,” the sergeant informs us.

We’ve faced several small riots, but nothing that required the mobilization of multiple precincts. I glance worriedly at Faith, suddenly wondering if she’s in the frame of mind to handle this. I notice the same expression on her face. She doesn’t think I should be out there either.

“We’ll be fine, just watch each others backs, alright,” I tell her, hoping my eyes don’t give away my fear.

She nods, her expression remaining unchanged. We quickly change, Faith helping me secure my vest. We join the group of people filing out of the room, following them towards what I can only assume is the riot gear storage.

My assumption proves correct, and I gather a shield, helmet and baton. Faith collects hers before following me out to the waiting armored vans. We climb inside, pressing against the side wall. My stomach heaves, pitching slightly as the doors slam shut behind us and we roar down the streets.

Faith appears oddly calm, the only indication of her fear is a slight clenching and unclenching of her jaw. I fix my glance on the floor, wanting nothing more then return to bed, ignore the world around me.

We come to an abrupt stop, the noise outside penetrating the thick walls of the vehicle. The doors swing open and we step out into insanity. People are everywhere, trashing buildings and burning cars. The smell of gasoline hangs heavy in the air.

Gathering in groups of thirty, we form lines, marching in steady unison towards the sea of rioters. They retreat at first, only to become enraged, rushing at us in a deadly wave. First contact sparks more violence, our shields blocking a pelt of rocks and debris.

We move forward.

The line breaks and I immediately seek Faith out, pressing my back to hers. A blow to my shoulder sends me to the ground. Only Faith’s quick reflects keep me from getting my head bashed in. She knocks the man back, hauling me to my feet before continuing on. Silently, my eyes thank her.

The shoulder burns, and I know I shouldn’t have come. I’m not even sure anyone knows I was shot. The wound is healing, but still tender and raw. My arm becomes numb, but I press on, wanting nothing more then for this to end.

The day passed quickly, the rising body count becoming overwhelming. There are still thousands upon thousands trapped. Most are already dead, but some have survived. I wonder briefly if they’ll still be alive when we get to them.

We’ve been back in the precinct for nearly an hour. Faith’s tried several times to call home, reach her family. Nothing. She seems preoccupied and I briefly consider asking Swersky to let us go look. I know he won’t agree, and I don’t want to give Faith false hope.

The alarm breaks through my thoughts, and soon we are scrambling for riot gear, heading out into the streets. We’ve been expecting this. Nightfall always brings out the worst. I sit next to Faith, Ty and Sully across from us. No one speaks, no one needs to.

There are too many of them, and too few of us. We know that right away. Still we press on, needing to regain some semblance of control. Within moments blood drips in my eyes, a small gash on my forehead. Faith cradles her arm, merely jarred, not broken. Ty and Sully are nowhere to be found.

Shouts draw our attention and we rush towards the cheering crowd. Ten officers intersect to break them up, only to find two of their own trapped beneath the horde of rioters. We beat them off, no longer caring if we injure innocent civilians. They shouldn’t be here.

It only takes several minutes, but it seems like hours. A hand reaches through the last remaining rioters, reaching for our aid. We redouble our efforts. Only after the last of the crowd has dissipated do we recognize the fallen two. Ty and Sully.

Ty seems worse for ware, but relatively uninjured. A small cut runs the length of his cheek. Sully is worse, blood streaming from a large gash on his head. His hair is matted with it, clinging in lumps. His eyes flicker as he struggles to get up, knowing it’s a losing battle.

Ty lies him back, pressing a piece of torn cloth to his head. Someone screams for a paramedic. I watch from my place above, staring down at the scene. Tears stream down Ty’s face, falling softly to land on the street. Faith looks horrified, and in truth, we all are.

Sully dies two hours later, in the back of a bus, with Ty clinging to his hand. No one speaks for the remainder of the evening.

Faith cries draw me from the flashback and I rush to her side, striking out at the rioter beside her. She falls to her knees, blood dripping from her nose. With a strength I didn’t know I had, I pick her up, carrying her in my arms. I won’t take that chance with her. I won’t let her die.

We’ve managed to push the crowd back somewhat, enough so that a small clearing exists by the vans. Trained ESU medics are on scene, immediately rushing to take Faith from my arms. I give her over reluctantly, but hover nearby, panic consuming me.

She’s conscious, but bleeding. A broken nose, I overhear one of the medics tell her. He presses a compress against her, angling her head back to stop the bleeding. They load her into the bus, allowing me to climb in beside her.

She glances across at me, the pain obvious in her expression. Still, her eyes tell me not to worry, she’s alright. I do worry, and I won’t be able to stop until we’re safely in the hospital, until she’s safe.

The ride is long and bathed in terrified silence. I hold her hand, squeezing it occasionally to remind her that I’m here. I don’t let go until we’ve reached the hospital, the back doors swinging open and the medics helping me down. Faith is forced onto a stretcher, despite her protests.

