The early morning sun is warm on our skin as Jake and I sit on the deck and sip steaming hot cups of bitter instant coffee. The beverage is as black as used motor oil and the taste is likely not too far off either. Eggs are sizzling and popping on the coleman stove. None of us have slept and dark circles ring our bloodshot eyes. Starlings chatter noisily in the treetops while a trio of squirrels run frantically up and down the fence caught up in some sort of dispute. Ari tends to the eggs and arranges some thinly sliced homemade bread on a rickety tin and wire contraption that serves as a toaster.

"Just about done," he says.

Jake picks up a canvas fetch toy and pitches it far into the back yard, it barely hits the ground before Merida catches up with it and snatches it from the grass. She returns it smartly, dropping it at my feet and awaits another toss her tail wagging madly.

Jake nods. "A dog can only serve one master."

I pat Merida on the head and scratch behind her ears sending her briefly into a spasm of doggy rapture. "Yeah." I reply, but my mind isn't really on dog training. I'm mostly thinking about Heath and I'm overcome with anxiety over his condition even if I'm not showing it outwardly. I give the toy another half-hearted toss and return to blowing on my hot coffee.

Ari serves us our breakfast and disappears into the house with another plate.

"Dunno why that fuck gets breakfast too," I say.

"Because we got what we want from him and there's no need to punish him further. You beat the snot out him, terrorized him and left him tied to a chair all night in piss-soaked pants in the garage. He's suffered enough." Jake says, looking out at the Sun and shoveling eggs into him mouth. I never really saw Jake as the merciful type. I never really expected him to show more compassion than me. Mine is an upside-down world.

"I don't think so."

"Look Connor, if you want to exact revenge, at least direct it at the right people. Danny is a pawn in this, he's given up all the intel we need and he's more useful alive and in good condition than otherwise. Be smart Connor."

Jake is entirely correct, which is probably what pisses me off the most. Danny talked, gave up some useful information and in the process has himself become a bargaining chip of no small value. Any reply I could muster would just come out wrong at this point, so I swallow my retort and finish my plate washing it down with the dregs of my coffee. I glance up at the Sun and let out a sigh.

"Sorry about the truck," Jake says, changing subjects and wiping the remains of his eggs off the plate with his toast. "You know, your truck was a lot faster than I was expecting. I mean, that thing hauled ass." He continues, maybe in an effort to put me in a better mood.

"Hauled--past tense," I reply. "Did you really have to jump a ditch? Couldn't you just have head him off at the highway?"

"Seemed like the only way to cut him off. It's not like I had time to form a committee and do a cost-benefit analysis. Plus, I did get him."

"How bad is it?" I ask.

"Unfortunately it is pretty bad, and will likely get worst since we don't have a flatbed to use, so we'll have to chain it to the TAPV and drag it back here. That will likely cause more damage."

"Great."

"As long as the frame isn't bent, we can likely scrounge up the parts from some wrecking yards. Fixing it with only hand tools will be a bitch, but it's not impossible." Jake says.

"I dunno, might be best off just to drain the gas out of it," I respond.

"Ah, don't write it off just yet. At least I didn't roll it. We also scored a nice UTV in the process too."

"Yeah, but you broke that too. Remember?"

"Nothing that can't be repaired. We'll fix it up, you can give it to Heath when he turns fourteen."

The mention of Heath snaps me back to my most pressing concern of the moment. "Shit," I say, checking my watch. "I gotta get to the hospital."

"No problem, we'll take care of things here." Jake says.

I head back in the house with Merida at my heel, I can't go to the hospital looking like I took part in a chainsaw massacre, but cleaning up without running hot water is no easy task. It takes me twenty minutes and a combination of hand sanitizer, baby wipes and a cold water shave before I look even half-assed human again. I put on some clean clothes, grab my gear and head for the hospital with more than a little trepidation weighing heavily on my heart.

* * * * *

The surgery is already underway when I arrive at the hospital and it takes me fifteen long minutes just to locate someone useful to talk to. Eventually I make it to Sabine who then connects me with Freya, Nell and Hartt, who all look as tired as I feel. It's been a long night for everyone.

