It does not take long for me to find Kate. She's back at the conference table hunched over a large topographical map of the city. She's on the phone to someone. I listen in on one half of the conversation, I'm struck by her assertive tone because she does not come across that way at home. It's clear she is currently in charge of a significant portion of the ongoing emergency response. I always had the impression her position here was clerical.

I never much considered what she does at work, I had a vague idea but in general we do not talk much about our jobs. She disconnects the call and turns from her map and sees me standing there. Her face softens and she moves toward me. I'm inclined to move away, I can't decide what I am feeling, but then she's here, so close I can smell that fragrance she wears and I can't move.

"Are you okay?" She asks cupping one side of my face in her hand. And it is hard for me to believe that she is not genuinely concerned.

"I've been better." I have wadded up paper towels pressed to my forehead. She reaches up and gently pulls my hand away.

"Oh my --" She turns and shouts across the room, because that is the only way to be heard above the commotion. "Tonya, can I get you to look at this?"

An EMT hustles over, a large medical kit in her hand. "Ew, that's nasty!" She says, assessing my injury. "That will need stitches."

"Tonya, this is my husband Connor. Connor, Tonya is one of our EMT liaisons helping to coordinate our evacuation and other efforts."

"Nice to meet you." I say rather unenthusiastically. Tonya is a striking woman, the darkness of her skin is only surpassed by it's remarkable smoothness. In stark contrast to her skin, small gold hoop earrings line her earlobes, three on each side. She has a broad, bright smile and flashes it frequently. She's in a much better mood than I.

"You should sit down Connor - this might sting a bit."

I wince and cringe and grimace my way through a more thorough disinfection process. I think she might be scrubbing the wound with steel wool, I keep my eyes shut. Tonya does her best to close up the wound with a half a dozen suture strips and tapes some gauze over top. She then places an instant cold pack in one hand and two ibuprofen in the other. "That is the best I can do until you can get to the ER."

"ER?" I say, still staring at the cold pack.

"You really did whack your head." Kate says, taking the cold pack from me before popping and shaking it. She presses it to my head. "Hold it there." She turns to the EMT. "Thanks, Tonya, I got it from here."

"Take care of each other." Tonya says and leaves, still smiling.

Kate hands me a water bottle. "Take your pills." I do, and polish off the contents of the bottle. I'm still parched, near death experiences are very dehydrating. "You do need to get to the ER." She says, referring to the hospital another block or so south. "They are leaving the ER open as long as possible, while they evacuate the rest of the patients. Take the car, go around to the backside of the parking garage, the motor pool is back there. Hand them this slip, they will fill it up for you. Then you can take it over to the ER."

"What about you?" I ask.

"I'll be here, doing my job."

"When can you leave? When can I take you home?"

"I don't know right now - there's too much going on. They might be needing me at the evac site."

I sigh. "So, you really know how to use that thing?" I point to her hip.

"Yes, but I don't want to. I'm not very good, I can hit the target, but not like your Dad." Kate never met my Dad, but she's seen some of his old competition targets I still have hanging in my office. "I just don't think I can shoot another human being."

"Yeah." Apparently I can. I don't tell Kate about the gunfight at the office building, the guy I blasted through the wall, or that other guy that left part of his head on the scaffold. "Back of parking garage you said?"

"Yes."

"I will be back as soon as I can, then maybe we can get out of here."

"Maybe." She says, noncommittal.

I take the scrap of paper and weave my way back through the room. It takes a few wrong turns and some back-tracking, but eventually I make it back outside. The ambient sounds still includes gun fire, but nothing too close. There is an acrid smokey stench lingering in the air now, a combination of all the various fires mixed with gun smoke. I pull out my phone to check the time and discover it has been destroyed beyond repair. I toss it on the ground in disgust.

I find Kate's old sedan easy enough and pull around in back of the garage like I was told. At one of the pumps is a giant eight-wheeled vehicle taking on fuel. There is a mix of military and police milling about, plus the guys manning the pumps and one slightly worn for wear civilian - me.