Outside, the sky lightens, becoming an intense shade of gray-red. The sun will rise soon, once again bringing order to the streets. I follow silently behind the small procession, not breaking away until the hand of a nurse presses against my chest, effectively stopping me.
I’m ushered to a small waiting room, overcrowded now with throngs of people. I sink to the floor against the back wall, all the chairs occupied. I stare at the clock, watching as hours tick by. It shouldn’t be taking this long.

Beside me a woman sits, her face stoic. She cradles a small child in her lap, his eyes red from tears. I force my gaze away, no longer able to handle the sight. Still the hospitals are overcrowded. I don’t think there’ll ever be a time when they aren’t.

The doors to the room open, admitting a young nurse, her face aged by circumstance along. She glances briefly at her clipboard, her eyes seeking out the information she needs.

“Anyone here for Yokas?” she asks.

I stand, moving across the room, my breath catching in my throat.

“Yeah, she alright?” I ask.

“Right this way,” she responds, not answering my question.

I’m not sure if she doesn’t know, or if she doesn’t want to tell me. I tell myself she’s alright, she has to be. She was conscious on the bus, and we were told it was only a broken nose. She’ll be fine. Still, thousands of possible scenarios run through my mind. Concussion, internal bleeding, the list becoming more frightening as it continues.

The nurse leads me into one of the small exam rooms. Ten beds are crammed into the small space where there should be two. I immediately spot Faith, her nose bandaged. She’s awake, and sitting up, I take it as a good sign.

“Hey,” I say, crossing the distance between us.

“Hey,” she replies, her words muffled and sounding strange, foreign. I smile.

“You know, I kinda like the look,” I joke, hoping to ease some of the tension.

“You would,” she says, her garbled words causing me to laugh.

She shoots me a dirty look, but smiles. I move to stand beside her, once again taking her hand in mine. She returns my squeeze, opening her mouth to speak. Before she can form the words, an older doctor interrupts.

“Well Officer Yokas, how are you feeling?” he questions.

“I’m okay, can I leave?” she replies, causing me to frown. She shouldn’t be going back out there so soon.

“I see no reason why you can’t. Everything checks out, we’ve set the nose, it should heal nicely. I don’t want you on active duty for a while. I know that’s not easy right now, but you need to give it time to heal properly,” he informs her.

She agrees, promising to remain off the streets. I make a silent vow to hold her to that promise. I’m half tempted to demand they admit her, but know it would only upset her. For the briefest of moments, her eyes meet mine, begging me to understand. I do. I hate hospitals as much as she does.

She waits for the doctor to leave before slipping from the bed. I offer her my hand, but she declines, needing to do this on her own. I don’t argue, knowing it’s something I can’t win.

“You sure you’re alright?” I ask, earning a glare.

“I’m fine. I just want to go home,” she tells me.

I nod, wondering where home is now. We could return to the precinct, sleep amidst rows of strangers. Or we could return to the 55th, convince Swersky to let us both stay there. Either way, it won’t ever truly be home.

“Alright, come on,” I reply, moving from the room.

She follows behind, her steps slow and laboured. I slow my pace to match hers, leisurely leaving the hospital.

The sun is well above the horizon by the time we get outside. The air is cold, snow still falling in soft wisps. I pull my coat tight, pulling my scarf from the pocket and tying it around my head. I notice Faith do the same, carefully avoiding her nose in the process.

The walk back is shorter then I expected, the 73rd precinct being closer then the 55th. We’re greeted by a lieutenant, McNeil by his badge. I cast a glance at Faith, noting the exhaustion in her eyes.

“You two alright?” he questions.

“Yeah. There somewhere we could talk for a moment?” I reply.

“In my office,” he offers, pointing up the staircase.

We fall in behind, following him to the small office, a long window facing out into the hall. He directs us to two chairs. I sink into one gratefully, my feet numb from the walk.

“I’ve just been going over some information from your former commander. You were shot last week?” he asks, not giving me a chance to speak.

“Yeah, in the shoulder. It’s fine, almost healed,” I reply.

“You don’t heal that fast. Hell, neither of you should be out there, I don’t know how you managed to make it through last night,” he lectures, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“So what now?” Faith asks, interrupting the biting comment on my tongue.

“I’m sending you back over to the 55th, they need some paper pushers over there. You’re under strict orders to remain there until Swersky clears you for duty. You’re lucky I don’t issue a command discipline for your files,” he explains.

I wonder briefly if command disciplines even mean anything anymore. Half the city is destroyed and he’s still worried about procedure. It doesn’t seem right. Still, I don’t argue. I’m more then willing to spend days doing paper work if it means keeping Faith safe.

“Is that all, Sir?” I ask.

“That’s all. I’ll arrange for your transport in a few hours, until then, get some rest,” he instructs, signaling for us to leave the room.

I’m half tempted to salute, but don’t, afraid the action would only come across as mocking. Instead I follow Faith to the door, hovering at her side until we reach our cots. She sinks into hers, wrapping herself neck deep in blankets.

