It was just after I finished typing the last entry that it happened.

The small rumbling caused by the feet of the moving crowd suddenly started to intensify. Kelly grabbed me by the arm to stop me from moving forward, and I looked around, partially expecting the cause of it to be that the crowd had for some reason started running. On the contrary, however, the majority of the people had stopped walking as well, their eyes searching the sky above them to the ground beneath their feet and everywhere between for the cause of the anomaly.

The shaking continued on for nearly ten straight seconds, increasing steadily in intensity all the while. It had easily reached earthquake-level strength before, just as abruptly as it began, it dropped off and faded away, leaving nothing behind but a few flickering streetlamps and a stunned silence from the crowd.

The people began talking again all at once, instantly becoming far more frantic in their manners of speech than before. An even more dramatic shift was evident in their body language. Some of them took up an uneasy fast walk; others, namely those who weren't with anybody they needed to look after, simply broke into an all-out sprint. The direction of the source of the earthquake, as I decided to call it for lack of a more accurate term,was, of course, completely undetectable - nevertheless, this didn't stop some of the more panicked of the crowd's members to turn and move resolutely the opposite direction. As I walked, I moved past a man and a woman, presumably husband and wife, who were locked in a vertical tug-of-war struggle over which way they would proceed. A few people were apparently so lost as far as which way to go was concerned that they had gone over to the side of the street to talk about it among themselves, decided to stand completely still to seemingly wait for the proper choice to become more clear, or even gone back inside their homes.

Kelly nudged my arm about a minute later, and I turned to look at her.

"What is it?" she said.

"What is what?" I replied absently, a rather large portion of my mind still on the image of the decapitated Statue of Liberty.

"That." When I gave her a confused look, she continued: "You're being so... quiet."

"And?" I prompted, more for purposes of stalling my involvement in the conversation than anything.

"And, Ms. Star Reporter, I happen to know after five years of experience with you that quiet and withdrawn isn't your style. Even if you are busy typing on that thing." She waved her hand distractedly at my BlackBerry.

"Did you ever think I might have been shaken by the earthquake and city-wide power outage that followed? Or maybe the subsequent explosion right in the middle of Manhattan? Or that maybe I was busy wondering what all this could be?"

"Doesn't seem to be bothering them," she answered without hesitation, gesturing to the moving crowd. The fact that she had to project her voice at me even when we were right next to each other underlined her point. I gave a noncommittal shrug to hide the fact that some part of my mind was numbly thinking something along the lines of, Why does she have to know me so well?

Never one for patience, Kelly didn't wait for another comment by me to continue the conversation. "You still haven't answered my question. What's got you so rattled?"

I clicked my tongue a few times, a sign that I was thinking, to keep her temporarily off my back. As far as I could tell from the constant drone of the moving crowd, not a lot of other people other than me had seen the Statue's condition, and I wasn't eager to be the first to break the news to her.

'Break the news'. Part of me must have a much higher than average enjoyment of cruel irony, because it sneered at me maliciously at the thought. And to think you want to be a reporter someday, even though you can't even tell your own best friend about that one detail.

Shut up, I told the voice. I don't need this.

Oh yes you do, it answered smoothly. It's the instinct of journalism calling, and you know it. Why else are you taking it to heart that you need to document whatever it is that's happening here?

I pondered this for a few moments, realized that it was right, and tried my best to turn myself resolute toward the idea. I turned back to Kelly, only for a significant percent of the private bravado to disappear now that it was faced with the possibility of going through with telling her.

Inwardly preparing to make myself sound more confident about it than I felt, I was drawing the breath to tell her when she suddenly frowned, sniffed the air, and said, "Wait a sec. Do you smell that?"

I didn't notice anything at first - it had always seemed that her senses were sharper than mine, a fact that irritated my inner reporter. But after a few seconds of inhaling deeply, I did notice something on the wind. Even that small whiff of it made me want to cough; it smelled like an about-even mixture of smoke, ash, and dust. Several other people now seemed to have noticed the smell too, whether by themselves or because they had overheard Kelly pointing it out. Soon, it seemed that everyone in a twenty-foot radius was sniffing the air and muttering anxiously to their respective companions about the smell. The farther forward I walked, the stronger the choking odor became.

More were choosing to turn back now, and they were beginning to get directly in the other peoples' way, like two stones grinding together. Kelly and I weaved our way to the side of the street, where the resistance was less thick, and trudged forward.

It occurred to me that I had no idea where I was going, or even why I was doing it. I tended to require reasons for things (something that had gotten me in trouble more than once when I was younger and questioned my parents' orders), so the absence of one at such a crucial moment was, to say the least, troubling.

But then my mind strayed again to the sight of the Statue of Liberty, and my doubts of having a reason were obliterated - I didn't know the reason I was walking, but I did know that the reason, whatever it was, was an extremely good one.

It began to get harder to move forward. At first, as my vision was obstructed by a few dozen moving bodies, I thought that a large group of people had decided to turn around. Then, as I got closer, I saw a cluster of people gathered around the base next intersection, looking at one of the streets and conversing fearfully with each other. Grabbing Kelly by the wrist, I squeezed through the crowd until I was able to get a good look down the street.

At first I didn't see anything, though I immediately noticed that the smell hit me with a new intensity as soon as I stepped out from behind the corner of the building. Then, as I looked farther down the street, I saw it: A large cloud of brownish dust that obscured my view of everything beyond a few more blocks. Even as I watched, it continued to creep along the ground, spreading itself out in all directions as it snaked between the buildings.

A few people had broken away from the flow of the crowd and were heading toward the cloud, apparently to check it out, while the majority of the people had picked up their pace in the exact opposite direction. For a brief moment, I pondered what I should do - stay away from the potential danger and keep moving ahead, or go possibly risk my life on the chance to find out what was happening.

No question.

Only halfheartedly making an attempt to yank Kelly along with me, I broke out into a frenzied sprint in the direction of the dust cloud. I heard her cry of, "What the - Linda, get back here!" but it was as if the words entered my head and bounced around a little, leaving only a vague impression, before exiting again.

It was only when I felt a tight, familiar grip clamp down on my forearm that I stopped and turned around. Kelly leaned on me halfway for a moment as she caught her breath, then gave me a look somewhere between exasperation and ferocity.

I was already moving again by the time she spoke, forcing her to keep pace beside me."Are you out of your mind?" She said it as if it was an actual concern. I ignored her, focusing on moving forward.

By this point we had entered the cloud, and now she was pausing every five seconds or so to cough. "I don't get it, Lind! What is it that's-" cough, "making you act so weird?"

"I... saw something," I murmured distractedly, still moving at a half-run. I glanced hurriedly at both sides of the street whenever I moved past an intersection, trying to catch a glimpse of... something. Anything.

"Okay," Kelly went on, stifling another cough. "And what did you see?"

I very well might have answered her, if not for the fact that the unspeakable sight that beheld me when I looked down Broadway robbed me of all ability to speak.

Kelly made a strangled noise that might have been an attempt to gasp.

"Oh... my..."

Her voice trailed off; apparently, finishing the sentence with "God" wouldn't have done her feelings justice.

The entire street was completely decimated. Large chunks of concrete, seemingly blown off of the surrounding buildings, littered the ground. Some had landed on parked cars with enough force to crush their hoods and start fires in their engines on impact. There were some small fires in other places too, and the dust caused the air around them to glow like neon lights. Most of the windows at ground level were broken, providing the ground with a covering of sharp glass. A small amount of people were scattered about the scene, covering their mouths with their sleeves as they coughed or sitting on the curb and staring at the ground with a singularly haunted expression.

And in the center of the street, as if to complete this picture of apocalypse, was the head of the Statue of Liberty.

It looked like it had been forcefully ripped off by something, from the ragged look of its neck. The back half of it was dented flat, as if it had hit something with great force, or had been hit with something with great force. It laid on its side, its eyes staring blankly up the street. The spikes on her crown were either bent at odd angles or missing entirely. The face looked charred, and it was pockmarked with a small series of large holes, almost like the marks left by teeth or fingernails.

I found myself walking up to it, as if it would turn out to be a mirage and disappear if I got close enough. Instead, the terrible details became clearer and clearer as I moved forward, until I was standing directly in front of it.

'It'. Funny how I immediately stopped using "she" once I had seen what had become of what had, less than an hour ago, been a symbol of this country's triumphs. And now look what had become of all that. Part of me almost wanted to get angry... only I was too scared to be angry. My hand, as if of its own accord, reached up and touched the cold metal. I silently begged for a sign of reassurance. But the face continued to stare past me, unknowing and uncaring of my torment.

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I didn't have to turn to see that it was Kelly. She was staring up at the head too, and her eyes were clearly filled with just as much fear as was inside me.

"What do you think?" Her voice sounded faint, as if only half of her consciousness was with me. "You think it's the terrorists?"

I shook my head firmly. "Worse." For that much I knew.

I turned away from the head and looked back up the street. Much of the same thing greeted me: destruction and death. Suddenly, I felt myself frown. There was something about the picture I was missing... some detail I wasn't noticing. I knew it was there, whatever it was, but I couldn't put my finger on it. As my eyes roved over the scene, trying to figure out what was out of place, I spotted an enormous pile of rubble that completely blocked the street where the Woolworth Building-

Of course. That explained the huge dust cloud; the Woolworth Building was gone.

Or, more specifically, had been reduced to the heap of shattered stone I was looking at.

At this point, my knees began to buckle, and I barely made it to the curb before they collapsed beneath me entirely. I hunched over so that I was on all fours, fighting to keep my breathing deep and steady. My head swam, my vision blurred, and wave after wave of nausea crashed into me so that I had to make a constant physical effort not to vomit. My forehead felt as if there was a cold rush of wind blowing against it, but that it was so warm that the air only made it feel like it was about to burst.

After a few minutes of gasping for air and keeping the contents of my stomach firmly inside my stomach, I straightened back up and regained my composure. Apparently seeing that I was alright, Kelly came over and sat down beside me.

"Feeling better?"

I nodded, not looking at her. Maybe as far as my physical condition was concerned. But otherwise? No, "feeling better" was the farthest thing possible from accurately describing how I was doing.

"Come on, then," she said, helping me to my feet.

"Come on?" I said, puzzled. "Come on where?"

She gave me a stern look. "Well, you don't really think we're just gonna stay here, do you? Come on, we're going to the Brooklyn Bridge. Everyone's saying that's the best place to go."

Leaving Manhattan? The idea sounded oddly foreign to me. The thought had never entered my mind that this grand city could ever be attacked so seriously that all its people would be forced to leave. Not even after 9/11.

But then I looked back down the street, where the Statue of Liberty's head was now serving as a monument for the truth of that possibility, and my doubts left me instantly. Whatever this was, it was definitely serious enough to abandon the city. I gave Kelly a grim nod, stood up, and started walking.

And that's what I'm doing now. Things throughout the city aren't looking much better than what I saw on Broadway. It seems like there's an almost linear trail of destruction, which our path has been unfortunate enough to intersect more than once. Chunks of buildings scattered on the streets, cars upturned, fires eating away at the few places otherwise untouched... It really doesn't look at all like it could be terrorists.

As I was typing, somebody ran up to me and started pleading at me frantically in another language. When I couldn't help, he gave an anguished sob and moved on to somebody else. My stomach twisted in what I now recognize as pity. I witnessed similar incidents happening around me.

But maybe my part in this was about to end. Once I made it out of Manhattan, perhaps this nightmare would come to a close.

This might have been a comforting thought... if only the terrified sensation at the pit of my stomach would leave.