A decade and a half ago a four-door sedan came off the assembly line, it was shiny and clean and eager for a comfy commute, or a memorable road trip. Back then the odometer read 000000.0 -- it doesn't read anything now because a couple stray bullets have smashed the hell out of it.

The cushy old sedan has never been driven like this. It was never meant to be. I race down streets in the bullet-riddled car with the accelerator pegged to the floor and the engine screaming. I have no idea how fast I am going, the dash is full of bullet holes and the gauges aren't working. Steam billows out from under the hood, only to be whipped away in the wind. The cabin is filled with the sweet smell of glycol mixed with the melodious odor of fifteen years of engine grime now on the verge of catching fire from the overheated block. The engine is making an ungodly sound and I fear it might shit the bed at any moment.

Everything outside the car is a hoary blur. Everything inside the car is a gory nightmare. Blood soaks into the cracked leather seats as my passengers continue to ooze the precious fluid. Someone keeps screaming-- turns out it's me. I think Tony might be dead in the back seat, I can't tell, he's unresponsive. Kate lies in the front, dangling lifeless from her restraints. I have her hand clenched in mine.

Navigating the darkened streets is impossible; between my speed, lack of lights, and my attention divided between the horror beside me and driving-- I keep missing turns, becoming more disoriented as I go. I'm in pure panic mode, running entirely on adrenalin and instinct.

"Hang on Kate!" I beg her. "I got you, I got you."

I slam on the brakes and make a hard turn into an alley, I speed along recklessly down the narrow lane, between houses and apartments. The car bottoms out as I cross side streets, my occupants lurch sickeningly at every bump and swerve. As I cross an intersection, I recognize a building in the distance to my right, the car screeches to a halt as I jump on the brake pedal with both feet. I throw it in reverse and correct course. A couple more turns, a couple more blocks and I should be back near the hospital. That ER better be open!

I fly through another intersection, looking right. The car smashes violently into something and goes into a spin. An airbag deploys in my face like a prize-fighter's punch. We come to rest on a sidewalk with the front end partway through a fence, I have glass in my mouth and I feel a cold breeze. I curse my idiocy - how the hell did I side-swipe a tree? Then I hear it, something I have never heard before - it's a loud hissing sound, something akin to a very large vacuum. No that's not it, it sounds more like a jet, why do I hear a jet?

As I struggle with my seat belt, I crane my neck to see what is making that sound. There, looming out of the darkness, is the enemy's secret weapon. The M1A1 main battle tank. My god it's huge! I thought it never made it through the tunnel. My blood turns to ice as I am momentarily stunned by what I see. It seems that death has been only steps behind me all day and now I believe I am looking at the beast itself.

Instinctively I grab the door handle and yank, my door will not open, I think the whole left side of the car is crushed from the impact with the tank. I watch helplessly as an unmanned machine gun atop the tank turret swings toward the car. Seconds become hours as I desperately try to release my seat belt, but it remains jammed. I look over at Kate and then back out the window, I'm peering straight down the barrel.

"I love you Heath." I whisper, praying my words find their way to his heart. My journey ends here. I lock eyes with death and wait for one of us to blink.

The car is jolted hard from behind, my head bounces hard off the door pillar. There is the crunch of metal-on-metal as the sedan is launched completely through the fence and sent spinning wildly across the grass. Stars swim in front of my eyes, I see red streaks fly through the air. There is machine gun fire, loud and angry along with a symphony of pings and ricochets.

Peering through the shattered windshield, I can just make out four large tires. A Coyote has inserted itself between us and the tank. I watch in a daze as the Coyote absorbs round after round from the tanks machine gun as it is raked fore and aft. The Coyote's turret is also in motion, the long, skinny barrel lines up on the tank and with a loud CRACK! the 25mm gun annihilates the CROWS remote gun. A least that Coyote still has some teeth.

"Not a lot of time!" I hear someone yell. I turn to see Kate dragged out into the night. Everything is starting to blur, another form leans in from the passenger side. Menacing gloved hands reach out toward me.

"Jesus Christ, sir! Could you get into anymore fucking trouble?" I hear Hartt's distinct voice. He cuts away my restraints and yanks me from the car.

"Move it!" Another voice yells.

I'm being dragged roughly across the grass by Hartt, I keep trying to stand, but everything is spinning.

"Where's Kate?" I ask.

I hear more metal crunching metal and I turn to see the Coyote and Abrams grinding against each other. As the larger, tracked vehicle turns, it pushes the Coyote aside like a toy. The Coyote bolts away as both manoeuvre for firing position. The deadly cat and mouse game continues as they both swing their turrets, the Coyote fires on the rear of the tank as it cuts across the back and disappears down a side street. The tank gives chase.

