"I'm coming with you," he said.

I wanted to protest, but I was so tired that I didn't. I nodded, and Luke hopped out of the vehicle.

We approached the nearest person we could talk to ahead of us. He was a man close to his late forties wearing a New York Giants cap and a red and forest green plaid shirt, leaning against his Ford pick-up truck. He chatted with another driver, a short and bearded man who looked like in his early thirties and wearing a gray jacket.

"Evening, officer," The man with the gray jacket said.

I looked down at my clothes. The navy blue jacket I wore had the insignia badge and patch of the NYPD plastered at the front and back in bold white letters.

I gulped. "Uh—Right. Evening."

The man on the NY Giants hat narrowed his eyes at me.

"Do you guys know what's going on ahead by the ramps?" I asked.

The gray jacket man scoffed. "I've been here for an hour. They keep telling us to stay indoors, but I live in Union City across the river! How am supposed to go home when I'm stuck here?"

"I live in Hanover, too. My wife is probably waiting for me, and I've been stuck here for hours, and then that plane blew up," said the man with the hat. "I couldn't get past the riots, so I was forced to take this tunnel. I reckon you might know what's going on."

Oh. Right. I frowned, but I tried to hold my gaze impassively, looking away to my side. Luke didn't say a word.

"The riot's growing," I said.

"Growing? Like it went bad?"

"Not bad. It's worse than that. Multiple people dead, possibly hundreds."

"What do you mean hundreds of people are dead? Is it terrorist-related? Like the plane?"

"I don't know. My friends and I are trying to get out of the city to avoid it."

The man with the hat looked behind me. "You are young to be a cop," the man with the hat said.

I sighed. "It's because I'm not."

The gray jacket man backed away from me instinctively. He looked at the squad car. "You stole that?"

"The cop who owned it died. We borrowed it to escape the Upper West Side." It was Luke who spoke. "The rioters killed him."

It was that time I unzipped my jacket and showed them my bloodied white shirt. The gray jacket man gasped. "Is that—?"

"Yeah. Blood."

"Oh my god. I don't believe this!" The gray jacket man groaned, stepping back toward his vehicle.

However, the man with the hat studied me. "That your blood?" He asked.

No way of going around it now. "Other people. Crazy Ones. I think they contracted something. I don't think it's a normal riot, and I believe the government is trying to suppress the information. We barely could get anything out of the radio."

The man with the hat didn't say a thing but nodded. That was when I noticed it. Peeking between the buildings, I could see the ramps leading out of the tunnel. No cars came out from the Union City end of the tunnel. My tail and gut tingled and roiled, respectively.

Unbeknownst to me, The US government had already called in the National Guard from Newark and Jersey City, barricading the Union City end of the tunnel. Beyond that, the National Guard did the same by blocking off the bridges and any other ways into Manhattan.

No one in. No one out.

I turned back to the two men. "Believe me or not, I am trying to get out of here like the two of you are. I want to go home, too. Do you know anywhere out of here aside from this tunnel?"

"If you want out through this side of the river, then you could try the Holland tunnel by Broom and Varick Street, maybe twenty blocks? My cousin lives here, so he probably knows more than I do."

I nodded to Luke. "Okay. Thank you," I said, walking back to the police car.

"Hey, hold on a minute!" It was the man with the hat. "You got a police car. If you use the sirens, you might be able to reach the tunnel faster?"

"Uh—I might've done that already."

The man chuckled. "Then, may I join you on your way out? See, if it is as bad as you say it is, then I want to get out of here, too. We've been in the city too long, and I think my missus is worried of us." The man cocked his head back to his Ford pick-up truck.

I didn't notice that a little boy around eight years old peered through the passenger seat's tinted windows.

"That's Daniel, my son. And I'm Joe Ferris," the man with the hat—Joe—said.

I introduced myself and Luke.

Watching us, the gray jacket man cleared his throat. "Then, I am coming with, too."

I shrugged and nodded. The man introduced himself as Bobby Greer.

"Hey, we may want to hurry. I don't like how those helicopters are getting closer to us. It seems to be tracking something," said Luke.

Now that I took a closer look, the floodlights were following something a few blocks down the road.

And it was moving fast.

"I don't know how long those rioters are going to get here, but it's quickly spreading fast," Luke added.

Nodding, I head for the car. "Yeah, you're right. We should go now."

Joe and Bobby ran back to their respective vehicles. Luke and I went back to the police cruiser. As I opened the car door, an explosion reverberated through the streets: a few blocks down, the 5th floor of a building engulfed in flames. Two successive blasts followed a couple of seconds after the latter.

Debris from the explosion managed to hit a helicopter that hovered too close to the streets. It clipped the helicopter's engine. Smoke emanating out of the top, and before I could scream in horror, the helicopter slammed against another building, consuming it in a mushroom of yellow and orange. People ducked on the streets. Some ran away. Others gawked.

I jumped back into the car, switched on the sirens, and its howl filled the chaos through the streets.

"How are we going to get out of here? There's traffic!" Luke said.

There was traffic in our lane, but barely any in the opposite direction. "Hold on. We're going this way." I stepped on the gas pedal.

I turned the wheels to the wrong lane and sped fast away from them. In a matter of seconds, whatever caused that explosion would stream through the streets where I was. A second I entered the other lane. Screams resounded through the streets, coming from the few cars behind us. If we stayed longer, it might already be on top of us. I glanced at the rear-view mirror. Joe and Bobby weren't far behind.

"Bren, slow down a little!" Natalie yelped.

I didn't. No fucking way.

"Slow down, man!" Logan followed.

"We have the Sirens. We won't get hit!" I said.

Logan shut up, but he held on to the handle at the side.

"Logan, how far are we from the tunnel?" I asked.

"Halfway there!"

We came upon 9th avenue splitting into two, but before I started panicking, Logan pointed to Hudson Street. "Thanks!" I said.

"Look out!" Natalie screamed.

"Shit!" I slammed on the breaks. Hard. I was speeding toward a bus stuck in traffic.

I held on to the wheel, but we're not going to make it. I saw a clearing by the sidewalk to my right, and I turned the police car. We hit the curb. The car almost hit the windows in front of a deli before it stopped mere inches away from the glass windows.

Suddenly, I was knocked back as a searing pain stung my cheeks. Natalie had slapped me. "Idiot! I said, slow down!" She shouted.

I had the urge to slap her back, but I held it off. My dad's voice reverberated in my head. Hitting on women was impolite, but the temptation was there. I clutched my stinging right cheek, and a little shame wiggled inside me, too. Part of it was my fault. I should've slowed down, but I got caught up at the moment. My adrenaline was guiding me.

I checked on the others, and I was glad to see that they were okay. Then, I saw terror in Carson's eyes.

"Oh my God! Look!"

I turned to where he pointed. Two blocks down on an intersection where Hudson Street converged into the 8th avenue, two overturned trucks were engulfed in flames. Aside from the people running away from the burning accident, the unmistakable familiarity of the gait and movement on some of them almost pissed my pants.

They were heading toward us.

I put the car on reverse, but cars kept coming behind me. Joe's car clipped a Subaru in front of him, and Bobby's Honda Civic crashed on his tail. More cars kept crashing behind them into a massive pileup.

I scrambled to look around for an opening, but the narrow path of the sidewalk would make it impossible to get through, coupled with multiple parked cars beside it.

A new terror seized me. We were trapped.