I’m not tired, or at least, not as tired as I should be. I find a wash basin, taking a moment to splash water on my face. Clean, I move back to my cot, pulling out a relatively clean pair of clothes. My stomach growls, reminding me of how long it’s been since we last ate.

Glancing at Faith, I decide to let her sleep. I make my way to the mess hall, scrounging together leftover breakfast. It’s not much, cold porridge and soggy toast, but it’ll do. I bring enough for Faith, knowing she’ll be hungry when she wakes. I leave the tray on the floor by her bed.

The porridge has grown a skin, what’s buried beneath is dry and mushy. I eat it, the food easing some of the nausea in the pit of my stomach. I leave my empty dishes on the ground, no longer having the energy to return them.

Exhaustion washes over me now, the days events finally taking their toll. I sink back into the cot, allowing sleep to overtake me.

~*~

Silent wind billows against me, ensnaring me in its grasp. I struggle against it, knowing I can’t escape. Just as quickly, it vanishes, taking with it warmth, freezing the blood in my veins.

The room seems different somehow, smaller, colder. I glance to the window, frowning as I find only stone. Again it’s changed, and again I know not why. I feel the pull towards the table settle over me. Rather then fight it, I confront it, rushing to the edge.

Three bowls stare up at me, the remnants of the forth gone now. It doesn’t surprise me. What does is the small pool of water, lying where the forth sat. I ignore it, turning my attention to the remaining three.

The one furthest from me flickers, seeming to fade in and out of existence. I focus on it, my efforts causing it to solidify. Footsteps echo behind me. Spinning, I find nothing but empty space. Turning back to the table, I find the third has vanished.

With a cry, I sink to my knees, watching as the room fades into nothingness.

~*~

I awake to find Lieutenant McNeil standing over me. I blink, bringing his face into focus. Beside me Faith still sleeps, her food untouched. I sit, swinging my legs over the edge of the cot.

“Is it time?” I ask.

“Ten minutes,” he responds.

I nod, waiting until he leaves before waking Faith. She’s reluctant at first and I realize they must have given her pain killers at the hospital. I hadn’t even considered it before.

“You hungry? I brought some food,” I tell her, motioning to the tray. We don’t have much time, but enough for her to eat.

She shakes her head, refusing my offer. I don’t push her, instead stand, gathering the trays and returning them to the mess hall. Upon my return, Faith is sitting on her cot, both our bags packed and ready to go. She looks exhausted.

“Thanks,” I say, motioning to my bag.

She smiles, standing as the lieutenant enters the room. He motions for us to follow, leading us to a waiting army jeep. I help Faith in before climbing in beside her. The vehicle lurches forward, throwing me against my seat.

The ride is fairly quick, taking us down broken streets and past shattered buildings. I avert my eyes, no longer able to watch the landscape. Instead I concentrate on Faith, her head resting on the back of the seat. She seems ready to fall asleep, despite the jerking motion of the jeep.

Swersky’s waiting for us when we return, his scowl deep set and disapproving. He leads is inside, ushering us into his office and closing the door. I cringe, bracing myself for the lecture I know is coming.

“Glad to see you two are alright. Just what the hell were you thinking?” he demands.

Neither of us answers, words would only make the situation worse. He continues on as though we did, not stopping to ask our input or allow for our defense. His tirade continues for several minutes, I manage to block most of it out.

“Boscorelli, you’re dismissed. Faith, I want to speak with you alone,” he finishes, his eyes daring me to object.

“If it’s alright sir, he can stay,” Faith interrupts, noting my reluctance to leave.

He nods before continuing, his tone becoming soft. “They’ve found Charlie. He’s okay, we’re arranging to have him brought here,” he tells her, waiting for the news to sink in.

For a moment she doesn’t speak. She blinks back several tears, her entire body trembling with effort. A grin breaks out onto her face, and I find myself happy, for the first time in weeks, happy.

“He’s okay?” she asks timidly, not quite believing the news.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Swersky continues, allowing himself to smile for the first time since we arrived.

“How, when, I….” she babbles, her words becoming jumbled once again.

“He should be here in about an hour. He was across town, they found him at one of the shelters. I don’t know anything else yet,” he informs her.

She nods, not needing any more of an explanation. They’ve found her son, and that’s all that matters now. Her smile grows as we leave the room, looking out of place next to the bandage across her nose. I lead her to the locker rooms, pausing only to say hello to Ty.

Our cots have been removed, and I make a mental note to ask for others. Ty seems surprised to see us, but doesn’t say anything. He seems bored, restless and again I worry that our time here will drag. We’ll stay, we both need to.

I watch as Faith wets a cloth, carefully washing around her bandage. I consider offering my help, but know it is unnecessary. Instead I move to my locker, surprised at finding it empty. I unpack my belongings, feeling like I’ve come home.

Faith doesn’t bother unpacking her bag, instead shoving it in her locker before leaving the room. I trail behind her, stopping when we reach the top of the stairs. She leans against the wall, watching the door for any sign of her son. I take my place beside her.

“He’s okay,” she whispers, half for my benefit, half for her own.