The world goes gray, voices echo but I cannot make out what they say, I'm lost in a swirling, ever darkening sea. I smell a hint of Chanel - Kate's fragrance - I know she is near. We get to go home now, we are safe, we are together at least. I feel my body relax.

Everything goes black.

* * * * *

I'm pulled unwilling from the blackness, then I sink back, and again I am jolted by a strange sensation. I open my eyes. The blurry outline of body, a woman's body. Kate!

"Kate." I say, my dry throat making my voice crack.

Another jolt as the figure passes something under my nose. The sharp stench of ammonia shocks my senses. The image sharpens, I notice scrubs, Kate doesn't wear scrubs.

"Lay back, be still." She says, I rub my eyes trying to clear the picture. "You're going to be okay. You have a mild concussion, you were in an accident."

An accident? I hit a goddamn tank!

"Where...where is Kate?" I ask. I look around there is something so familiar about the ceiling, and those pillars. I have been here before, but this is not the hospital. "Where am I?"

"You're safe now. Rest."

"Where is..."

"Just relax." She reiterates as she grabs a long clear tube, sticks a syringe in it and pushes the plunger. I follow the tube down to my arm. My hand is cold.

"Where..." The sedation pulls me down. "Wherrrr..." But  I forget the question, I forget all the peril, all the death, I forget myself and drift off somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. I remember this place now, I remember it from my childhood and a thousand times since. It's different now, being made into a makeshift hospital, but I see the escalator in the distance, the one I accidentally shut-off as a toddler much to my mother's embarrassment. I'm at the mall, awaiting evacuation and I couldn't care less.

* * * * *

I arise from my stupor as the sedative wears off, just now do I notice the rows upon rows of beds and cots and gurneys. Scrub-clad personnel move about busily attending the injured. I sit up, a bit dizzy, a bit groggy and with one hell of a sore head. I wait for the world to settle. Looking up at the IV pole, I see whatever they were giving me is long gone and I have to pee badly. I yank the IV from my arm and stand. I take a moment to steady myself and then when I am confident I won't fall flat on my face I head for the back of what was once a popular department store, where I know a urinal awaits.

Halfway there I am stopped by a nurse or orderly, or someone who just likes to wear scrubs. "Whoa buddy, you should be lying down."

"I gotta take a piss."

"I can bring a urinal to your bed." He says.

"I'm fine, there's a bathroom right over there."

"Let me help you back to your bed."

"If you don't get out of my way, I'm going to piss on your leg." I say, unzipping my pants.

"Okay, have it your way." He says, moving on to attend to someone else.

The bathroom is full of people in scrubs, everyone but me it seems. The guy at the urinal next to me wants to chat.

"Can you believe this shit is happening?" He starts, turning to me. "Whoa, you're really banged up! Have you seen a doctor?"

"I'm okay." I reply.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What number are you?"

"Huh?"

"Your number. Did you get your evac code yet?"

"What's that?"

"The evacuation is organized with numbers, the numbers correspond with the schedule, so you know when to go out and wait for your ride out of here. How do you not have a code - don't you want to get out of here? I sure as hell do."

"I don't need a ride, I drove up..." I start, but then remember the tank. "Where do I get a number?"

"You know the drug store in the middle of the mall?"

"Yeah."

"They are set up in there, but the lines are long, you might even have to wait outside."

"Okay. Thanks."

"No problem. You really should have a doctor take a look at your head."

"I'll think about it." I wash up and splash handful after handful of ice cold water on my face. My head clears a little-- enough I guess. If I concentrate enough, I see a blurry version of me in the mirror rather than two. In either case, they don't look happy.

I catch up with a women who has a stethoscope around her neck, just outside the restroom. "Hey, are you a doctor?" I ask.

"Yes."

"I need to find my wife, her name is Kate Killoren. She was shot and they would have brought us in together. I have to find her."

"Come with me."

We go up the escalators to the second floor where they have created a small administration area. A few notebook computers are setup on makeshift desks, operators tapping away at the keys. Other people are sifting through large paper ledgers, others still are communicating over two-way radios. It's an organized chaos.

She leads me to a desk, where an older, bearded, balding and bespectacled gentleman sits, several ledgers piled in front of him. "Leo will take care of you." She says to me and then turning to him, "Leo, this gentleman is looking for his wife."

"Have a seat, Mr...?" He says.

"Killoren. My name is Connor Killoren and I am looking for my wife Kate."

"Same last name?"

"Yes."

