"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," the old man snapped at me, as I pulled myself out of the tiny hole.

I grunted in pain, as I heaved myself above ground. Something piercing and painful shot through me, but it drifted across my mind almost as an afterthought. My energy completely spent, I could do no more than lie there against a fallen concrete slab and gasp for air.

Mr. Travis, the old man, was perhaps worse off than I if only because of his age, and he was dabbing at this forehead with a handkerchief that had once been white. He had abandoned his coat and tie several hours ago, and had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Somehow, he still managed to exude a cool air of calm, and determination shone in his pale yellow eyes.

We were not outside quite yet, and had surfaced at what had once been Poly Barton Subway Station, according to Lolita, the hysterical woman. It was completely deserted, and rubble littered the ground along with shattered glass from the ceiling. Since there was never much of a ceiling, except for glass, to cave in over the station, there was relatively little debris, however there was a cruel, bloody gash along the ridge of my shoulder from the glass I'd scraped against as I dragged myself free.

I touched it irritably, too tired to care. It didn't seem very deep, and at the moment it was low on the priority list.

The sky overhead was a deepening pink, and it was obviously sunset. Besides that, the enormous station clock had crashed to the ground quite near to us and told us so. Or perhaps it was simply frozen and it was a coincidence.

I sneezed loudly, shattering the silence and earning an indignant look from Mr. Travis.

Carl, the other man, had said next to nothing the whole way, and now sat hacking hair next to me, sweating profusely, grasping his heart. He didn't look as if his life had included much exercise before our seven hour exodus. It had taken five hours to get anywhere, and then to climb and dig our way out took two more. Carl looked about ready to burst, his face was bright red. He was scraped up worse than I was—if only because he was fatter and had more surface area to work with.

"Mind me asking what the hell that has to do with anything?" I asked blandly, and ran a hand through my muddy, tangled hair. It was tied back awkwardly with a rubber band, which I just knew was going to hurt when I tried to remove. A frightening experience with a ruptured water pipe had resulted in my near panic, until I had been forcibly dragged away and back to safety, half drowned and screaming. Afterwards, to deal with my gross and sopping hair, Vera coughed up a rubber band.

"We should rest here," Mr. Travis said, ignoring my comment. He had assumed the role of leader, and it was just as well. He was the only one here with his head firmly planted on his shoulders.

No one protested, but Vera—the bitchy woman, gave a huge, gaping sigh. I didn't like her very much, as she had offered a snide comment every step of the way. Now, she was picking at her fingernails fastidiously.

In any case, we were finally out. I blinked owlishly, the fading sunlight hurt my eyes as much as the glass embedded in my shoulder.

"I don't hear anyone," Lolita said softly. "It's silent."

We realized she was absolutely right. It was deathly quiet, and it made me squirm with discomfort. Carl looked slightly queasy, and I grimaced. Neither Lolita or Vera looked particularly affected, and Mr. Travis was wandering off somewhere out of sight.

The only audible sound was the clock ticking the seconds, punctuating the silence with hollow thuds.

We sat there in an exhausted circle until Mr. Travis returned, and by then it was nighttime. The stars coated the the midnight black sky, giving a silvery, pale sheen to the earth.

"Emma," Mr. Travis said shortly, and motioned at me to follow him.

I eased myself to my feet slowly. I was a mess, every muscle in me was screaming in protest. I bit it down bitterly, because it wouldn't do any good and it would be preaching to the choir. Everyone else was in as much pain, and holding it in.

My left foot was particularly bad off, the shoes I wore had been digging into my little toe since the morning and I couldn't walk without a very noticeable limp any more. I didn't dare remove the shoes, though—the glittering, shattered glass littering the ground made me shudder at the thought. They sparkled in the starlight.

It's a new moon, I noted absently.

"What," I asked flatly, once we were out of earshot and I was beginning to wonder what this was all about.

"I didn't want to show them, yet," Mr. Travis replied, equally deadpan. He stopped, and motioned at a twisted, mutilated subway car, that appeared split in half—with the sight before me being the bottom half. "Look."

I glanced at Mr. Travis somewhat suspiciously, stepped forward and peered over the edge.

My heart leapt to my throat and I went rigid. The color drained from my face and I stared in speechless horror.

Who would cause something like this?

The scene was far too gruesome to describe; a massive field of twisted, maimed, bodies lay in what had been a park. The stars shone over them, illuminating them in pale relief, but it was unmistakable. They were human corpses—massacred, died where they'd fallen.

The smell of rotting, acrid flesh invaded my nose and I wondered how I hadn't noticed it before. I swallowed shakily, and looked away.

Thank god it's nighttime...I don't think I could've handled it in the day...

"Come on," Mr. Travis said tersely, and offered his hand for leverage.

I stared at him, up and down before finally settling on his thin, hawk-like face.

"There's more."

"M—more?" My voice shook tremulously.

I felt faint, and I swallowed heavily. What was left of my strength was draining quickly, but somehow I scraped up the nerve to nod and accept the leg up over the overturned subway car.

"Most of them are burned," Mr. Travis was saying. "None of them have been shot."

"It looks like the city's been bombed," I said softly, as I offered him a hand up.

I pulled, grateful that he wasn't all that heavy, and he swung up next to me.

"This isn't bombing," he countered. "This is genocide."

The single word genocide, which I associated almost exclusively with the Holocaust, made me shiver, as I glanced out over the killing fields again and followed Mr. Travis along the length of the downed subway train.

"Are we just going to leave them alone?" I asked, obviously referring to the three remaining members of our group. I jumped quickly over a gaping hole in the side of a train, nearly tripping and falling face first into a rail bar.

"Do you have a better idea? Ms. Parker would faint if she saw the bodies," Mr. Travis said, in reference to Lolita.

I grunted noncommittally. "She's gonna have to see them sometime."

"It would be better to wait until they're not so tired," Mr. Travis replied crisply. "You're the youngest one here."

My nose wrinkled, and a short, pig-like snort emitted from my throat as I shook my head. I really disliked having my age held against me.

"So?"

"So I'm the oldest one here," he countered. "But the weakest."

"And so you're dragging me along because I'm supposedly more crash-resistant? I'm eighteen, on a good day I can't run on my ankles, I have chronic back pain, my vision sucks—"

"Stop complaining," Mr. Travis interjected sharply, sounding irritated.

I fell silent, feeling very stupid.

We slipped down over the side of an overturned 18 wheeler, and found ourselves in a dark, thoroughly silent street. A white neon light flickered further off, in the shape of a dolphin.

"What're we doing?" I asked.

"There's a convenience store a little further down this way," Mr. Travis said. "It doesn't even look like anyone's even tried to come and help survivors, yet."

"But it's been eight or nine hours," I replied quietly, scanning the skies for telltale lights, that came from search and rescue personnel. "We're probably just not be in the part of the city that they're in."

I nodded, to reassure myself, and Mr. Travis looked at me dubiously.

"I do hope you're right."

Mr. Travis led the way to the convenience store, and we walked in. Mr. Travis picked up something in the darkness, and I suddenly found myself blinking in the light of a blinding flashlight.

"There might be something in the back room," he said, and motioned behind me.

I nodded silently, and picked my way into the back room.

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