"Connor, sir!" A familiar voice rings out.

"Private Hartt, how are you doing?"

"It's Corporal Hartt, sir. Battlefield promotion."

"Really? Wow, congratulations. Is that what you get for not dying?" I say, shaking his hand. I don't know if it is being outside or running into Hartt, but I feel a bit less stressed all the sudden.

"Yeah." He laughs a bit. "I'm also temporarily assigned to this Recce unit, so I get to cruise around in the Coyote." He slaps the side of the giant green beast beside him.

"Who gets to shoot that big gun?"

"No one right now. We don't have any 25 millimeter rounds for it."

"That sucks a bit."

"Fuckin' eh." Another soldier adds, overhearing us.

"That would be the gunner." Hartt tells me.

"So what the hell are you suppose to do then?"

"Well, I'm gonna whip out my--" The gunner starts, grabbing his crotch to illustrate his intent.

"Stow it Omar!" Says another man, who I guess is the ranking officer here.

"We are waiting on a delivery, we have three other Coyotes, only one has ammo. We had more, but... combat losses. Hey, enough about that, did you find your wife?" Hartt asks.

"Yeah, and I got patched up a bit. I was just coming over here to fill the car before making a trip to the ER to see if I can get stitched up. Then hopefully I can get Kate out of here."

"Word to the wise." The grizzled gunner says. "Get your ass out of here as soon as you can. We are suppose to be holding the line here, but if they hit us in force - we're fucked. A bunch of impotent Coyotes ain't gonna do shit. Like a eunuch in a whorehouse."

Another soldier comes forward, "All topped up, sir, we are good to go." He says to the crew commander, who is overseeing the activity from the turret.

"Okay everyone, hustle up, let's get back in defilade and do what we are here to do." The commander announces. "That means you too, Hartt!"

Hartt grabs his kit and moves. "See you sir, good luck."

"You be safe Hartt - keep your head down." I hope to hell nothing happens to that kid.

Hartt disappears around the back of the LAV and into the belly of the beast. With a belch of black smoke, it's powerful diesel engine rumbles to life. The immense vehicle rolls out, leaving me there with a couple motor pool attendants manning the fuel pumps and two policemen standing guard. I hand the slip of paper to one of the attendants and pull the car up.

"Hey," I ask, popping the trunk. "Can you fill these too?" I pull three jerry cans out and line them up on the ground.

"We're not suppose to..." the attendant start, but I cut him off.

"Man, look at my face. You have any idea what kind of day I have had? Getting stuck on some goddamn rooftop with the fucking GFA trying to kill me."

"Holy crap - that was you?" The attendant is gobsmacked. "I have twenty bucks riding on you. You actually made it?"

"Most of me did."

"Pay up Morgan." He says to the other man.

"How do we know you're the guy?" Morgan says.

"Look at that piece of paper, dumbass." I'm way too tired to be cordial. "Does it say Kate Killoren?"

They both scrutinize the paper briefly before the guy pumping my gas punches Morgan in the arm and coaxes him to handover the winnings. I shake my head ever so slightly, I'm not overly enthused about being the subject of some kind of office dead pool. However, at this point, the nozzle jockey is more than happy to fill up all the jerry cans. I'll take free fuel any way I can.

"Thanks guys." I say, and hop in the car. I pull up to the gate and one of the cops comes to the window. I roll it down. "Need to visit the ER." I say pointing to my head. The flimsy gate opens with an off tempo grinding noise and I ease the car out into the alley. That gate sure as hell ain't going to keep the GFA out.

I don't feel entirely safe, I would like to floor it and just get to my destination. But I just creep along, just above idle, my head turning this way and that. I turn the lights off to be stealthy, but the daytime running lights come on making my efforts a waste. I see no aggressors, nobody for that matter. I see one extraordinarily large rat rummaging through a refuse pile and further on, two cats in a moment of passion, and that's it.

