Present day...

The torment of the storm was more than an individual could handle. Guzman and Nadia hunkered down in the bunker. She's steady as a rock. He's spinning in circles dreading the truth. He knows something is wrong. Nadia knows all will be fine. If only she knew about her brother.

The wood of the walls is dry rotted, no one's been here in years. A single pot rests on a table. There's rust lining it's insides. All Guzman can think about is Marina and how much trouble they'll all be in if anyone discovers Polo and Carla's silly antics. His friends are wild and stupid and he wants no part of it.

She grabs his hands, pulls him close, and suddenly all that frustration has gone away.

How quickly that security fades. He's clutching her in one moment and in the next there's nothing but sand in his grasp and it's slipping away so quickly. He's stricken with fear as the fabric of her hijab wraps around his fingers and he's staring at the mess on the floor. Wait. No. This isn't possible. She was just here. Has... has he been alone this entire time and merely imagined her in here with him? This makes no sense.

"No-No... please. Stay with me... stay-" He runs his hands through the sand and begins to tremble, "Somebody help me... SOMEBODY HELP ME PLEASE!"

He shouts and saliva sprays from his lips, open, teeth bared. A monster from the depths of his chest.

Out in the forest the wind spirals in a sheen of bullets that have no true direction. The rain is a flood and the pond is overflowing. Mud slides cause shifting in stones that bring down whole trees and their roots in an avalanche down a hill. In the wet, nasty soil and debris is the twitching body of Marina. She's been taken down by the storm before she even had a chance to find sheltar. Like I said; what and how but never when. She dives into the chaos head first but this time it was her feet that fell from beneath her.

When her eyes finally open she realizes where the sharp pain is coming from. A branch is wedged in her left calf and it's going all the way through. The pain is untimely and unforgiving and she wants nothing more than to scream but she can't rise her face up far enough off the ground to do so. Water seeps in and out of her path and clogs her mouth like Chinese torture methods and she's finding it harder and harder just to breath.

Before the lights go out in her mind a hand finds her shoulder and hikes her up far enough to get her face off the ground, "I'm here to help. What's your name?"

"Me llamo es Marnia! Ay uda mi!" She begs.

Dr. Edwards explains, "Marina my name is Stephanie, I'm a doctor. We're going to get you out of here. Okay."

She sobs and nods her head. The wind tugs and pulls at her and then there's a shift. Edwards tells her it's going to hurt but that she's got her and then there's a loud sound followed by Marina's scream.

Somewhere nearby Guzman, out in the woods alone, and clutching the hijab, perks his ear and cocks his head. He knows that sound. A vibration courses through his skin and he's taking off in the direction of the sound, "Marina! Ya Voy Marina!"

A door creaks in laughter and Ander steps into the room. His eyes peer through the darkness and he waits for his eyes to adjust on the shivering abused young man dangling from the ceiling by cuffs of metal chafing rings around his wrists. It's cold in here. Colder than cold, it feels like all the happiness in the world has been drained and all that remains is a single memory of a moment you want more than anything to forget.

The name comes out of his lips before he can stop it, "Polo." and he's at the abused boys side in a heart beat.

Polo looks up, convinced the illusion is fake for it's so rare that Ander speaks. Even if it is life or death. Ander's always facing death. His cancer spreads every day much like the vines in the concrete bricks that make up the foundation of this massive and towering structure. Much like the cells in his body the green vines find each other and mutiply so progressively that they bleed and ooze green juices down the walls around them.

"Ander? Ander Eres tu?" He's weeping but it's solemn and bazaar because his face holds an expression of indifference but the tears stain down his bruised cheeks and his lips purse against the blood droplets that dabble from his teeth.

Both of Ander's hands find Polo's face, "Como pasamos tan rapido de la hora dorada a la hora de la muerte?" How did we go from a Golden hour to the hour of death so fast, he asked. Then, as if he knew he was supposed to, he kissed him. Their lips were wet with sweat, rain, and blood but it was the tender kiss of someone who truly loves you and Polo's salty tears kept falling as Ander pulled away and turned his attention to the chains that hoist the young man more than a foot off the ground.

There's that laugh again and they both look at the boy who just walked into the room. Samuel looks beside himself. He's mad as he says, "Se supone que ella es mia. Tu no eres real. Moriste te asesinaron con una botella rota en el teatro barcelo."

Ander, in his gruffness, moves forward slowly. With a vigor he speaks, "La asesinaste."

Then Samuel reveals the weapon he's been concealing. The gun is raised, it's loaded, it's been cocked, and he's about to take out someone Polo truly feels love for and it's about to get really ugly. The words ripple from his lips in a terrified, blood splattering, wail, "DETENGASE! POR FA! El es todo para mi!" Only it's too late. The trigger has been pulled.