A severe cold front moved in that evening, so I stayed inside with Pam watching television. Not that I had a social life, but sometimes it was nice to talk to Jamal, who managed the pawn shop down the street. Although I could sense his irritation when I would come in just to chat because I had no cash, and I had sold most of my belongings months ago.

We had no guests tonight, a trend that seemed to be happening more and more often. I was eating a half sandwich of probably not expired peanut butter. I had decided not to mention anything about Rick to Pam. I didn’t want to upset her, and I really didn’t want to appear that I empathized with Rick. Pam flipped back and forth from Jeopardy to the news. She was on a Jeopardy click when we heard gunshots echoing down the street outside.

We looked at each other, and Pam clicked back to a local news station. Shots echoed down the street again, only to be matched a second later by the same pattern of bullets on the screen. Pam turned the volume up, as I stood up. I ran back to my room and grabbed my jacket and pulled my shoes on.

“You’re an idiot,” was the last thing I heard from Pam as I shut the door. I heard the patter of gun fire and ran down the street in the direction the shots had come from. Every other lamp post was out, and yet as I neared the sound of gunshots, the sky grew brighter. A smell worse than the SCLRDS hit my nostrils. It reeked of burnt hair and sewage. I slowed to a walk, trying to regain my breath, the stench clung to my lungs like mucus. I stuck to the brick wall as I looked around the corner. A fire was blazing in the intersection. Policemen were throwing large objects into the fire. I looked closer, and the silhouette of an arm hung limply down from the grip of two officers.

People! They were burning people! My stomach clenched, and my teeth ground together. Another officer was standing at the entrance to an apartment building. A man came running out the door. He shoved the officer, who went stumbling off the steps. The man didn’t make it very far before a triad of bullets found him. Chest. Chest. Head. The cops by the fire walked over to him and dragged the newly deceased to the flames.

They can’t do that! I thought to myself. Officers in full riot gear came out of the building, hauling more corpses behind them. I looked around, knowing I shouldn’t be here, and a thought dawned on me. Where are the cameras? What was Pam watching right now? I backed away from the scene I was witnessing. Willing myself into the shadows, I leaned against the cold wall. My breath came out in big puffs that dissipated above my head. I watched my breath blend into the night sky.

I heard another round of bullets rain through the night air. This time the sharp sounds originated from behind me. Maybe a couple of blocks away. I ran toward the sound, back past The Palace. Now I could hear screams. They were coming from the direction of the shelter. I saw a man running the opposite way as me. Then more people. Others were just lying on the sidewalks, crying, bleeding, screaming. I ran to a large woman who was holding her side and screaming as she lay on the curb.

“Arrrgh! Arrrgghhh!” I could see the sticky dark substance, that could only be blood, shining on her fingers. I reached forward to help her.

“Get away from me!” she yelled. The crazed look in her eyes, took away any argument I might have had. I ran away from her, continuing to St. Peter’s. The loud humming that could only be a flock of drones whizzed over my head. The blue and red lights flashed for a moment before they were out of sight, diving down toward street level.

The same familiar glow that I saw near the murderous police appeared around the corner. St. Peter’s shelter was ablaze. News vans were everywhere, parked haphazardly on curbs, a siren sound was roaring closer. A fire truck pulled up to the shelter and firefighters poured out. I watched as they fought the blaze, but not quickly enough. The rooftops of the buildings next door began to smoke. I heard glass breaking mingled with choked screams. Three different reporters stood with the blaze as their background. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Gunshots were all around me now. An officer saw me standing and staring at the chaos and left his car to walk in my direction. His hand rested on a black shadow on his hip. I ran down another road before he reached me. Here businesses were being looted. I saw a group of tall teenage boys jump out of a broken glass storefront. Their arms are full of something. Cash? Bread?Chips? A drone swooped down and shot one of them in the chest. He dropped a large rectangle, bread, and crumpled to the ground. The other boys were gone down the street. The drone chased after them around a corner.

“Don’t come near my store!” A man yelled at me from across the street. A pistol pointed at my chest. “I mean it!” I raised my hands and backed away the way I came. What was I doing here? I couldn’t help.