“Yeah, he is,” I respond, once again finding myself smiling.

She returns my smile, her eyes filling with tears. We may have found him, but it doesn’t lessen the loss of her daughter. I reach between us, lightly squeezing her hand. She returns it, glancing up at me in gratitude.

I leave her against the wall, going in search of additional cots. Swersky arranges for us to have three set up in an interrogation room, something I’m thankful for. Faith and I may be used to sleeping in crowded rooms, but Charlie isn’t, and he needs his space. It’s not home, but it’s the best we can do under the circumstances.

I find myself thinking of Charlie as my own. Even though I know his father is still alive, I wonder if either of them will ever see Fred again. I know I was never meant to be a dad, but the kid needs someone, and there’s no one else.

When I return to the lobby, I immediately spot Faith, Charlie wrapped around her neck. She’s crying, clinging to him as though he might disappear. He seems relatively intact, if a little worn and dirty. Still, relief courses through me at finding him unharmed.

Not wanting to interrupt, I sit on the top step, waiting and watching. I wait until they’ve parted before standing, making my presence known. I wasn’t expecting the sudden attachment of a child to my waist, but I relish in it all the same. I notice Faith’s eyes, watching us, an amused expression playing across her features. I smile, bending down to ruffle Charlie’s hair.

“Come on, I’ve arrange some semi private living quarters. Why don’t we get settled,” I suggest.

Charlie laces his hand through mine, his fingers disappearing beneath my palm. I smile down at him, leading him upstairs and to our new sleeping quarters. Faith seems surprised but pleased by the set up. Charlie’s cot sits next to hers, pressed against the far wall. Mine is directly across, closer to the door.

The rest of the room consists of a small desk, a plastic chair tucked underneath. Its dark, artificial wood stands out against the dull white walls and gray floors. A remnant from a previous time, seeming out of place now.

“I’m going go grab some food, I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, leaving Faith to fuss over her son. I don’t wait for her acknowledgement before leaving the room.

I return to find Faith sitting on her cot, Charlie curled in her lap. She’s stroking his hair, murmuring words of comfort. He seems content, happy to have found his family. I can only image what these last few weeks have been like for him. I don’t bring it up, not wanting to ruin the peacefulness of the room.

I set the tray on the desks, leaving it untouched for the time being. I watch as Faith whispers in Charlie’s ear, causing him to sit up. Only then does she leave, moving to the desk to gather their rations. There’s not much, but we eat it as though it were a feast, the mood slightly festive.

He doesn’t ask about his sister, or his dad, and for that I’m thankful. I don’t think I could stand watching Faith have to explain it. Instead he finishes his meal, curling back into his mother’s arms and falling asleep.

“He doing alright?” I whisper, not wanting to wake him.

“I don’t know. I think so. Scared, and tired, but…. I don’t think he knows what’s going on. And I don’t know how to tell him,” she replies.

“Let him rest, there will be time for explanations later,” I state, knowing there is no explanation, at least none that makes any sense.

She nods, accepting my words before lying back, pulling Charlie into her arms. I lie on my own cot, curling on my side to watch them. Only when I’m confident they are sleeping do I turn away, my eyes fixing on the ceiling.

The locker room seems cold, hollow. The only light comes from the small halogen lamp, powered by generator. It’s harsh unnatural glow casts shadows about the room, intensifying the uneasy atmosphere.

No one speaks, no one needs to. Ty hasn’t returned yet, and I’m not sure what to say when he does. Cots have been brought in, set up in small rows against walls. Rough wool blankets lie folded on each, pillows resting on top. I choose one next to Faith, wanting and needing to be near her.

She changes into her civvies, the clothes she’d worn this morning. I’m not sure if she has others, but reason we won’t be here long. We still haven’t heard what’s happened, only that the damage is wider spread then we initially feared.

New York is all but destroyed, thousands of other cities sharing the same fate. We’ve been elevated to red alert, although whether or not this was a planned attack is yet to be known. Reports trickle in slowly, telling of further destruction, further chaos.

I watch as Faith unrolls her blanket, sliding beneath it. She still hasn’t heard word from her family, despite several efforts. The phones are down, the city in complete blackout. No running water, no electricity, nothing. And still there are more questions then answers.

I climb into my cot, struggling to find a comfortable position. I haven’t heard from Ma, or anyone else for that matter. Half the precinct still remains unaccounted for. We lost too many men tonight, seven in total. Sully was the only name I knew.

I blink, forcing back the memory. They come to quickly now, too often. I know I shouldn’t forget, but I want to. It’s bad enough seeing constant reminders everywhere we go, I don’t need them in my head. Only the knowledge that one good thing happened today keeps me from weeping.

Knowing I won’t be able to sleep, I slip from my cot, pausing only to ensure Faith and Charlie still sleep. A half smile covers Faith’s face and I find my heart feeling somewhat lighter. I quickly gather our dishes before leaving the room, the door closing softly behind me.

