The duffel bag was a godsend.

Aside from a couple of gym shorts and hoodies, there were two additional weapons inside. One was a shotgun of the same model that I was using. There were also three boxes of twenty-five shells, totaling close to seventy-five extra shotgun shells for me to use.

There were also two boxes filled with forty 5.56 MM rounds for the rifles. Another box filled with 9 MM rounds for a handgun, but sadly, that gun was with the cop, rendering these rounds useless.

The other spare weapon was a rifle, but this was different from the one Logan carried. It was a Rock River LAR-15. My dad didn't own one, but some of his friends in the police force did. I didn't know anything much about the gun aside from how light it was and had an Aim-Point Pro scope and a double Poly-MAG (carrying thirty rounds each) already attached to it.

What was astonishing to find was the police officer's plate carrier vest inside the duffel bag. The plate carrier vest consisted of polyethylene plates--front and back--based on the label on the breastplate. Strapped in front was the first-aid pouch bag shaped like a hotdog. Recognizing it based on my dad's collection, next to it were two magazines with one filled with sixty barrier-penetrator rounds and the other with soft-tipped ammo for the AR-15, which Logan was carrying. The plate carrier took the considerable weight of the duffel bag.

There was also a big roll of the yellow crime scene tape, a black raincoat, glow sticks, a couple of baton sticks, a pack of zip-ties, earplugs, handcuffs, a water jug, three flashlights, four sets of shoulder-slings, and a flare gun.

Deep inside the duffel bag was a pouch filled with cleaner kits for the guns. I've never cleaned a gun before because usually, my dad did that, but I knew how important it was to clean them or risk jamming or degrading the weapon, which would be worse if I was out there.

There was a first-aid kit much bigger than the pouch I had, filled with the standard ones that couldn't fit into the "hotdog-shaped" bag attached to the vest. Most of all, there were two standard law enforcement rulebooks as thick as my arm, which probably added considerable weight to the bag. I threw them out. I grabbed the slings inside the bag, attached them to the shotgun I was using, and slung it behind my back. I did the same for the LAR-15 and the spare shotgun.

I noticed that Yousef and Luke took a step back, eyeing the bag warily.

"Have you two ever seen a gun?" I asked, half-joking, but the way they shook their head told me they weren't kidding.

"My mom and dad are pacifists," said Yousef, smiling sheepishly.

"Both my parents are accountants," said Luke. "We may live in Fort Wayne, but I never touched a gun before."

"As long as you don't pull the trigger, it won't bite," I chuckled. It put Luke and Yousef enough at ease that they began to step toward the bag again.

"The cop's packing some heat," Luke said.

"Standard-issued Tactical Gear. All big city cops are required to have these on the back of their trunks in case of more significant threats than an ordinary mugging or burglaries."

"Like terrorism," Yousef added.

"Precisely. It came after the San Jose bank heist, 9/11, and the Boston Bombings. It's better to be overdressed than outgunned. Lucky for us, the cop won't be using it."

I walked over to Logan and gave him the last sling to attach to his rifle. He didn't say a thank you, and I didn't wait for one. I walked back to the duffel bag.

Joe joined us. He whistled once he saw the contents inside the bag.

"Want help with that?" He asked. He grabbed one of the shotguns and checked the chamber. He then proceeded to put shells inside the loading port in successive fashion. Luke and Yousef's eyes widened.

"Wait, I thought you didn't--"

Joe grinned. "You didn't ask me. Plus, I was carrying my boy," he said. "Sorry I couldn't help out."

I chuckled, accepting it. "That makes three of us in here who knows how to use these things. A good thing," I said.

"I can help out if you want."

"Perfect for me. You had your hands full before. And luckily, not everyone got hurt."

"Yeah, I agree."

"I'll take all the hands I could get who know to use these. Anyway, how's Daniel?"

Joe frowned. "Oh. He's dealing."

I glanced at Daniel sitting on the couch, entertained by a man and a woman who spoke with a French accent.

"Two French tourists from Paris. Felipe and Margot. Two of their friends died just outside the street, they told me," Joe said.

"Well, it's a bad day to be visiting New York for all of us."

Joe was ahead of me in talking to the others. While I was too preoccupied trying to figure out if the store was safe enough for the night, Joe was a charmer, and he used his friendliness to gouge who the others were. He didn't take time to drag me around the room and introduced me to the others.

I'm an introvert by heart. I was content enough to disappear within the invisibility cloak my peers put around me in school, so being paraded by Joe around the room and introduced to the others both horrified and shook me. I had to force a smile every time they mentioned their names, and I am not good with names, only their faces.

I met the two French tourists first, Felipe and Margot, and they were close enough for me to surmise that they were a couple. They seemed kind and friendly. Felipe was a better English speaker than Margot, who confessed that she was visiting Felipe, studying in the nearby university, and graduating in May.

"I understand English, but no speak it well," said Margot.

"That's okay," I said. "I learned Spanish in high school. So, it might not work."

The woman laughed. "Non. It won't."

I congratulated Felipe for his impending graduation, but the man frowned. "I don't think that's going to come any time soon with what's going on outside."

I already met Jonas, who gave me a shy smile and a nod. Close by the tables sat a burly man in his late thirties and a little boy close to Daniel's age. Once I came closer, I realized that the burly man wasn't wearing a red t-shirt. Blood covered his shirt, and it wasn't his blood. Resting on the table was a bloodied cleaver.

The burlier man introduced himself as Miguel Peralta, and the boy was Henry.

He caught me staring at the cleaver. "If you are wondering where I got that, I'm a short-order cook in a diner. I was carrying that when everything went to shit."

"Oh."

"And I had to wade through dozens of them."

"Is he your son?" I asked warmly. I didn't mean to be offensive, but I didn't want to assume. I looked at the boy, but he had his head down, staring at his lap. His eyes were red and puffy from tears.

Miguel shook his head. "No. I found him inside an upturned car outside the diner I work in"--he brought his head closer to my ear--"His parents were unresponsive inside the vehicle. And I couldn't leave him out there, so we ran for shelter here."

"Ah, I see," I said.

Finally, the last one was a woman in her early forties, close to my mother's age, and her name was Christina. She was anxious and terrified, pacing. She had multiple scrapes and cuts on her arms, which she got after crawling out of her car's broken window.

"Are you a cop?" She asked expectantly.

I realized why she thought of me that way, and I looked down on the NYPD jacket I was wearing. I looked around the room, and everyone was staring at me. I guessed they thought of the same thing.

I shook my head. "No, miss. I am not. I got this from a cop, who couldn't--"

She clasped her hand around her mouth. "Oh, sorry. I was hoping the authorities would know what was going on. It's just that I dropped my sister and her kids in the East Village a while ago, and I can't contact them! I also can't get through the line to call my husband. He's in London for business!" Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sobbed.

"We'll try to figure out what's going on. But first, we need to make sure that we're safe in here."

"You seem to know how to use the gun. Maybe you can help me search for my sister?" Christina asked, hopeful.

I paused, not knowing the right thing to say. "I think it's best if we don't venture out for now. It's dangerous, not until this thing blows over."

"Do you think it's going to die down?" Miguel asked.

"I...I don't think so."

I heard gasps and groans around the room. It wasn't something everyone wanted to hear, but it was what I believed. If I was proven wrong, then I'm glad it did. It meant the nightmare would be over.

But I had a feeling an event like this wouldn't last for only a day.

I turned out to be right.