The Palace windows were dark as I ran up the street. Which was unusual. Pam doesn’t go to bed until after I take over the counter on weekends in case any late night guests arrive. The door was locked. Even more unusual for any hostel. I knocked, and I saw a curtain move before the door creaked slowly open.

“Shh, get inside!” Pam ushered me in. She quickly shut and locked the door again.

“What-”

“The riots! There are riots on T.V. They say they are moving throughout the city. People stealing, arson, shooting!”

“I know, I saw.”

“We did, too!” A small voice spoke up out of the dark. I looked around and saw that in the shadows were people. I quickly counted the dark outlines. Five not including Pam.

“They came here looking for a place to sleep. They said the shelter burnt down. I couldn’t leave them out there tonight. Though I doubt any of them can pay for a room.” I couldn’t see her facial expressions in the dark, but I could tell from the tone in her voice that her lips were pursed and eyebrows raised.The group was silent. Pam let out a, “Humph.”

She sounded irritated, but I could see the profile of her head look down in the direction where the small voice had come from. She did seem to have a soft spot for children.

I found an available space on the small lobby floor. We waited the night out. Not one of us got any sleep. Anytime it became quiet and someone let themselves shift into a more comfortable position, we would hear sirens blare past the windows, or feet running, or a shriek just outside the thin walls. Then everyone’s muscles would tighten, and the group would huddle a hair closer together. Twice the little girl cried when screams were right outside the window before the large shadow she sat with would pull her close and muffle her cries with dark arms.

When the dawn light began to peek around the heavy pink curtains, it remained quiet. I could begin to see the facial features of our newest guests. The little girl that had spoken to me during the night looked to be around 5 years old. She wore a faded lime green Aeropostale hoodie that more than likely came from a Goodwill. She was nestled in the arms of an elderly man wearing faded blue jeans and a thin, gray button up shirt. He leaned on the wall under the window. The pink curtains glowed with the rising sun casting a soft glow on his white hair.

I watched as the sun grew brighter and the pair faded into sleep simultaneously. The girl had a calm look on her face, a familiarity in the arms of the white-haired man. Her face wore a soft smile in her sleep that only came from a certain kind of comfort.

A foot away were three apparent strangers to each other. They looked at me and each other, like I looked at them. Examiningly. A middle aged woman, short and stout with small, tight brown curls and quick eyes that darted back and forth between everyone in the room sat criss cross on the floor. A young man, who looked tall and thin, yet muscular if he would eat more, was sitting in the red chair I sat in the other night. He kept his hands in his pockets, but they were constantly fidgeting. His knuckles making a moving hillside against the gray fabric. Closest to me was another young man, with a strong jawline, perhaps a little older than Pockets in the chair. His eyes would move from everyone in the room, pause a little longer on Pockets, and return to the floor before repeating the pattern. As I watched him, he kept parting his lips and closing them as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind.

Pam was the first to move. She lifted herself out of her floral chair and moved to peek around the curtains.

“Seems quiet now. No one outside.”

“Th-thank you, Ma’am.” Said the nervous man next to me. “I...I should be going.”

He stood up, and at the same time out of the corner of my eye I saw Pockets stand up. I turned to see his hands finally leave his pockets. He held a small handgun, aimed at the chest of the man beside me.

A cold feeling grew in my heart. Pam stifled a scream with her hand and looked nervously at the window, but it was loud enough to wake the old man and the little girl only a few feet away. Both stared back and forth between the two guys, waiting. There was no shock in their eyes, only curiosity.

“Hand,” said Pockets.

The man next to me flipped his left hand over to reveal a faded crown tattoo. A simple design, with three jewels, like a notebook sketch a kid would draw. Pockets pulled the hammer back. No one breathed. Then the young girl crawled off the lap of the elderly man, and his speed surprised me as he leaped up from the floor.

Pockets came crashing down to the floor, a shot fired, and Pam’s tall stained glass lamp by the door shattered into a thousand pieces. My head snapped to the lamp and back to where Pockets now lay on the ground with both the older man and Nervous pinning him down. He struggled until the older man hit him with his elbow on the side of the head. Then he went limp. I looked to the little girl to see how she would react to seeing her caregiver deliver this blow.