Downstairs, I find Ty sitting along, looking lost. I brush past him, moving to deposit our tray before returning to sit next to him. He glances up, nodding in acknowledgement of my presence. I smile, not knowing what else to say. I think he’s glad for our return, but I can’t be certain.

“I heard they found Faith’s son. He alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, sleeping upstairs with his mom,” I reply, grinning slightly.

“She must be relieved,” he comments.

“Very,” I respond.

Silence passes between us once more and I contemplate leaving, returning to Faith’s side. I’m exhausted, but more awake then I’ve been in days. I doubt I could sleep, even if I tried. Ty saves me from having to decide, his voice startling me from my thoughts.

“I was thinking of heading next door, seeing how everyone else was doing. You wanna come?” he asks.

I find myself nodding, needing to do something other then sit here. I stand, motioning for him to lead. We don’t bother with coats, the firehouse not far from where we are. Outside the temperature has dropped, causing the air to crackle with cold.

Camelot is relatively quiet, and for a moment, I think no one is there. Soft voices drift down the stairs, proving me wrong. We make our way up, our footsteps alerting everyone to our presence.

“Hey guys, come on in,” Doc greets us.

“Hey. How you guys holding up?” Ty asks.

I remain silent, unsure what to say. I really don’t know these people well. To be honest, I really don’t know Ty all that well. I knew Sully. And I know Faith. But aside from them, I never bothered making friends at work. Even Sully was never really considered a friend.

“We’re doing alright. You guys hungry?” Doc asks.

“Nah, I’m alright,” Ty responds, turning to me. I shake my head.

The sudden vision of Faith, waking to find me gone, flashes through my mind. I’m not sure if I’m simply worried about her, or just uncomfortable here, but I find myself wanting to leave.

“I think I’m going to head out, check on Faith,” I state, earning confused looks from the group.

“Alright, say hello for us,” Kim replies.

Ty makes no motion to join me, so I leave without him. I pause outside, standing in front of the station for what seems an eternity. All around me, the damaged remains of buildings, few still standing. It seems somehow surreal, like it doesn’t actually exist. Like that day never happened.

Not wanting to go in, I sit on the front steps, allowing the night air to wash over me. It’s cold, but I don’t care, I need the distraction. The street is silent, save for the low moan of wind and the occasional army vehicle. I lean back, allowing my thoughts to consume me.

~*~

“Boz, wake up,” Faith whispers.

I sit, staring into her eyes. They reflect what little light there is in the room, glowing softly.

“What’s going on?” I ask, fearing another riot.

“Swersky wants us in the briefing room,” she tells me.

I nod, following her from the locker room. For a moment the atmosphere reminds me of roll call, and I think perhaps everything was just a bad dream. Only the awareness of where I woke up tells me it wasn’t.

“Everyone take a seat,” Swersky orders, waiting for the room to obey. Only once we are all seated does he continue.

“Reports are starting to come in from all over the country. NASA officials have released a preliminary report,” he begins.

I glance at Faith, noticing her confused expression. The room remains still, everyone waiting for some word on what’s happened.

“I want to clarify that this wasn’t an attack. While we don’t have full confirmation yet, it appears as though this was natural. Right now, New York, and most of North America, has sustained heavy damage. We think it might have been an asteroid, maybe a comet. Nothing is official yet, but we’ll let you know as soon as we find out. I can tell you that we’re receiving no reports from anywhere along the west coast. We’re assuming the worst,” he explains, his tone oddly detached.

It comes as a shock, most of us assuming it was an attack, something man did. But this, this we weren’t expecting. I wonder briefly why we had no warning. Surely someone should have noticed. Someone should have seen something.

We know now it wasn’t an asteroid, or a comet. It took NASA several days to piece it together, figure out what had happened. It still strikes me as odd, the number of random events that had to occur to cause this. Everything is connected, yet somehow still seems to be unrelated.

A star supernovas, sending matter into space. Matter collides with Io, one of Jupiter’s moons, knocking it from its orbit and sending it careening towards us. It breaks apart, small pieces raining down on us like shrapnel. They knew it had happened, but lost its trajectory, never knowing its final destination until it was too late.

We also know now that most of the world was effected. Typhoons in Japan, burying the island. Cyclones wiping out most of the Mediterranean. Seemingly unconnected natural disasters, all related to one incident, one event. Pieces of Io landing and destroying North and Central America. Earthquakes causing volcanic eruptions throughout Europe and the Middle East. All triggered by the impact. Landscape changed, the climate forever altered, destruction everywhere, a third of the world’s population gone, the death toll rising each day. All tied to one event.

I shake my head, trying to block out the senselessness of it all. I stand from my place on the steps, moving back into the precinct. The temperature inside is only slightly warmer then out. I shiver, moving quickly to the interrogation room. Faith’s still asleep, Charlie spooned against her side. Her arm drapes protectively over him. I slide into bed, no longer able to stop the flow of tears.

~*~

I struggle against sleep, not wanting to return to my dreams. The effort is futile, and I find myself once again staring at the length of the table. Its edges seem softer somehow, like the table is forcing its existence, fighting against oblivion.

