The AED box pulled along after me, one of the leads still wrapped around my wrist.
I was still on auto-pilot—I pulled the AED to me and scooped the entire thing up in my arms without thinking, pulling the wires out of the way enough so I could sprint the rest of the way to the exit.
The black cloud above floated and swirled above as I ran under it.
I made it to the EXIT—an alcove leading to a dimly lit stairwell. I took one last look behind me before starting down.
The mist was already beginning to re-solidify—a very light, black rain fell and hung suspended in the air...
Barely a drizzle.
But I knew that wouldn't last long.
I ran down the stairs, trying to go as fast as I possibly could without tripping over myself. The light was dim sickish-yellow, the steps themselves hard and unforgiving.
Jesus, Ava, you somehow survived all that—don't kill yourself by falling down a set of stairs.
The bottom led out to the main lobby of the police station. I took a few, tentative steps out of the stairwell onto the cold, hard, marbled floor. The giant lobby was dark—except for small fires, dotted and scattered around like torches, giving off a dull, orange-ish glow.
At least there were no sprinklers down here.
Doesn't matter. Can't sit for too long. Hurry up.
I cautiously left my hidey-hole by the stairwell, and started out across the huge, marble floor.
It looked like a war had been fought down here. There was debris scattered everywhere, not just parts of wood and furniture and glass and guns... but I mean like parts of the building.
The entrance of the lobby had been completely blown apart.
The only way out.
Giant slabs of concrete and steel girders were collapsed in a pile that burned peacefully but steadily, completely blocking that entire section of room. Broken and shattered spikes of glass lay scattered and splayed everywhere in that direction, turning the ground into a crystal, shimmering, beautiful ballroom-dance floor.
I looked down at my bare feet.
Yeeeah... no.
I heard coughing.
Someone's still alive.
I took one last nervous glance back at the stairwell—still empty—then scurried quietly towards that way. I still mindlessly cradled the AED in my arms, tip-toeing my way through the errant glass laying around. I squeezed my way through two giant piles and mounds of broken wall and concrete chunks, following a path through the rubble lit only by the moon light.
Wait a minute—
Moonlight?
I looked up to see twinkling stars above...through a giant hole where the ceiling used to be. The clouds drifted by above in the night sky, occasionally letting a shaft of moonlight slip through to shine off the trail of wet footprints I left behind.
I found a man.
And I honestly don't know how he was still alive.
He was lying trapped under a pile of rubble. A police officer. Everything under his waist was pinned underneath a big chunk of crumbly rock, with a huge steel beam laying across it. He slowly shifted his upper body, rolling his head, groaning.
A small fire burnt on nearby rubble, bathing his older, dirty face in an orange glow.
I knelt next to him, my hair still dripping water.
Holy geez—there's no way I can possibly get him out of this. What the hell do I do?
His eyes widened when he saw me. "You? What are you doing here?"
"I need to find Henry—can you move? Can you get out?"
He grunted, gently shaking his head. His voice was weak, but so harsh and raspy it sounded like it was painful to talk even on the best of days.
"No. No, this is it for me, kid. Shame." He coughed. "Kind of appropriate though, I guess. I'll take it."
He slowly nodded to himself, as if I wasn't even there anymore.
"Please, mister—just tell me what I need to do to help you. Please." My stomach was sinking... deep. He was rambling.
Is this what people did right before they died?
My eyes started burning from tears.
Please God, no. I don't want to see someone die. Please don't let this guy die.
He suddenly seemed to come to lucidness, becoming aware of me again.
"What are you still doing here?" he rasped, straining. A drip of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth. "You need to get out of here. Like, now."
"I can't," I said. "The whole front of this place is blocked in. And besides that, I'm not leaving without..."
A beautiful, sudden ghost-like image rose and floated in front of my mind, an image of the most beautiful face I've ever seen—and knew I ever would see—the perfect way one side of his mouth would turn up in his perfect smile, the way his hair fell and hung over his face, the way his lips would—
"Henry," I finished.
