Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing, Gredelina1 for pre-reading and both—and you all—for being to supportive throughout these chapters. They were a challenge to write and post and you've all been great about them xxx


Chapter Fifty-Four

Sam was still working with the Red Cross when night fell.

The floodlit site was more crowded now than it had been immediately after the towers fell as, though others were leaving now, people were traveling in to help. Sam was overwhelmed by the sheer number. So many people that couldn't stay home and watch had come to do their bit. They were handing out bottled water and sandwiches that stores and restaurants had sent in for them. Others had joined the bucket brigades on the pile, clearing the site piece by small piece.

There were rescue dogs everywhere, climbing over the smoking rubble with their handlers, searching for signs of life beneath. Sometimes they found it. Sam had heard the excitement of a few rescues as he'd worked at the Red Cross station. It invigorated every person there, the idea that life still existed beneath. Sam felt the same rush of relief when he heard an account, but he also felt the dull ache that with each success that came, there were so many that weren't going to be found. Sooner or later they would reach the place where a woman called Genelle Guzman lay, and she would be the last found alive.

Though there were more people, there were fewer injured. The comforting explanation was that people had been treated and left the site, leaving the paramedics able to handle the ones that remained, but more truthfully Sam knew it was because more people were now dead from their injuries. He didn't know how many he had helped, but it didn't feel like enough. It felt worse now that he was standing around doing nothing.

Soon it became unbearable to just stand there when there was so much need around him, and Sam wandered away from his table. He didn't know where to start at first, so he just wandered, looking for someone that needed him.

He came to the flag flying over the rubble that he knew had been erected by firefighters, the evidence of a city still fighting. He stopped and stared at it for a moment, taking in the defiance and memorial it represented. It was a message to their enemies; they were still here. But it was also a memorial to the thousands that had died, the hundreds of members of fire houses, cops, and civilians that had been trapped beneath.

Sam remembered the fire crew that had passed them on the stairs, how they had walked knowingly into hell to try to help anyone that was left, how it had cost them their lives. He had come here to help and save lives, but he had known it wouldn't come at the cost of his own. The men he had seen hadn't had that comfort. They'd known it was probably going to cost them their lives. Sam wished he had thanked them after all.

He carried on past the flag and approached a man in a red vest who was speaking to a group of others. Sam waited behind them for his chance to speak, and when they wandered away and the man stopped to rake a hand over his dirty face, Sam asked. "Is there a place I can help?"

The man frowned at him. "I thought you Red Cross guys were all based near the Chapel."

"I'm not really Red Cross," Sam said. "I was just helping out. There's no one else that needs me there now though. I need to do something else."

"We all do, buddy," he said tiredly. "I can use you. That crew I was just with are setting up a new chain. Grab a bucket and go with them.

"Thank you," Sam said.

He followed the group over to a stack of yellow buckets and picked one up then went with them back to the rubble. Sam took his place at the end of the line, quickly joined by others, and they began passing the buckets of rubble down along the chain.

As night crept on at the site, Sam became a part of the bucket brigade.


Sam was exhausted. He had moved past tired when the sun had come up again, and he was now almost drunk with tiredness. He was used to short sleep rations on a hunt, but everything he had done and seen had drained him more than he had ever been before. He felt like he could lie down on the ground away from the rubble and just sleep like so many others were.

The people around Sam had come and gone as they'd switched off with each other. He had stayed though. He hadn't allowed himself to sleep yet. He kept telling himself he would see one more person saved and then he would stop, but each time news spread among them that a person had been pulled out alive, it was the wrong person. He needed to see all of the living people out before he stopped. After that, nothing he could do would matter so much anymore.

People brought coffee that was mostly cold by the time it reached him, but he was grateful for it regardless. He didn't think he had ever needed caffeine more than he did now. There was food, too, but Sam had no stomach for it.

