It's dark. And not in the, "Oh gee, I'm unconscious" sense, but more in the, "Give me my damn night vision goggles!" sense. Of course, Nick didn't have any night vision goggles, but that was beside the point. He trailed behind Brass as they kept on walking down the highway, the edges of the streets lined with people, and the streets themselves filled with empty cars. Some people were still shuffling through the cars and down the roads, like them, while others simply camped out, keeping wary eyes open for the monsters, ears alert for that noise, and meager camp fires to keep them warm. As unappealing as that was, both of them went searching for a place to set up camp (or a shabby excuse for one). Brass kept on glancing at all of the grim faces, looking for Williams. Nick looked around too, for any sign of anyone from the lab. Who knows? Maybe some of them ran this way. He didn't bother looking for Greg.

Dead people don't camp out.

"Stokes, come on!" The detectives grabbed Nick's arm and quickly dragged them into the empty patch of grass, glaring at anyone else who wanted the spot. Nick just sat down, while Brass went around looking for leftover wood, matches, or, and this would be a miracle, food.
"Please sir, could you just spare one-"

"No! This is my wood, for my family! If you want any, then you pay me?" Brass glared at him, before yanking out his money.

"How much?" The man greedily eyed his wallet, fingers drumming against the cracked concrete of the road.

"Fifty dollars."

"What?"

"You heard me! Fifty dollars!" Brass growled, resisting the urge to just sock the guy, and gave him a jerky nod.

"Fine, whatever. I'll find someone else." And with that, he whirled around and continued his search.

'I should help…' the thought kept coming and going, swimming through his brain, 'I should help…this is all a matter of survival, right? I should do something…' but every time he tried to move…he didn't. Couldn't. It wasn't a matter of paralysis or anything like that…well…maybe. Just a little. But not physical paralysis…just…mental…?

Nick wasn't sure.

"Hey Mister?" he looked up, into the wide blue eyes of…someone.

"Hm?" they blinked at him, small head cocked curiously to the side.

"Are you okay? You wanna' stay with me and mommy? We have food and-" she proudly thrust her doll into Nick's face, "Billy!"

"Billy?"

"Yup! He's the greatest! Mommy says that if we ever get separated, Billy will look after me!" She smiled, a sweet little gap toothed thing.

"Well your mommy was a smart woman, letting Billy look after you."

"Really?" she stared at him, big eyes looking at him with awe, "Do you know Billy too?"

"Stokes!" Nick looked up as Brass headed towards him, triumphantly holding a milk carton full of water, "Come here and help me make camp! We're staying the night here."

"Yeah…okay…" he gave the small boy an equally small smile, "I guess we'll be camping with you, huh?" he got a toothy beam in reply.

"Hello?" Greg stumbled through the debris, "Hello?" he bit his lip, "Come on! Someone still has to be here, anyone!" it was dark. And cold. And the road was white with…

…well, you know.

Shivering, he hunched in on himself, trying to protect himself from the cold. Eyes on the ground, the white only marred with empty shirts and pants with burns and rips and…

…more ashes.

More goddamned ashes.

From those goddamned things!

From only god knows where!

And what the fuck was going on?

He savagely kicked at the ground, causing the dust to rise up and clog his air.

What the fuck is going on!

Coughing and screaming and manically swatting at the dust, eyes clenched tight, mind on a (hopefully) temporary vacation.

Is this all that was left?

Ashes?

Cold?

Where was everyone? Where did they all run? Why can't he find anyone?

"Where are you!" he snarled, "Where are you all hiding? Why the hell are you all hiding from me? I don't want to be alone…" he swallowed thickly, "You hear me! I don't wanna' be alone, goddamn it!" his angry stomps, flailing arms, more screams more snarls more…more panicking.

More helplessness.

No more, please?

He fell to his knees, a second time that day…

Couldn't he at least have a clue that what was happening? Just one?

He was a CSI.

Follow the evidence…

He could just hear Grissom's voice in his head, calm and utterly unaffected, "Just follow the evidence, Greg."

Follow it…

"Okay…" he got up, looking back from where he came from, "the evidence…follow the evidence…"

The beginning. You always start at the beginning, at the scene.

This was just one big, mass homicide. And the perp is a…machine. Now all he had to do was the find the evidence to convict the machine and prove it to a jury.

Really, that's all this was.

Everyday…

'That's right, Greg. Just keep simplifying it…'

"Okay…the beginning…the beginning…" The storms, "Aruba." He paused, "can't go there…the crime. That guy. Thomas? The first victim. Okay…the hole. It came out…from the hole." He nodded, "Right…so…start there. Figure out the case, find the evidence, start at the beginning." he took a deep breath, bracing himself, stiffly walking back to where it all started: that goddamned hole, "Gotta' figure it out. Gotta' understand…" another trembling step, his panicked ramblings getting a bit more solid, "Gotta' stop thinking about Nick. Gotta' figure it out…have to see…" he clenched his fist, "Why." Greg ran.