Steven

Before that day even started, I knew it was going to end badly for everyone. The air in my bedroom was heavy and uncomfortable when I got out of bed that morning, so much so, that it had invaded my dreams and forced me awake before my alarm went off.

Amanda had left for work at the harbor before that, walking with a few co-workers of hers in the hour before dawn, down to the southern bridge to cross over into the industrial end of town where Jaggars hung around on street corners like cockroaches. "They never bother us," she promised me. "And they don't come around the harbor. If they have any business with the sailors there, then they must do it somewhere else because I never see them." She never seemed bothered by the fact that she worked in a worse part of town than I did.

By the time my alarm clock had gone off, I had already made coffee and was working on breakfast. The air in the kitchen wasn't much better and the steam from the coffee and eggs hung in my face, making it feel like summer humidity in the middle of fall.

Right about then, I got a call from the police station. For a moment, I thought they were about to fire me over missing vests. But that never came up. They said there was something going on down at the South End that involved the Serpents and seeing as how I was the "liaison" for the Serpents, they wanted me there to sort things out. I didn't want to tell them that I only knew the kids from the Rea Estate who weren't even in the Serpents, or that I didn't really know what it meant to be this "liaison" for anyone. I just got in my squad car and headed down to the southern bridge, hoping to find Amanda before she walked into God-knows-what. The sky was hazy with smoke and the further south I drove, the worse it got. By the time I got to the bridge, it was so bad that it made the whole world feel wrong.

She was standing next to an ambulance at the bridge intersection, but she didn't appear to be hurt. A crowd of people had gathered and stood in distinct layers, the outer rim of which consisted of citizens from the Center City area. They stood like a makeshift wall around the intersection, interrupted only by the ambulance and one other squad car.

"Amanda! Are you alright?" I touched her arm to get her attention and pull her away from the wall of people.

"I'm fine," she said, refusing to move from her spot. "I don't know what's going on, though. I think one of the factories must have caught fire. I'm trying to find out if I can get through to go to work, but no one will talk to me. Why don't you get in there and find out what's going on."

"You can't go to work today, honey, It's more than just a building on fire. The Serpents are involved and... well, I don't know. I've been sent to find out. You should probably go home and get out of this smoke. If it is a factory that's burning, then I'm sure this air is now toxic."

"Why would they send you?" She asked. She furrowed her brow at me in a scrutinizing kind of way, not meaning to show her doubt, but unwittingly letting it slip out through a head-tilt and a shift in her body's posture from one side to the other.

In the moment, I had forgotten that I hadn't told her anything about my extra work. I couldn't tell her. If I ever told her even one part of it, she would start asking questions that I couldn't answer without saying the name Cory Cortez. "I... I don't know," I said, forcing a half-hearted shrug and glancing away to avoid eye contact. I looked toward the center of the crowd as if I was taking in the scene. "I don't ask those kinds of questions when it's my boss telling me what to do. I should head in there. Why don't you head home." I put my hand on her shoulder, but let go quickly to start pushing through the crowd. I didn't look back at her in fear that she might see my guilty conscious and guess that I wasn't telling the truth.

The second layer of people in the crowd was a thin band of police officers, who parted for me to pass through to the center of the crowd where under-fed and jaundice residents of the South End sat on the pavement in exhaustion, struggling to breathe, while doctors and paramedics from the hospital passed around food, oxygen, and medical supplies for the burns and gaping wounds on their yellowed skin. Scattered among the sickly and the medics were journalists scribbling down notes, snapping pictures, and pointing video cameras in every direction.

But in all that mesh of people, I couldn't find a single Serpent, though I did find Piper. The poor guy leaned against a brick wall, struggling to find a comfortable position to sit or lay in. The best he could do was sit on his right side and lean forward while resting his head on the wall and clasping his broken glasses in his hands.

"Hey, what's going on here?" I asked a doctor who was attending to a badly burned man on the pavement. "What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he said in a distinctly foreign accent. "I just came down when I heard that there were a lot of injured people flooding out of the South End. We need to get them to the hospital and out of this air, but we only have one ambulance with our only radio in it, and our only driver is busy helping out that little girl that the Smoke Angel brought over."

"Who?"

"Over there." He nodded toward a man knelt down over a small child. He must have thought our conversation was over because he didn't say anything else.

Following his nod, I went to see the ambulance driver and asked him the same question. "Don't know," he said. "Just trying to help."

"Who is the Smoke Angel?" I said.