Her big eyes rounded as she looked on from her seat under the window, but she didn’t make a sound.

“What the Hell?” Pam screamed. Her hands continuously moved from her mouth to her sides.

“Sorry, Ma’am. I think I can explain,” said the older man as he rolled off of the limp body. Pam looked at him, arms now crossed. “This one here left The Disciples. And this one,” he looked down at Pockets who was now drooling onto the gray hardwood, “was doing his responsibility.”

“Gang members! In my business!”

“I...I’m sorry. I don’t have any money for the lamp,” Nervous managed to stammer.

“Just get him out!” Pam shouted, both hands gesturing to the unconscious body on her filthy floor. Then her hands went back to her mouth, as she scanned her lobby over and over again.

The two men lifted Pockets, and I unlocked the three deadbolts. The cold wind rushed in as I opened the door, and I saw the little girl shiver. The heavy door slammed shut.

“Cora, get a broom. Cora!” Pam yelled again when I didn’t respond quick enough.

I took my hand off the door handle and began to walk down the hall to the SCLDRS. I had to watch my step all the way down the hall because a few shards of glass had managed to fly that far. Pam began talking softly to the child, “How about some breakfast? Was that your grandpa? Oh, you’re such a brave girl.”

The short woman with the curls was sitting in the red high backed chair when I came out with the broom. Pam and the girl had moved to the kitchen. She mumbled to herself as though I wasn’t there. I brushed her leg with the broom, and she about jumped out of her skin.

“Persim cares for them! Winnie, Shondra, Jedediah, Persim cares for them!” She tucked her legs into her chest. “They can’t be...no, Persim cares…” She seemed to collect herself somewhat as she spoke this last phrase. Her eyes found mine, and she apologized, “I’m sorry. Thank you for the night. I have to go.” She set her feet gently back on the floor and heaved herself out of the chair. She walked over the glass, not noticing a shard or two had been picked up in her soles and hurried out into the cold morning air.

I swept the glass fragments from the floor as best as I could. The wood was warped and some of the glass slipped into the wide cracks between the planks. I looked around the room after I dumped the remains into the trash behind the check-in counter. Pocket’s gun was laying under Pam’s pink chair. I bent down and picked it up. The metal was cold as I slid it into the waist of my pants. I returned the broom to the SCLRDS and stopped in my room to slide the clip out of the hand gun. Four bullets remained. I slipped the gun under my pillow before making my way to the kitchen. Pam was nowhere to be seen, but the little girl sat at the small table drawing on scrap paper with a pen from the front desk.

“Hello,” I said. She looked up at me and smiled. It’s as if this morning hadn’t phased her in the slightest.

“What is your name?”

“Ava.”

“Hi, Ava. Where did Pam go?

“Right here,” Pam’s voice sounded from the doorway. In her arms she carried eggs, bread, and milk. She must have gone into her personal refrigerator from upstairs. “French toast?”

“Sure.” I am not going to turn down free food. Pam never brings down her personal stash to share.

“Look in the fridge, Cora. I think I remember a bottle of syrup in there that a guest left.”

I walked over to the refrigerator, and sure enough in the back behind a bottle of ketchup and an expired half gallon of milk there was store brand syrup. I checked the expiration date before placing it on the table in front of Ava.

Pam busied herself beating eggs, and I sat down with Ava. “ What are you drawing?” I inquired, leaning over to view her work.

“A unicorn!” She squealed. The rounded rectangle with a circle on one end and a stick shooting out of that, did somewhat resemble a unicorn.

We heard the front door open. Pam walked into the hall carrying her mixing bowl.

“Why did you come back?”

“I had to get my grandbaby,” laughed the out of sight old man.

“Not you, you?” She pointed the whisk like a dagger.

“I, uh, I,” the young, nervous man mumbled from out in the hall.

“Sam here doesn’t have a place to stay,” said the old man walking past Pam into the kitchen and sitting down next to his granddaughter.

“And he doesn’t have the money to stay here,” Pam said pointedly, staring down the hall daring him to come any further.

“No, but I do. I’ll buy him a night. Wow, a gen-u-ine unicorn. Nice work, baby girl!”