He learned things that he had never learned from the news stories he'd seen. The atmosphere of the place was different to what he'd imagined. People weren't dour and depressed. While there were still rescues, spirits were high. Everyone felt they were doing something great, even if it was just passing buckets like Sam was. There was conversation. Sam learned about the people around him. One, a young woman called Gracelynn, was a grade school teacher in New Jersey. She had heard about the attacks as she taught her class math problems, and as soon as the last child had been collected, she had gotten in her car and come into the city, her work seeming unimportant compared to what was happening in the city. She had driven as far as she could and then she had started to walk. The man on his other side, Leo, worked a few blocks away from the towers, and he'd been close when the South Tower had come down. When the dust had settled after the North Tower was down, he'd come back to do what he could.

Sam told them he'd been in the area when the planes had struck and, like them, he'd come to help. He didn't tell them he'd been in the South Tower or about the woman he'd come out with, though he thought about her sometimes. He didn't even know her name or where she came from. He would never see her again, though from those short hours they'd spend together, Sam knew he would never forget her, and he doubted she would him. He wondered if she would recognize him when he became a wanted criminal with his brother and made the news in ten years. He hoped not.

Another thing the news stories didn't tell them was that no one on the site called it Ground Zero. It was The Pile. A man that brought Sam coffee explained that it was because ground zero was what was left after a bomb, and this had been something far crueler than a clean and quick bomb blast. Sam preferred The Pile, too. It was exactly what it said it was; Sam stood on a pile of what had been buildings and people's lives.

It was past noon when Sam heard a shout go up behind him. The bucket line that had been working that area was moving faster than Sam's, and they all wore excited smiles.

"What is it?" Leo shouted to one of them.

"We've got a survivor!" someone shouted back. "They found someone called Genelle. She's talking to them."

"Do you need us?" Sam asked.

"No, man, we've got it. Just send up a prayer for her. She's been under there a day."

Gracelynn nodded eagerly. "We will." She looked at Sam. "A whole day down there. Can you imagine?"

"No," Sam said honestly. "I really can't."

She frowned at him. "What's wrong, Sam? You look awful."

"I think I need a break," Sam said. "Can you guys do without me?"

"Of course."

Sam handed her the bucket that had come along the line to him and clambered down over the rubble towards the edge.

He did need a break, that wasn't a lie, but more than that, he needed some space. Until then everything he did had been steeped in hope that he was going to be a part of the crew that saved someone. He knew it was over now. Genelle was the last living person pulled out. It was recovery now, not rescue, and Sam could let himself stop and rest at last.

He stopped as he jumped down from the beam he was walking along and looked back at the people working like ants on the rubble. None of them knew—Sam was the only person in the world that did—but it was over now. There would be no more miracle rescues. The only people coming out now were the dead. The thought of it stole what little reserves he had left.

He walked away from the pile on autopilot, past the crews talking and the Red Cross tables. He walked past the chapel were people were serving coffee and food to the rescuers, and along what had been a bustling street the day before. It was still coated with the grey dust and ash, and Sam remembered how he had felt only a day ago when it had swept towards him. It felt like it was a lifetime ago. He had been scared then, still in shock after what had happened in the tower, but now he was just tired and defeated. He needed to sleep.

When he got far enough away from The Pile that he reached the point that New York was still whole and alive, he flagged down a cab. He wondered if any would stop for him, as filthy as he was, but two did almost immediately.

Sam climbed into the first and said, "Four Seasons, please."

"Sure thing, buddy," the driver said.

They pulled away from the curb and Sam leaned back in his seat. He didn't let his eyes close though. He clung to the reserves of energy his body had miraculously stored, and just watched the city pass the window.

"You were there, weren't you," the driver asked after a period of silence.

"Yes."

"How close?"

Sam sighed. "I was close enough." He wasn't going to tell his story to this man that hadn't been a part of it.

"I get ya."

They drove on in silence until they reached the towering building and grand façade of the hotel where the cab came to a halt.

"Here you go, buddy."

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, but the driver reset the meter before Sam could see the fare.

"How much?" he asked.

"No charge," the driver said. "I could drive you from here to Florida and it wouldn't be enough to make up for what you've been through."

"Thank you," Sam said quietly.