The man under rubble squinted at me, grunting. It fell awkwardly silent.
Wait... what is that?
I realized I could hear a low hum somewhere in the background... a hum that hadn't been there before.
Oh no—hurry. It'll be here soon.
He began to mumble groggily to himself; I only caught parts of it. "You... different..."
I had no idea what he was saying—and I had no idea what to say. "Look, Mister, stay with me, maybe—"
"Alright, goddammit," he grunted, snapping awake again. "Alright! Here." He started to reach underneath the rubble with his arms. He suddenly tensed his entire body—before suddenly violently yanking something underneath him, jerking it upwards.
He screamed.
"Wait, stop, let me help!" I cried.
He dropped back, letting out a giant breath of relief—the sound of a man dropping into his favorite recliner after a long day. Sweat poured from his face.
"Jesus Christ, do you ever stop talking?" he grunted. He shifted to squint closely at my face, continuing to fiddle around by his waist. "You've got glass in you. Cut on your forehead—another laceration on your shoulder."
Glass? I reached up, wiping the side of my wet face, smeared blood-water coming off on my palm. There was definitely a cut on my shoulder, from where I had hit the glass AED case—some of the glass had sliced my shoulder, leaving my sleeve in bloody tatters.
A trail of blood had run its way down my arm. I was still wet, and the water and blood mixed to reflect orange-crystal off my skin in the dim, flickering fire-light.
"You'll be fine," the man grunted, groaning as he managed to swing his arm out. "Here, take this."
He held out his police belt.
"Sir, that's very nice of you, but I really need—"
"Take it!"
His yell was so loud, so commanding—so powerful, even for being in such a bad condition, I instantly complied.
It was heavy—I don't know how the hell he managed to hold it outstretched like that. There was a bunch of stuff attached to it; little cases and pockets. A gun in a holster. Some gloves. Little canisters.
Also, the buckle of the belt was broken.
Wouldn't have mattered—there's no way I could have ever gotten that giant, heavy thing tight enough to clinch around my waist.
What am I supposed to do with—
The rumbling began to get louder.
You have to go!
"Just take it—" the man choked, starting a coughing fit that ended with blood spraying out of his mouth.
That seemed to end the strength in his voice—now it was just a husky whisper.
"Don't bother with gun—does nothing... to it," he rasped. "Just end up... killing yourself. There's... collapsible baton. Teargas... canister..." He mumbled something else before trailing off.
"Mister, I—"
His hand suddenly shot out grabbing mine—he squeezed painfully for a moment, full of energy, then relaxed.
"Keep going..." he said, teeth clenched. "Your friend is... downstairs. Get out... through garage. Straight... ahead."
I looked up ahead.
There was another stairwell right next to another EXIT sign for the garage.
A direct path to two separate doors... leading to two separate outcomes.
You can get out of this craziness now, you know, my mind whispered. You can just... leave.
I don't want to see anymore.
"One more thing..." The man's whisper was quiet, so weak and faint, yet his breathing was quick and heavy.
He still held my hand.
"Tell... Mather... when you see him...that Pete... said to not give up. To not quit. Even if you run away... you can come back... and—and..." He began to choke. "Not only... was your father... proud..."
A tear slipped out from his eye, leave a slow, clean trail through the path of dirt and dust on his grizzled, pained face.
He weakly squeezed my hand.
"I was too," he whispered.
And then he was gone.
Just like that.
There was nothing more to it—no fireworks; no theatrics. That was it. He just took a deep breath... and... and...
Silence.
Gone.
I continued to kneel, holding his limp hand. The patches of fire around the room flickered and glowed, spotlights in the open moonlight. Tears begin to slowly roll down my face.
I'm so sorry, mister.
I'm so sorry you had to die.
The ground began to rumble.
You have to get moving, Ava.
I almost didn't care.
You can at least save yourself.
Then I heard a different voice.
His voice.
Ava, you have to hurry!
I looked up at the two paths as the room began to darken.