I know Pam. She is not one to miss any opportunity for cash, especially nowadays.

“Really?” She turned her stare from the hall to the kitchen.

“Yup, and I’ll buy a night for us, too.”

Pam eyed the man’s tattered clothes before saying, “It’s $20.00 a night per bed.”

“Can my grandbaby and I share a bed?”

Pam knew she was cornered. That soft spot for kids. “Yes.”

“Then I can afford it.”

Pam walked back to the counter and continued cooking breakfast. The floor creaked as she stepped back and forth from the stove to the counter where her plastic mixing bowl sat. It was still another minute before Sam dared to enter the kitchen. Even then he hung back and stayed near the doorway, not sitting at the table.

“Name is Cora,” I said to the old man. “I’ve met your granddaughter, Ava.” I stuck my hand out to him across the small, water stained table. He looked up at me and paused a moment before sticking his own hand out to grasp mine. His hands felt dry and leathery, but the grip was firm and warm. “Nathan.” He turned back to complimenting Ava’s artwork. Pam set a stack of french toast down on the table. There were only four chairs, and it was crowded already as Pam sat down.

“Cora, can you grab four plates?” Pam asked.

“No, I can grab five.” She pretended she didn’t hear my remark. I went to the cabinet and grabbed five mismatched and chipped plates. I set them down, and Ava moved to her grandpa’s lap to eat. I waved Sam over to sit. He glanced at Pam, who continued to act as if he wasn’t there before moving to take the open chair next to her.

After everyone else had filled their plate, he reached for a piece of french toast, while keeping his eyes on Pam.

“So, Sam,” I said. He looked over at me. I noticed his eyes were a light brown shade that perfectly matched his hair. “Why was he trying to kill you?”

The slam of the fork on the table had everyone turn their heads to Pam, “Cora, I ain’t havin’ this gang talk at my table.”

I knew better than to go against my boss. So we ate in silence. When everyone had finished, Pam showed Nathan and Ava their room for the night. I cleared the table and Sam continued to sit in his chair.

I turned around and leaned on the sink’s edge. “Let’s try the question again, Sam. Why was he trying to kill you?”

He was quiet for a minute before he said, “Cause I left,” he breathed in audibly loud and folded his hands together between his long legs. His hands were large. He was a tall man, no doubt, but not tall enough to match his hands, “and you don’t just leave.”

“So you are from the same gang?”

“Were, yeah.” He stared at the peeling blue paint on the table legs.

I finished the dishes in silence. Then I showed him an open room next to mine. The one I picked had a thin yellow blanket that clashed with the green walls of the hostel. He thanked me and sat on the edge of the bed. Staring as he had done before at the table.

I left and went to the entrance where Pam was seated with her face to the television again watching the news about last night.

“You know, Pam, you could always go out and see it yourself.” The news paned across burnt out buildings and smashed storefronts that were only blocks away. She was either too engrossed in the news or getting really good at ignoring me because she didn’t respond. I stood behind her in her pink chair and listened to the clean shaven newscaster.

“Reports are coming in now that the riots of last night were started by speakeasy operators that were upset at the threat of a loss of business.”

My mind flashed back to last night. The fire that the police were throwing corpses into lit up my mind and had my stomach do a flip. The one where no cameras had been. Had it been a speakeasy?

“Police Chief Tomwell believes the arson at the St. Peter’s shelter was started in retaliation to the new laws stemming from the Volunteer Tax. Specialists claim that these initiatives will improve the quality of living in areas such as downtown, and these self-created business owners know that they will lose in the long run. Happier citizens means less suicides.”

I stood up from Pam’s chair back and said, “Last night I saw something, Pam. I don’t think…”

“Shh!” She scooted her chair one inch closer to the box.

I heard a bedroom door open and shut. Nathan and Sam were coming down the hall.

“Ava is asleep,” Nathan said.

“Good, now everyone hush up! Can’t you see I am watching the news?” She moved another inch closer.

“I’m going for a walk,” I said, gesturing with my right hand for the two of them to join me. We walked out into the chill air, leaving Pam to her news broadcast and her dimly lit room.