The man turned in his seat. "You made it out, buddy. I can't imagine what you saw and did there, but you made it out. Get in there and rest. You deserve it."

Sam smiled slightly. "That's what I am planning to do."

He climbed out and patted the roof. The taxi drove away slowly and Sam walked into the hotel. He didn't realize what a sight he must be, coated in dust, wearing a blood-stained tabard, and stumbling from exhaustion, until he got into the lobby and people began to turn to look at him. It felt like every eye in the place was fixed on him. He ducked his head and walked through them.

He was halfway to the elevators when a man rushed up to him. He was wearing a navy suit and a discreet gold badge that identified him as the manager. "Sir," he called.

Sam came to a stop and looked at him. He expected the man to look awkward as he told him he couldn't come in looking as he did, perhaps to be offered a way to his room by the service stairs if he was lucky. Instead, the man looked at him with something like awe and said. "Is there anything we can do for you? Anything you need? Anything at all? Something to eat?"

Sam was stunned into silence for a moment and then he shook his head. "No, I'm okay thank you."

"No, sir, thank you," the manager said.

Sam nodded and him and walked away to the elevators. He stepped into a car and gave the attendant in his blue uniform the floor number. As they rose up, he could almost feel the young man's questions in the air, but, respectfully, he didn't ask them. But as Sam stepped out on his floor, he touched Sam's arm and said, "Thank you," very quietly.

Sam walked along the corridor to his room and let himself inside. Housekeeping had been in. Sam's belongings that had been dotted around were neatly placed on the dresser and the bed was turned down. Sam wanted to collapse into it, but there was something he needed to do first.

He picked up the phone and pressed nine for an outside line then dialed in the number to his house. It rang a few times until it was picked up. "George Collins."

"It's me," Sam said tiredly.

He heard George take a deep breath. "Sam. How are you?"

"Tired," Sam said.

"Are you just getting back to the hotel now?"

"Yeah. I had to stay to see the last person out."

"That's it then," George said. "There's no more coming out alive."

"That's it," Sam said. "She was the last."

George's sigh crackled the line. "How are you, Sam, really?"

"I don't know," Sam said honestly. "It doesn't feel real. How are you?"

"It doesn't feel real for us either. Missouri was here yesterday, and she's been calling this morning, too. So has James. Are you going to speak to her?"

"Later," Sam said. "Right now I just need sleep. Can you call her and tell her I'm okay?"

"Of course. You get some rest and call me when you wake. It doesn't matter how late; you know I don't need much sleep."

"Thank you, George. I'll speak you later."

"Okay." He hesitated. "And, Sam, I know I can't imagine what you have been through, but when you're ready to talk about it, I will be here for you."

"I know," Sam said with a small smile. "Thank you."

"Goodbye, Sam."

"Bye."

Sam set the phone down on its cradle and walked into the bathroom. He used the toilet then looked into the mirror as he washed his hands. He hadn't seen himself since the morning before, when he had left in his pristine suit. He looked like a different man now. His skin, hair and beard were grey with dust, and his clothes were bloodied and dirty. The Red Cross tabard he wore was the brightest thing on him, and that was dusty, too. He had brought The Pile back with him.

He pulled off the tabard and tossed it into the bathtub, then stripped his clothes down to his boxers. He was still dirty, but he had no energy to clean up properly. He washed the dust from his face with cold water and then shut off the faucet. Turning away from his reflection, he walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He collapsed into the bed and closed his eyes.

He thought he would struggle to sleep, despite his exhaustion, with the chaotic state of his mind, but his eyes fell closed and he felt sleep descend on him quickly.

He had barely pulled the bedclothes over him before he was asleep.


On Thursday something happened that boosted the depleted morale of the people working on the recovery and relief efforts of The Pile: George W. Bush visited.

The news he was coming created a kind of fever among the workers. Even those that didn't support him politically were energized by the news. They were being seen for what they were doing; the tragedy wasn't being ignored by the people that mattered. It was marked by America.

The Pile was an insular environment. Many people worked and slept there in the Salvation Army relief centers and so were isolated from the news stories and people talking about what was happening. They didn't know they were being hailed as the bravest of America, the best the country had to offer. They only saw the tragedy of what they were doing.