He shuffles through several papers on his desk, and appears to find what he seeks. He then grabs one of the ledgers and begins to leaf through the large, grid-lined pages. He stops partway through and runs his thin, bony finger down the page. He pauses on an entry, tapping his finger lightly, then follows it across. "Hmmm." He says.

"What is it?"

He looks up with a grave expression and a lump forms in my throat. "She's in ICU. Let me get Dana back." He calls to the doctor who brought me up here and gives her the information.

"I'll take you to her." Dana says and walks me back to the escalator.

"Is she going to make it?" I ask.

"I'm sorry Mr. Killoren, but I don't have any information on your wife's condition, but I can take you to the people that do."

She leads me out of the department store into the mall and finally to a store that once sold men's wear. The space has been hastily converted into an intensive care unit with curtain dividers creating several bays for injured patients. We approach an exceptionally tall man with kind features and distinct crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

"Doctor Galloway, this is Connor Killoren, we believe his wife is in your care."

"Yes, I'm glad to see you are up and around Mr. Killoren."

"How's my wife?"

"Kate sustained significant injury, the most concerning is a bullet wound to the side of her head."

"She was shot in the head!?" I never had time to find out where she was shot.

"The bullet did not penetrate, maybe the helmet slowed it down or altered the path just enough, but it is still a worrisome wound. Swelling of the brain is our biggest concern right now. She has been stabilized, we have her in an induced coma. I want to warn you, she is in very serious condition, the next forty-eight hours will be critical in determining which way this goes."

"Can I see her?"

"Yes."

They give me a mask and smock and allow me behind the curtain that hides my wife from the world. Kate looks broken, tubes and IVs are hooked to both arms and she's on a respirator. Her chest rises and falls to the mechanical rhythm of an adjacent machine. I pull up a chair and sit at the bedside, taking her hand in mine. It's cold and limp. I interlace my fingers with hers and squeeze, but there is no response.

"Kate." I whisper, leaning in close to her. "I'm here Kate, I got you. You're going to be okay, just rest, take as long as you need." I press her hand to my face. "I don't know what went on between you and Tony, maybe nothing, I don't know. It doesn't matter, Kate, it doesn't matter to me, I forgive you, just come back to me. Do you hear me Kate? I'll get you out of here, you can come home, Heath is waiting. We are still a family Kate - you're still my wife and I love you." I watch a tear form at the corner of her eye and slide down her temple. I wipe it away with my thumb. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm so sorry..."

There is a breaking point everyone has, I have found mine in the big and tall section of the store formerly known as Sharp Creases at the mall. I feel myself shattering, little bits of me tumbling away, pieces that will never fit perfectly back together to form the same whole that once was. All that remains is the raw emotional pulp of the man I once was. Everything hurts, and it is too much to bear.

I clench my fists and cover my eyes attempting to stifle the emotion that threatens to pour out. My whole body shakes and then goes still, and begins again, involuntary convulsions belying the upheaval within. I breathe deep and stand. Another breath and I pause waiting until I am sure I have mastered myself.

I part the curtain, Dr. Galloway is right there.

"Can she hear me?" I ask wondering about that tear.

"It's possible."

"What's that bracelet on her wrist?" She is wearing two, one looks familiar, typical of hospitals, the other looks more like something you would wear at a concert or theme park.

"That's the evac number."

"Oh. How long before she gets out of here?"

"The more critical patients have been prioritized to get out sooner, but the logistics are still being worked out. Some can only be moved by ambulance, like your wife, and we need more ambulances. They are going to run an escorted convoy back to Grey Harbour, the hospital there is small, but still has power. Of course, all these plans are predicated on one thing."

"What's that?"

"That the GFA doesn't reach us here before then."

"Thanks doctor, for everything. I think I need some fresh air."

"Mr. Killoren, if you talk to the evac managers, they can likely get you assigned to the same ambulance as your wife. You can leave together."

"Thanks again. I will go see them."

One more deep breath and I walk out and head out of the temporary ICU. I pass many confused and worried faces, the mall is full of people, but they aren't here to shop. People are just taking shelter, milling about, sitting on benches, many just on the floor. I walk by a mother breastfeeding a baby, while a toddler nearby plays with a small toy truck. I pass more of the displaced on my way to the exit, families, couples, groups of strangers huddled together. Safety in numbers, except no one is safe.

A queue of people runs down the length of the corridor and out the door beyond. People are standing four abreast and the line does not appear to be moving. If the line is as long as it appears, I'd be better off trying to walk home. Anyway, I don't need a bracelet, I need fresh air, I pass through a set of double doors and into the crisp, cold air. I draw it in deeply. I need a coffee.

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