At the hospital, I park partly up on the boulevard, with the intent of not getting blocked in. The evacuation is still underway, ambulances, buses and vans are all lined up. A steady flow of people are being ushered out of the building and into the awaiting vehicles, which whisk them away. I weave through the crowd and into what I believe is the ER. At first I wander about, but to no avail, so I stand there and try to look hapless and injured. I see a poster hung nearby about hand washing and infection control. I look at my filthy hands.

"Can I help you?" A young man in scrubs asks.

"Yeah, I think I need stitches." I reply.

"Okay, sorry about the craziness, we have a situation."

"I know."

"You need to get to triage, go to the back of this room, out the double doors and turn right. Follow the hall all the way to the end and go right again, someone there will be able to assist you."

"Okay thanks."

A few minutes later I am sitting at a small desk talking to a nurse. He looks tired. Then again, I look dead. I answer his battery of questions, he takes some vitals and I go sit in a room with all sorts of sorry looking people. By comparison, I don't look nearly as dead as some of these people. I grab a five year old magazine off the table and try to get comfortable. Three magazines later I am lead to a room and asked to get up on the bed.

"A doctor will be with you shortly." The nurse says and leaves.

I sit slouched on the bed for about thirty seconds before I swing my legs up and lay back. I don't remember closing my eyes, but someone is now shaking me and I resist returning to wakefulness. My dreamless, exhausted slumber, my paradise. Why should I leave?

"Mr. Killoren?" The doctor resorts to knuckles on the sternum. I'm no longer asleep.

"Yessh?" I say groggily.

"This will burn a bit."

I'm not anywhere near fully awake when he stabs the needle in my forehead, unleashing an unexpected white hot pain. Reflexively, I lash out and deflect his arm, the needle tears through my flesh and flies across the room. "Goddammit! What the hell?" I yell. I put my hand to my forehead and discover I'm bleeding freely again.

"Mr. Killoren - I have plenty of other patients to treat, if you won't cooperate I will just move on to someone else."

"Sorry... sorry." I apologize. "It's just been a really long day." I look him in the face and instantly I realize, his day has been much the same, but in a different way. There is no telling how long he's been awake and treating the sick and wounded. There is no telling how many lives have slipped through his fingers and how many families he's had to deliver bad news to. I feel like such an ass. "Look doc, just stitch it, forget the needle. I gotta get out of here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, look, you got a lot more important stuff to do, just fix me up so blood isn't running down my face." I know I fully deserve the pain that's coming. Instead of needle and thread though, he comes at me with a surgical stapler. It's surprisingly quick, a dozen or so clicks and the doc covers my staples with a clean dressing and sends me on my way.

Distracted, lost in my thoughts, I make a wrong turn and end up walking through a dimly lit, abandoned food court. All the vendors are closed, metal gates pulled down to prevent vagrants like me from stealing stale muffins and such. I can see an exit sign at the far end, I can just go out and walk around to the car, I reckon. Near the exit I pass a small alcove with three pay phones in it. I lift a receiver and listen. Dial tone.

I drop some coins and dial Ari's number, and it rings, much to my disbelief. On the second ring Ari picks up, I swear that man does not sleep.

"Ari, it's Connor."

"I know."

"Uh... right." Dammit, of course he knows. "How's Heath?"

"He's well, he's been worried but he's asleep now. He misses his parents, you need to come home."

"They crossed the border Ari - thousand of them - it's like a war zone."

"I know. Connor - get out of the city. Now. Do not --" The line clicks and goes dead. A second later all the remaining lights go out. It takes a few moments for the backup lights to come on. I leave the phone dangling from its cord and make for the exit. Once outside I circle the building clockwise, hoping that is the quickest way to the car.

I hear the roar of jet engines rip through the night sky overhead, though I see nothing. The sky lights up to the northwest, the ground seems to tremble and I feel a thud deep in my chest. Seconds later a boom reverberates through the city, rattling windows, waking babies. I can't be certain, not from this vantage point, but something tells me, somebody just bombed the bridge.

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