It was made worse when you had to enter or leave the site. There were so many people at the borders. Family and friends of those that were lost waited there for news. They held out photographs of their lost loved ones and begged the workers to find them. They wanted news of rescues, and it was down to people there, military, fire service, cops and civilians, to tell them that there was no news. Those people weren't ready to accept that it was too late.

The buildings around the area were papered with missing posters people had made themselves for the people they were looking for. They bore pictures of the smiling faces of the lost. It was like a hammer to Sam's gut to see them there, knowing what he did. After the first time he passed them, he stopped going back to the hotel. He stayed in the relief center during his breaks and worked the rest of the time. He felt like a coward for avoiding them, but this was the second time for him, and he knew more than all of them put together about what was coming. Even the greatest foresight and experience couldn't arm a person against what he had seen when he lived this time before.

There was a strong sense of camaraderie on The Pile. People that had been strangers before Tuesday were now brothers and sisters. Sam had met some amazing people whom he would never forget. They came from all walks of life, and their ages varied, but they all had one thing in common: they were there to help.

Sam had no will to resist building the bonds with them all that he had, though he sometimes thought he should. It was almost impossible though. People were reaching out their hearts to him in a way he'd never experienced before.

Sam was on a bucket line when he heard the president was coming. A firefighter came to talk to them, his face aglow with excitement. "He's coming," he said. "The president is coming to speak to us in person."

A murmur went along the line of people, and the flow of buckets moving stopped for a moment.

"Really?" a young girl called Carisa said. "Here?"

"He's on his way along Greenwich street now. He's going to talk to us."

He grinned at them once more them moved along to share his news with more of the workers.

"You know, I never voted for him," Lorenzo, a man Sam had spent the day working with, said. "But I would bow down and do anything he asked of me today."

Sam frowned. "You would?"

"He's the most important man in the world right now. He's the one that can make this right. He can make them pay."

Sam nodded. He hadn't thought of that. He already knew how payment for this would come. He realized now that he agreed with some of what Lorenzo was saying. He didn't agree with all of the politics, but he accepted that George W. Bush was the most important person right now.

"Let's go listen to him then," Sam said, setting down his bucket. "He's coming along Greenwich Street."

"Yeah," Carisa said excitedly. "I want to see him."

They all clambered down the rubble and made their way to where a crowd of people with the same idea was forming. They joined it at the back and waited.

There was a flurry of action in front of them, and Sam straightened to see over the heads of people in front of him. A group of men climbed out of cars and then he was there; George W. Bush had arrived. He was met by a fire chief and cop and they led him forward. People began to crowd behind Sam, all wanting to hear the president speak.

There was a crackle of a loudspeaker, and then Sam listened as their leader began his address to them. It was an historic moment, and Sam was never more aware of his nature as an outsider to this time than he was in that moment.

The president thanked them and then spoke the words that meant everything to the people there listening. "I want you all to know that America today is on bended knee, in prayer for the people whose lives were lost here, for the workers who work here, for the families who mourn. The nation stands with the good people of New York City and New Jersey and Connecticut as we mourn the loss of thousands of our citizens."

"I can't hear you!" someone shouted from the back.

"I can hear you!" he called back. "I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you! And the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!"

Someone started a chant of, "USA! USA!" and it was taken up by the crowd until they were roaring it.

Speaking into the roar, Bush said, "The nation sends its love and compassion to everybody who is here. Thank you for your hard work. Thank you for making the nation proud, and may God bless America."

The chant rose up again, and Sam found himself becoming a part of it without consciously deciding to. "USA! USA! USA!"

The noise overcame what the president was trying to say as people gloried in it. They were seen. They were heard. America noticed them and thanked them. It made every moment of working with blistered and burned hands worth it to them.

America knew and it was fighting back.


On Monday, almost a week after the towers fell, a disconcerted murmur moved along the line and people stopped with the buckets in their hands. A small crowd formed around a cop a little away from them. Sam joined it and listened as a man Sam knew was called Phil asked, "What's going on?"