"Don't know that either. She just came out of the smoke a while back carrying this little girl. Wouldn't really talk to anyone. Then she ran back over the bridge. Came back again with an injured expat and a young man that kind'a looked like the Serpent leader--you know the one that gave the speech on the steps of the Capital building?" He looked up at me for the first time, then turned his head in the direction of the bridge where the distant sound of gunfire echoed off the vacant buildings. "She and the Serpent-looking boy went back into the smoke about ten minutes ago. One of the journalists started calling her the Smoke Angel and we're all waiting to see if she brings someone else back." He looked down at the girl again. "I don't think I can do much else for this girl here. Can you do me a favor and get her to the ambulance? I'm gonna round up a few more injured that really need to get out of here and drive them back to the hospital."

I carried the unconscious girl to the ambulance and helped two more badly injured people in before the ambulance took off. By then, it was obvious that there was no one in this crowd that knew what was happening and the only way I was going to get any answers was to cross the bridge.

I looked around one last time for anyone who might know something, or go with me, or stop me from going. But no one even seemed to notice me. I untucked my shirt to loosen it up and pull the collar over my nose, then headed over the bridge at a half-jog pace to push through the smoke quickly, but not so quickly that I should run into trouble before I could see it.

The smoke ended at the same place as the bridge and on the other side, there was a clearing of fresh air and sunshine with just a hint of falling ash. Gunfire echoed down the street, but it still sounded distant and small, like hammers on wood. There were no signs of anyone nearby and I had no idea which way to go except toward the gunfire.

But I didn't go. I stood there in the center of the road, trying to convince myself to turn back. Somewhere far off, beyond the gunshots and burning buildings, a wailing, ghost-like cry went up as if the terror of the scene had its own siren to announce its presence. More screaming cries joined in the sound and it grew closer and louder, until the nerves in my arms and back went numb from feeling fear.

The last voice to join in was nearby--somewhere behind the building in front of me, or maybe inside of it. I pulled my gun and took a step back, only then noticing the blood on the pavement of the intersection.

A creature jumped out from between the buildings--not a racoon or a feral dog or anything I had ever seen before. It looked like the fire had burned off all its hair and some of its flesh, which was blackened and smoking. At first, I only saw its backside as it faced the other way. When it turned, I stumbled backward and took a shot, more as a clumsy reflex than anything. The thing screamed at me with a voice like metal scraping on metal and started running in my direction with teeth that were clearly meant for an animal twice its size.

I shot at it again, but missed completely. It seemed like my gun was filled with blanks because even though I was sure that the barrel pointed at the beast, I couldn't even see evidence of the bullets hitting anywhere near him. But then again, neither could I see anything happening in my periphery because right about then, as I stumbled backward over the bridge, the beast fell to the ground and slowly turned itself in another direction, growling like an alley cat might when it's cornered. Blood oozed out onto the ground beneath it, and before it could gather itself into any kind of attack, another bullet hit it in the face, and its body crumpled into a heap.

"You okay, there?" came a man's voice, muffled and hollow through the sound of my own heart beating in my temples. I nodded instinctively before looking in his direction, closing my gaping mouth and swallowing the dryness.

There was no one in the direction of the voice. I squinted and scanned the shadows of the buildings looking for an outline of someone. Out of the corner of my eye, a man appeared coming up from a place near the junction of the bridge and the road. He was dressed in the Serpent uniform and carried a rifle in his hands.

"How--?"

"It wasn't me," he said. "There are several of us gatekeepers here. I'm assuming you're here to figure out if the rest of the city is safe?" He looked me up and down as if he was appraising my value. "Or maybe you were just deadly curious to see what was on the other side of the smoke. Either way, if you don't know how to use a gun, I'd suggest you don't carry one. You almost hit one of us with your fly-away bullets."

"I'm sorry. I... I do fine on the shooting range, but... I've never had to aim at a... a... what is that thing?"

"Don't know. But apparently there's a lot of them running around. Ugly things, aren't they?"

The walkie-talkie on his hip hummed with static. "Looks like the Underground traitors are back again," someone said over the white noise.

"Can I shoot 'em?" another said.

The man speaking to me rolled his eyes and unclipped the walkie from his belt. "That joke was old the last time you said it." Then he turned to me and said, "You should get back on that side of the bridge. We won't let anything get through that isn't supposed to."

"May I ask what's going on?"

"Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. Something about the Jaggars or the SBS. We just follow our orders, and our orders are to be gatekeepers here."

Two men limped around the corner, one supporting the other to stand. It took me a moment to recognize the sturdier one as Miles. Both of them had their heads down and were covered in ash and dust.

Without saying anything, I ran to help Miles support the one who looked like he was going to collapse. It wasn't until I had the slumping boy's arm around my shoulder that I realized it was Mikkel. It was hard to tell if he was conscious or not. His eyes were closed, but he seemed to be moving his feet. Either way, it was obvious from the blood on his clothes, and the bruising on his face that he wasn't going to be much more than a heap on the ground if left to stand on his own.

Miles looked up at me. His eyes were blood-shot and had that shiny, crystalline look that told me he had been crying. The tear-tracks running down his cheeks agreed.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

"I'm here to help. Let's get you two back over the bridge."