My eyes seek out the bowls, relief at finding two. They seem solid enough, their presence calming me somehow. The torches along the walls are lit, casting shadows on the floor. The flames reflect against the clay, illuminating the strange writing.

Except it no longer seems foreign. Bending forward, I stare intently at their sides, horror flooding me as I realize I can now read what is written there.

It is done.

The words stare mockingly at me, their meaning lost in the translation, but still I understand. It is done. Everything. And when the bowls vanish, so do we. How much time left, a day, maybe two.

~*~

I come awake with a start, throwing back the covers and bolting from the cot. I kneel next to Faith, shaking her awake. Her eyes open, confusion swirling in their sleepy depths. Confusion is replaced by fear as she takes in my expression.

“Get up. We have to get out of here,” I tell her.

“Why? What’s going on?” she asks.

“Don’t you get it, the bowls Faith, they mean something,” I explain.

“Bowls, from the dream? How do you know?” she asks.

“I just do,” I tell her.

She doesn’t argue, trusting my judgment. I hastily pack our things while waiting for her to wake Charlie. He seems even more confused then she, perhaps even more terrified, even though he doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“What are you doing?” Faith asks, casting a sidelong glance at her son.

“Leaving. We need to get out of the city, everyone,” I tell her.

“What if that doesn’t help?” she asks, worry settling into her features.

“It has to,” I explain, dreading the alternative.

It all comes together, all of it making sense. This isn’t some random nameless disaster. This is the end. I should have seen it earlier, should have recognized it. But it had been too long, and I’d given up my faith years ago. Traded it in for a shield and a gun. Now, I frantically try to recall everything I once knew.

I leave Faith to finish packing, moving in search of Swersky. I don’t give him details, only tell him to gather everyone and leave the city. I’m not sure if he understands, or even intends to heed my advice, but I’ve warned him, and that’s all I can do.

My next stop is the locker room, empty now save for Ty. I stand over him, waiting for his eyes to focus on mine. He stares at me for a moment, as though trying to understand who I am. Finally he blinks, sitting up to face me.

“We’re leaving. Faith and I. We need to get out of the city, get as far away as possible. There’s not much time,” I tell him, recognizing the hint of madness in my tone.

“You saw them too, the bowls?” he asks.

I stare at him, my eyes wide with shock. I hadn’t expected anyone else to know the dream, but he does and I’m forced to question how many others do.

“You know what it means?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think so. End of the world. Seven bowls, spilling the final seven plagues out onto the earth. And then, final judgment,” he replies, his tone calm.

It doesn’t surprise me that he knows. What does surprise me is his acceptance, like there’s nothing he can do about it, and he doesn’t care.

“Are you coming with us?” I ask, already knowing his answer.

“I can’t. I can’t run. Sully didn’t run. My mother didn’t run. I have to stay,” he tells me, resolve settling into his eyes.

I nod, knowing there is no way I’ll convince him. Instead I gather the remainder of our things, borrowing several supplies as I leave the room. Faith is waiting in the hall, our bags sitting at her feet, Charlie asleep in her arms.

“Do they know?” she asks, watching the flurry of activity in the precinct.

“I think everyone does,” I tell her, shouldering the rest of our things before leading us down the stairs and out into the cold.

Outside is humming with activity. People line the streets, others stocking jeeps, vans, buses, whatever they can get their hands on. Ordered chaos, no one interfering with anyone else, everyone working together, hoping to be spared.

A quick word with Swersky tells me he knows. He manages to find us a jeep, telling us to be careful. I load Faith and Charlie in, thanking him before pulling away from the station. In the rearview mirror, I catch Ty’s refection. He doesn’t acknowledge our leaving.

By the time I reach Ma’s, she’s already managed to find a small van, loading it with supplies. Six total in her party, I notice Mikey isn’t among them. I pull to a stop, climbing down to meet her.

“You know?” I ask.

“Yeah. We’re about ready, you want to lead?” she asks.

I nod, climbing back into the jeep. I wait until everyone is safely in Ma’s van before pulling away, slowly traveling along the broken streets. All around us, people fill the streets, their meager belongings stored in cars, bikes, trucks, anything in working condition. Those without transportation walk, their possessions strapped to their backs. They swarm through the streets, heading towards the city perimeter. I don’t relish crossing the bridges, but won’t risk the tunnels.

It takes us nearly two hours to reach the George Washington Bridge. Several more to cross it. The toll gates are up, the attendants long having abandoned them. I’m surprised by the number of people, even more surprised by the slow, ordered pace. No one panics, no one pushes. They file out, one after another, the remaining population of New York, traveling to some unknown destination.

“Do we know where we’re going Boz?” Faith asks, pulling a blanket tight around Charlie’s sleeping form.

“I don’t know. Somewhere safe,” I respond. If there is anywhere safe.

We angle north, the crowd becoming thinner, till no one is left but our small convoy. The sun begins to crest the horizon, bathing the world in daylight once more. The sky is clearer outside the city, but not by much. I still don’t know where I’m going, only hoping I’ll know when we get there.

We stop at midday, just as the sun settles above us. We find a gas station, unattended. Most of the store has been ransacked, but there’s enough fuel left for both the cars, and we manage to fill several containers for emergencies.

We never stop long, always wanting to stay ahead. I sometimes wonder if we’re perhaps moving towards disaster rather then away from it. It’s impossible to tell, and I realize there might not necessarily be an away from disaster. I resign myself to ask Ma at the next stop. Surely she remembers more of Father David’s lectures then I do. If Sully were here, he would know.

Night comes swiftly, bringing with it heavy snow and fierce winds. We commandeer an abandoned barn, no one wanting to intrude on someone’s home, even if it is empty. We gather what supplies we can find, restocking the vehicles for the morning.

I’m terrified of returning to sleep, knowing the dream will come. Each dream brings us that much closer to death. I know it’s unavoidable, even if I didn’t sleep, others do, and they will dream.

Faith settles Charlie in, wrapping him tight in the wool blankets taken from the precinct. I think she’s relieved to have found him when she did, knowing if we hadn’t, we most likely wouldn’t have. Even now, knowing what she knows, she still seems happy for his presence.

I recognize some of the others, no one I know well, my mother’s friends. I don’t make introductions, not wanting the burden of false friendliness. Ma speaks softly to everyone, ensuring they are alright. I hadn’t expected her to take on the role, but it suits her. She glances up, seeing me watching and makes her way over.

“How you holding up Maurice,” she asks, the exhaustion evident in her tone.

“I’m alright, you?” I reply.

“Could be better, but you know….,” she laughs.

I smile, nodding my agreement.

“You figure out where we’re supposed to be going yet?” she questions, her tone once again becoming serious.

“I don’t know. Anyplace is as good as the next. Just away from the city, somewhere remote maybe,” I answer, hoping she’ll agree.

She nods, accepting my explanation. She kisses my cheek before returning to her own blankets, wrapping herself inside them. I unroll mine next to Faith, lying at her side. She reaches behind, grabbing my hip and pulling me towards her. I let her, spooning against her back, her hair tickling my nose.

“We’ll get through this Boz, we will,” she whispers, her words sparking hope.

I’m not sure if she’s right, but I nod, wrapping my arm around her, holding her close. We’re together, and that’s good enough for me.

~*~

The world seems to shift, and I find myself standing in a large courtyard. Spiraled buildings loom around me, their towers rising to the heavens. The stone seems alive, one singular piece, stretching and bending into cityscape. The sky holds familiar red haze, partially obscuring the light. It could be just a dream, but I know the feel of this place. The realness of it.

The building in front of me seems oddly familiar, despite having no recollection of having ever seen it. I know what I’ll find inside. I know I should find it odd, starting in this place, but I’m certain it has purpose, though what, I can not say.

Tension courses through my body as I approach the massive front doors. They stand open, their presence a warning rather then an invitation. The corridor is the same, I know it. It wanders aimlessly, seeming to have no direction at all. I follow it into the depth of the building, eventually finding what I seek. I don’t bother searching the room, no longer caring what’s changed. Instead I move directly to the table, noting the one remaining bowl. A day, at best.

My eyes close of their own accord. I wonder if we’ll get far enough away, if there is a far enough away. I wonder if it will be quick, and if not, will I find the strength to put Faith out of her misery. I could never live with myself if she were forced to suffer. By the same extent, I could never live with myself if I brought her any harm.

I force my eyes open, horrified at what I’m contemplating. The room remains, and I’m forced to question why I haven’t woken up, why I’m still here. I know the meaning, I have seen what I’m meant to see, but for some reason, it lingers.

The final bowl now occupies the centre of the table. The writing is still legible, still clear. I don’t look at it long, not wanting to see the pronouncement of our doom. Instead I move away, seeking out a wall. I slide down it, coming to rest on the floor, my head falling between my knees. I wait.

~*~

The scent of hay assaults my senses, reminding me of where we are. I open my eyes, blinking as the light threatens to blind me. Faith stirs, her body pressing further into mine. I brush aside her hair, placing a kiss at her temple. The dream comes back to me. Anything to keep her safe.

Cautiously I untangle myself from her, moving to meet with those that are awake. Ma’s speaking softly to a woman I’ve met only once before. Karen, I recall. I make my way towards them, offering a false smile when they turn to face me.

“You guys about ready? I don’t think we should stay here long,” I say.

“Should we wake the others?” Ma asks, glancing over at Faith and Charlie.

“Yeah, probably a good idea. We can eat on the road,” I inform her.

Content to let Ma wake her party, I return to Faith’s side, shaking her lightly from sleep. She moans, rolling onto her back before opening her eyes. It takes her several moments to bring me into focus.

“Hey. We’re leaving,” I say, running my hand along her arm.

“Alright, give me a minute,” she replies, turning over to wake Charlie.