We moved in silence for a few minutes. Our pace was brisk, keeping our legs warm even though the air was crisp. I wanted to go back to where I was last night before I witnessed the chaos at the shelter. I needed to see it; to confirm I hadn’t been hallucinating. We turned the corner that I had hid behind the night before and saw the blacked out window frames of the apartments that had stood there before. The surrounding apartments appeared to be abandoned. The windows were shattered, even in the ones untouched by flames.

In the street I saw the dark spot where the body bonfire had been the night before. There were no piles of ash like I thought I would find, just black stains on the gray and cracked, cold asphalt. It’s as though someone had already sent the street sweepers through here.

“When did this happen?” I heard Nathan say.

“Last night,” I replied. “I saw the building on fire myself.”

I walked toward the shell of the building and stepped up onto the stoop.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked from a few feet behind Nathan.

“I want to check it out.” The scene in front of me set my stomach churning. Gray and black were the only colors, and a breeze sounded in between the matchstick-like walls creating a moaning sound.

“Not safe,” Sam warned.

“Obviously,” I rolled my eyes.

I stepped into the blackened hallway. Nathan and Sam followed behind me at a cautious speed. The sunlight was streaming through the missing windows. A couple of pathetic snowflakes floated through the frame. I pulled my jacket tighter and wished I had boots instead of my only pair of shoes, a three year old pair of converse. A set of stairs led down into the basement, and I placed my foot on the first step. The entire staircase swayed and creaked. Nathan grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

I peered down into the darkness where nothing was distinguishable. It was all the same smudged black. I moved on down the hall and found what had been the kitchen. There was a hole in the middle of the floor where a table had been too much for the weakened floor. I stepped around the edges and in the metal sink I saw a pile of needles. The glass coated in ash and cracked.

Nathan stepped beside me to look in the sink. Sam stayed in the doorway, not wanting to enter the room where the floor could collapse at any second.

“This wasn’t a junkie’s home,” Nathan said, eyes transfixed on the needles.

“It was one of the Speakeasies, wasn’t it?” I asked.

He nodded at me. I turned back to leave; there was nothing more to see. The rest of the building would be more of the same. The sun had risen higher, and the light streaming in through the open window had landed on the hole to the basement. I inched as close to the edge as I dared. In the sunlight I could just make out the shape of a human. A blackened, charred corpse lay illuminated by the light. It had been the teeth that I noticed first. The only splash of white around and opened in a scream of agony. The fingertips curled toward the palms which strained toward the face as a last effort to shield himself from the flames.

The floor creaked, as Nathan backed toward the door. I turned to follow and felt the floor sag under my weight. My heart jumped into my throat, and I stumbled at the sway of the floor before it gave way entirely.

I saw the cement floor of the basement coming toward my face when I was stopped suddenly. I felt a sharp jerk in my knee. I looked up, Sam had grabbed a hold of my left leg. My hands were inches away from the blackened body. Cracks of red tissue webbed beneath the charcoal surface. Sam pulled me up slowly to the safety of the hallway floor.

I sat there collecting myself for a minute. “Thank you,” I finally said. He just nodded, looking again at the floor, while he leaned on what used to be the door frame. I noticed the outline of his muscles. He had been strong enough to lift my entire body weight to safety.

“Hey! Who’s in there?” A voice boomed from down the hall. “Police.”

All three of us exchanged glances. No one in the East End was ever glad to see the police.

We walked out of the speakeasy. A police cruiser was parked on top of the charred stains from last night.

“This building is condemned. Out. Now!”

We walked down the steps, and the officer’s eyes fell to the tattoo on Sam’s hand. He took his gun out of the holster and pointed it at Sam’s chest. My heart leapt into my throat. “What were you doing in there, Disciple?” He said the word like it left a foul taste on his tongue. “Hands behind your head. All of you.”

None of us listened to the directive. Sam took off running and the officer swung his aim to follow him. Nathan and I ran the opposite way. We heard a shot fire, but we didn’t stop running until we were back at The Palace. That was something everyone in the East End knew, you don’t stop for something as trivial as a gunshot. For being more than double my age Nathan kept up with me pretty well. My breath came out in hard white puffs as we ran past brick building after brick building. I looked back and saw Nathan only a few paces behind me.