Miles ducked out from under Mikkel's arm, handing off the full weight of his body to me. "No, you take him. I have to go back."

"Miles--"

"Take him to a doctor, he needs help," Miles called over his shoulder as he ran back down the street.

I looked up to see what the Serpent soldier thought of this, but he was gone--disappeared back under the bridge, or wherever it was that he hid. As I dragged Miles to the bridge (he did put in some effort to walk), I looked again over each building and shadow of the intersection, trying to find the "gatekeepers," but had no luck finding them.

Mikkel completely gave up on walking about halfway over the bridge. Maybe he had finally passed out. It was impossible to tell, but by the time I made it past the heavy smoke, I had to lay him down. He had become much too heavy for me to carry.

A medic rushed over to help, but the ambulance hadn't come back yet, and the medical supplies were nearly gone. "I have some things in my trunk that might help," I said to the medic. "Just hold on."

"Don't bother," she said, "There's very little I can do for him here. We need to get him to the hospital. Can we use your car?"

I'm ashamed to say I hesitated. I don't know why I did. I guess I had never thought through a scenario such as this before. The medic gave me a look before I finally nodded and said, "Yes, sure. Let me just... I mean..."

"Help me carry him," She said.

Together, we carried Mikkel through the crowd to my squad car, where we had to lay him down for me to open the door (he was much too heavy for the medic to support on her own).

"Let me just get a sheet of plastic from my trunk," I said, hurrying to pop the trunk before opening the cabin.

"Are you kidding me?"

"It'll just take a minute," I said without looking back at her. I grabbed the folded sheet of plastic and laid it out on the back seat of my car. "There, see? That was fast, no problem."

"This boy is dying!" She said, giving me a hard look that I avoided by keeping my eyes on Mikkel.

"One minute didn't change that. He'll be fine. I know this guy. He's tough."

"He's your friend and you treated him like that?" She was practically yelling this as we pulled his body into the car. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see people in the crowd turn to look at us--at me.

"I wouldn't say 'friend,' but... nevermind, get in." I slammed the back door shut and headed to the driver seat, key in hand.

"No," she said. "I'm staying here to help others. You take him to the hospital and try not to get sidetracked along the way or stop to clean something. He's worse off than you seem to think. And whether he's your friend or not, he deserves to live."

I had no response to her, so I said nothing. It was hard even to look in her face as I got into the car. But I nodded and turned on my lights and siren to let her know that I understood.

The plastic kept my seats clean, but a bright red smear of it got on the floor. It wasn't that I was a neat freak or that I was upset that a wounded boy would ruin my car. But staring at that long smear after Mikkel's broken body was carried into the hospital disturbed me to my core. It was a piece of pain and trauma that would follow me everywhere after that, reminding me how fragile we were, how close death was to us, and how involved I had become with the violence that plagued our city.

In my attempt to remove the plastic from the seats in the most careful manner (hoping to spare my car of any more stains), I found myself smeared with Mikkel's blood, first on my hands, but then, before I noticed it, I had rubbed it on my forehead. My pants, too were stained from where the plastic rubbed up against them, and my shirt had blood, but I think that had come from before the car ride.

I asked at the front desk of the hospital if I could wash myself off in their bathroom, but instead found myself crying in a toilet stall without being able to explain to myself why. It was a good several minutes before I was able to properly clean myself up and head back toward my car. I had considered staying at the hospital to make sure Mikkel was alright, but I knew I was much more useful somewhere else.

On my way back to the bridge, I radioed the station and let them know what all I had found out and requested help for moving the wounded out of the area, which they obliged. By the time I made it to the bridge, several other officers were there, backing up the crowd to make room for moving the wounded. Back inside the inner circle, I found Miles, head down, face in hands, sobbing, and sitting next to the pale, lifeless body of Dr. Gore. There was nothing I could say or do to help. In the brief time that I had known Miles, the only thing I knew about him was his respect for Dr. Gore. Well, that and his peculiar marriage to Cory.

"Miles..." I said gently as I sat down next to him and put my arm across his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

He didn't look up or even acknowledge me with a nod.

I sighed heavily. "Would it help if we took his-- him to the hospital? He should be... I think... They can take care of him there."

Miles shook his head and wiped his face with his hands.  Then looked up at me, with streaks of black ash and brown-colored blood running across his face like tire tracks. "He's dead!" Miles said. "There's nothing to do!"

"Well... I don't mean... But the..." saying the word 'morgue' proved to be difficult, so I gave up and instead, took to comforting Miles by pulling him into a hug, which he resisted at first and started to pull away, but then, in a moment of despair, let go a loud sob and fell into my shoulder. The two of us sat in a T-shaped hug for several long, smoke-filled minutes before I finally dared to ask quietly, "Where is Cory?"