"They've made some changes," the cop said. "The site is being assessed and it's been decided that they want to keep the ground crew to accredited people only. If you've got anything with demolition or iron work on your resume, report to the American Express building."

"And if we haven't?" someone asked.

"Then you've done all you can here."

People murmured angrily and he held up his hands.

"This isn't because we're not grateful for all you've done. Believe me, we are. You're all heroes. But we need to keep you safe. People have been injured when the rubble has given way, and we don't want any more of you hurt. You know it's recovery now, not rescue, so you have to put your own safety first."

Sam hadn't known about this. When he'd come to New York, he'd been prepared for the long haul of work, to leave Lawrence and his life there for the duration. It made sense to him that they keep it to professionals only, but he still felt the burn of it. He had felt better helping people. To walk away now was to have to stop and face what had happened, and he wasn't sure he was ready to do that. He didn't know what to do now. There were still places among the Red Cross, but they were well staffed and didn't really need him.

"Take a day to rest," the cop said. "If you want to come back tomorrow and help with something else, there's plenty you can do. The workers are going to need taking care of the way you have been. Think on it."

Sam nodded and walked away from the grumbling crowd. He walked along Greenwich Street, passing the walls of missing posters and remaining family members gathered among a group of others leaving with the same look of stunned shock. Sam thought they were also dreading what came next now the need for action was passed for them.

He hailed a cab and took it back to the hotel, not engaging with the driver that seemed to want to talk.

When he got to his hotel room, he sat down onto the bed and put his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to help people, but he also felt that his time would be better spent helping people away from the city. If he went home, he could take a hunt maybe. He could help George again.

He reached for the phone and called Missouri. He hadn't spoken to her at all since he'd left Lawrence, choosing to pass messages through George instead. Missouri would want to talk about what had happened, and he couldn't, not to someone that wasn't there.

She answered after a few rings and Sam said, "Hey, Missouri. It's me."

"Sam! Oh, Sam. How are you?"

"I'm okay," Sam said

"You don't sound it. Are you at the site still?"

"No, I'm in my hotel. We got moved off the site. They need trained people now to clear it, demolitions experts and metal workers."

"Does that mean you're coming home?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm not sure," Sam said. "There's still more I can do here. But I don't know how much of a difference I can make compared to taking up a hunt again."

"Hmm… Do you feel you need to be there?" she asked. "Is it easier for you to cope with it if you're still helping?"

"I don't know. It's not easy what I've been doing, but maybe it helped."

"How do you feel?"

"Tired," Sam admitted. "I feel really tired."

"Then come home. You can help people soon, but first you have to take care of yourself. George has only told me that you're okay. He hasn't told me what happened to you. I don't know if you told him even. But I have seen the news reports. I can't imagine what it must be like to be there, but I don't think it's a place where you can rest."

"It's not," Sam said, thinking of the constant need to work and the sparse hours spent on a camp bed in the relief center.

"Then come home."

"Okay. I will. I'll see if I can get a flight home this afternoon."

"Good. Call me when you get in."

"I left my car at the airport," Sam said. "I don't need a ride."

"No, but I need to know you're back. I won't come to the house. I'll give you your space, but I want to at least know you're home safe."

"Okay," Sam said. "I'll speak to you later."

"Sam," she said hesitantly. "I love you."

Sam smiled. "I love you too, Missouri. I'll see you soon."

They exchanged goodbyes and Sam set the phone down and looked around the room. He didn't have much to pack, and he could be on his way soon. As he got to his feet and picked up an undershirt from the bed, he realized that what he really needed was to get away.

He needed to be home so he could start to process what he had seen and done.


So… Sam is going home. There are so many things I want to say about the things Sam did and saw in this chapter — things that the people that had really been there did and saw — but it would sound trite and stupid.

I read many witness accounts of the attack and the days after before writing these chapters, and the strength of the people I was reading about was incredible. Sam isn't real, but there were people that really were did all the things he did in this and the preceding chapters, and they are heroes.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx