London Bridges/This is Home

"Take her with you."

The Chief stared blandly back at Henry as he rattled on about his plight of the catatonic girl in the backseat of his patrol car.

"What?" Henry stared back just as flat-faced, sitting down and setting his badge on the mahogany desk. The layered room was grimy with darkness and the desk lamp did nothing to illuminate a bad situation. Henry turned and flicked on the lights - they both blinked and grimaced at the sudden flash.

With the light on Henry got a good look at the Chief of the police station. His belly bulged slightly over a large brass belt, his shirt was undecorated and rumpled. Sweat stains dotted the front and armpit area. The tail ends of his shirt were untucked and drooping, buttons from neck to mid chest and from belly down were skewed and loose. Dark circles stood out against his watery blue eyes and an ungroomed moustache looked like it was invading the Chief's face. His bald head was uncapped and glistening in the bright overhead lights.

Now, HE looked like shit.

"You heard me."

"Doesn't that go against company policy or something?" The boy looked flustered and completely uncomfortable with taking a stranger home with him. After all, she could be a serial killer in disguise. It was always the quiet ones, or the butler - as the story goes.

"I've got over 600 people injured, over 300 dead, half of them un-identified, or unidentifiable, and the ones that are identified have families threatening to sue the rails. I've got higher ups, corporations, half of goddamn bloody England breathing down my neck." For one second the man's face crumpled, his hard lines folding over themselves, "So, just for one night, take the girl with you. Tomorrow, stick her next to the dead bodies and someone'll find her along with their dead mother, brother, sister, husband." When the Chief's voice cracked, Henry stared in shame at the floor.

"Never mind, I'll take care of her Chief. Forget about it." Henry smiled gently and retrieved his badge from the desk. "Have a good night, sir."

"You too."

And Henry turned off the lights.

Walking out, one lone lamp in the building burned brightly, with a slightly overweight, irritated, sad, sloppy old man burning in it's light.

--

Opening the door, he took a glance at the young woman in his back seat. She was still immobile, unmoving, a zombie of prolific proportions.

After that sheet was overturned the girl, Susan, had not moved again. Thinking back, he supposed the boy under the sheet was probably one of her missing brothers, but he couldn't say for sure because she had yet to speak since then.

The roads were dark as energy was still scarce and the city had no wish to spend their money on a time when most were inside according to citywide curfew. The streets appeared dead, no windows rustled, no lone walkers, no people. Only darkened doorsteps marking silent streets.

After Susan's apparent mental collapse he stuck her in his patrol car. It is always cold and rainy in England so, he only cracked the windows. Henry returned to his job, picking up his shovel which was still lying on the ground next to a small butt-sized imprint in white dust. Bodies continued to turn up, many of them children and Henry slowly grew cold and hot. The air was stifling and they wore masks to keep the stench from reaching them. Hot alive bodies smelled bad enough, dead ones were nauseating. Hour after hour he monotonously dug through the steel wreckage, thoughts of the woman in his car escaped him as he concentrated on the task at hand.

A foot, a hand, an arm.

A leg, a finger, a chest.

A head, a toe, a body.

Henry hummed to himself.

London Bridge is falling down,

falling down, falling down,

London Bridge is falling down,

My fair lady

--

When evening fell the workers dispersed, carrying the dead to various morgues among the cities. The halls were left dark, what bodies still lay buried would stay buried for the night, the blood stains and wreckage and dirt and sweat and tears faded as the lights above flickered out one after another.

Henry returned to the car and was surprised to find a young woman in his back seat. From there he had proceeded back to the station only to find it dark except for the Chief's office. The story follows above.

Henry was not suited for this. He considered himself mediocre if not slightly strange. A boring, droll country boy who came to the city to become a hero and wound up directing traffic and chasing wankers who cut purses.

He pulled up in front of a small apartment building. Opening the door he was expecting to have to force her to come, but Susan was surprisingly compliant and she looked at him with such pitiful eyes Henry could do nothing but carry her to his apartment. Once she lay in his bed, the life left her and her blue eyes closed in a dreamless sleep.