I leave them, gathering blankets and reloading the car. Minutes later the worn and tattered group are gathered by the vehicles, reluctant to leave, but knowing they must. Ma climbs into the back of the jeep, taking Charlie with her. She leaves a man, whose name I don’t recall, to drive the van. We angle west.

Farmers fields and open pastures give way to dense forest, the scenery changing almost instantaneously. I still haven’t determined where we’re heading, but know this direction is a good as any. Twice we stop to pillage supplies from abandoned towns. Twice more to stretch our legs.

It feels odd, running away from something, yet not knowing if we’ll meet it where we are going. The mood is tense, ominous, I can almost feel the hours counting down. My thoughts turn to Ty, wondering if he made the right choice, remaining behind.

It no longer matters, nothing really does. Cold whips through the jeep, freezing my hands, leaving my joints stiff. Beside me Faith sits, curled under her blanket. In the backseat, Ma sleeps, Charlie on her lap. They too are covered in blankets.

The sky darkens, despite the early hour. I don’t need to look up to know why. An eclipse. It somehow seems normal, expected. I flip the headlights on, continuing to drive until the sun returns once more. Beside me Faith shivers, her expression darkening.

The road bends, winding over hillsides. Under any other circumstances, the scenery would be breathtaking. Lush forests, consuming grasslands. Rivers, once mighty, now trickling streams. Open pastures, barren now of all but dirt. Large craters mar the earth’s surface, like giant potholes, defacing a once smooth road.

Occasionally we’ll find signs of life, inhabitants. Smoke rising from chimneys, cars rushing down the highway. Herds of livestock, grazing through drought ridden fields. We pass by children, playing in the rumbled remains of towns, oblivious to what’s happening around them.

By late afternoon, water and gas once again become a problem. We stop, pulling into a town no larger then an intersection. A church sits on a hilltop, visible from each direction. Outside, hundreds mill about, all heading towards the large stone structure.

I notice Faith’s gaze, watching as the flock of people stream into the church. Casting a glance at Ma, I notice her staring intently as well. The past day’s drive catches up with me, exhaustion creeping into my bones. If this truly is the apocalypse, where better to seek shelter then a house of worship.

“We can stay here, if you want,” I tell Faith.

“We can’t drive forever. Sometime we’re going to have to stop, face what comes,” she tells me.

I never really believed in God. Never had much faith in religion. Even now I doubt, not certain what to believe. But here seems as good a place as any, and I’m tired. We all are.

I park on the lawn, waiting for the crowd to thin before stepping out. We don’t take much, just what little food is left, a few meager belongings. Charlie appears excited, this whole thing must seem like some grand adventure to him. I don’t tell him otherwise, not wanting to spoil his mood.

We’re welcomed, not with open arms, but with quiet reservation. We’re led into the basement, hundreds lining the walls, occupying every available space. I’m half expecting a sermon, but am surprised when it doesn’t come.

The minister, or perhaps he’s something else, I can never tell, ushers people in wordlessly. His expression is blank, defeated, it doesn’t fill me with hope. He doesn’t think his God will save us, only knows the building is well built, stable. For some reason, I prefer that explanation.

I feel slightly claustrophobic, pressed into a corner, sweaty bodies all around us. No one speaks, the room silent save for the sound of footsteps. The occasional cry of a child echoes, but aside from that, nothing.

Faith sits with Charlie across her knees, holding him to her breast. I place my arm around her, pulling them both into my embrace. The man who’d driven the van, holds Ma to his chest, stroking her hair. I hadn’t realized she was seeing anyone.

Couples cling to one another, parents holding their children. Soft tears fall onto pale cheeks, fear filling the room in waves. Glancing down at Faith, I realize this is it, there will never be another chance, never be anything else but this.

“Faith. I just want you to know, I love you,” I say, the words coming easily to my lips.

She smiles up at me, her eyes filling with tears.

“Me too,” she replies, sinking into my side.

No grand revelations, no long winded speeches, nothing but honesty. Simple truth. I wrap my arms around her, feeling her breath against my skin. Charlie sleeps, nestled between our embrace. My only regret is that it all comes too late.

The day dwindles to night, the night bringing chaos to the world. We remain clustered in the basement, and for the first time since my childhood, I pray. For Faith, for Charlie, for Ma, for Ty, and for mankind.

And as the earth shakes, and fire rains down upon us, I slip into dreams, knowing they were inevitable, knowing I’ll find peace within them.

Fin.

Notes:

The title, Helicopters, was inspired by a line in the song This Mess We're In, by PJ Harvey.
Reference to the bowls comes from Revelations 16, in the New Testament. Various other images and tones were borrowed from the Book of Revelations. In particular, the writing on the side of the bowl, it is done, is a direct quote from Revelations 16:17.
And the seventh angel poured out his bowl upon the air; and there came a great voice out of the temple of heaven, from the throne, saying, It is done.
The author also wishes to note that while I do not claim any religious affiliation, no offence was intended to those that do.

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Helicopters

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