Henry struggle to pull an old Army cot out of his one closet, the springs creaked and the legs were rusted over from a dripping pipe in the closet. He pulled over to the sink and splashed water on his face. His soppy shirt stuck to his skin as he tugged it off and he then, sat down at the table for a moment. Not still for long his nervousness forced him to move; he picked up his breakfast dishes, a napkin with bread crumbs and pieces of egg still stuck to it, and dumped it into the small black trashcan that was situated in the corner. His room had no cupboards and the one closet was wet with mildew so, he chose to lay his clothes on a small table he had purchased at a secondhand store. With nothing else to do, he stumbled his way over to the old cot.

Lying down was heaven, even if the thin mattress felt like bricks. The room smelled of mothballs and the puke yellow colored paint that was disturbing during the daytime, hid itself behind a curtain of darkness. The walls were peeling and you could hear things crawling in the wall. Years of living here had made him accustomed to the nighttime noises and the stench of his one room apartment did nothing to hinder his sleep. Exhausted, he joined his charge in the same dark dreamland.

--

The next morning Susan woke up cold and wet. To a smiling face filled with eggs and bacon.

Her screams reverberated around the one bedroom apartment and Henry lavished her voice with his pearly whites.

"So, Sleeping Beauty awakes at last." He drawled.

"No thanks to your asinine attempt to wake me." She rolled out from under the covers and swung her legs over the side. Her shirt was soaked, though the rest remained fairly dry. "You do realize I have no other shirt to change into you - you - you deadbeat asshole!?" she questioned. Henry stood in front of her with an old shirt and pants on, both had several holes in them. He held a plate of eggs and bacon in one hand and a fork in the other, his face currently stuffed with both food products. After waking up that morning Henry had rummaged around a bit to find real eating ware. Luckily, there were some old plates hidden under his table, he had of course, out of politeness towards his guest, washed them (severely scrubbed and soaked in steam hot water - sterilization).

"Ah… well, the insult was unnecessary, but no that hadn't crossed my mind. None the less it is a simply solved problem - you can have one of my shirts." He placed his plate and fork in one hand and then swept the other in a wide arc towards the various clothing articles thrown on the floor. She grimaced and blanched at the thought of dressing herself in on the festering pieces of clothing on the floor.

"Uh…"

"Anyway, I made breakfast. You should have some, breakfast is the most important meal of the day." he recited towards her turned head, "There's eggs and bacon." Henry gestured towards his own full hands.

"That's okay, I…" His mournful eyes beseeched her, "… will only have a little."

He beamed and it was slightly charming. Henry turned around to slop food onto a second plate. "You know, you were fairly impossible to wake. The water was a last resort, besides you were making a racket. Sounded like nightmares, not that that doesn't make sense."

Susan hushed her breathing and gripped her chest. The same palpitating, clenching sensation took over her heart again.

Edmund, Lucy, Peter.

All dead.

Peter.

She hadn't even stuck around to find the other two. If Peter was gone, the other two stood no chance. Nothing was quite memorable after that, just the slow beating of her heart. She remembered sitting in the damp car and listening to it for hours, making sure it was still there, still pumping life into her. Her chest heaved in a sudden motion and she threw up on the wooden floor. Susan turned positively green and wouldn't lift her head.

"Well, I suppose breakfast is out of the question now." Henry walked over to the table and placed his empty plate on it. Grabbing some rags off the floor he mopped up the blown chunks and dumped the dripping rags into the trashcan. He poured water on the area, dripped some soap down and scrubbed the residue up. Susan still hadn't moved. He sat down on the bed and it creaked protesting to the extra weight. A callused hand rubbed small circles on her back and a dam broke. She grabbed onto his stinky, holey shirt and wouldn't let go. There were no tears, no nothing, just that desperate movement.

A few minutes later Susan whispered for him to take her home. He asked her where home was.

She couldn't answer.