"We had a bit of a wait," Nell informs me. "The had to send a runner to page the surgeon at his home. But, Heath was still stable going into surgery, just a matter of waiting now."

"You guys can take off, I can take it from here," I say. "I can't thank you enough for what you've all done for me these past few hours."

"Did you get the guy?" Freya asks.

I nod.

"Did you kill him?" she inquires.

I just shake my head.

"Why? Why the hell not?"

"I would have, but... it's a long story. Ari and Jake are watching him. How much did you tell the hospital when you admitted Heath?"

"We said that he had an accident," Heath answers. "Our story was a bit sketchy, including the fact that none of us are related to him, not sure how much they believed, but they admitted him all the same."

"Good enough," I say. "Why don't you guys get going, everyone needs some rest. I'll just hang out here and wait for Heath."

"Okay chief," Hartt says. "I'll ask Sabine to keep an eye on you."

"Thanks."

The trio departs with little fanfare save a few hugs, Sabine locates a quiet waiting room where I can bide my time in a private setting away from prying eyes and uncomfortable questions. Despite my heavy eyes, I can't sleep. I unzip a pocket on my pack and pull out a small multi-band radio and a set of earphones. Scanning the FM band reveals nothing but silence, AM is the same with the exception of a single, crackling, static-filled signal full of incoherent noise. It's not until I switch to shortwave that I start to pick up any stations.

The first english-speaking broadcast I come across is a lady, she claims to be broadcasting from the Mojave desert in the southwest United States. There is nothing united about it anymore though. Her cadence and intonation is precise, it sounds like a military broadcast:

"...scouts returning from Los Angeles, San Diego and Las Vegas all report high risk environments these areas should be avoided at all costs, open war is being waged in the streets. We lost contact with our team scouting the San Francisco area..."

Sounds like anarchy no matter where you go. Then again the entire nation is embroiled in a civil war with close to a dozen factions blowing each other to bits over little pieces of territory deemed to be favourable for one reason or another. Initially the violence seemed to have at least some political context, but the initial belligerents have since fractured into a bunch of splinter groups, there is no one in charge.

I hit the scan button again and the digital readout rapidly increments passing the frequency of what was my go-to station and one of the few sources of decent news here are home. Whether they are off the air permanently or not I have no idea, but the absence of that broadcast means no news about the state of my nation, whatever remains of it. I'm further swallowed up by the sense of being isolated and to some degree, alone.

The tuner locks on to another channel, it's one of those odd number stations with a strange, hollow, likely synthetic voice reading out iterations of items. I leave it on and close my eyes letting my head fall back.

"...cherry... plastic... void... hammer... tulip... fulcrum... Daniel... obscene... fire... glasses... obstruct... tenor..."

* * * * *

I'm gently awaken by Sabine who is speaking quitely, "Mr. Killoren? Mr. Killoren?"

It takes a moment to blink the blurriness out of my vision. Sabine is smiling, just slightly, but I'm immediately anticipating good news and feeling some sense of emotional relief.

"You can see Heath now," she says. "He's out of recovery and resting. We snuck him into Kate's room."

"Wha-? They're together? Can I see them?" I ask, a bit overwhelmed by the news.

"Yes, but we'll have to be quiet, strictly speaking neither of you should be in there."

"Okay. No problem," I agree as I stand up and stretch.

"Put this on," She instructs handing me scrubs complete with mask and cap. "I'll wait at the nurse's station down the hall."

I quickly change into my surgeon outfit, and proceed down to where Sabine is waiting. "What do I do with my pack and clothes?" I ask.

"We can just tuck that away back here," she suggests. I hand my things over although I am immediately anxious leaving my pistol behind. While the scrubs are stealthy, strapping a gun to my leg would definitely defeat the purpose and I thought better of tucking the large, heavy pistol into my waistband, lest it come loose and clatter to the floor at an inopportune moment.

Sabine leads me to a stairwell and up a few flights and down a few more poorly lit hallways to the ward containing my wife and son. I pause suddenly at the door frozen by a rush of anxiety.

"It's okay," Sabine says. "Take your time."

Moments tick by as I prepare to enter the room that contains my entire universe, my entire damaged-falling-to-pieces world. A microcosm of this new dilapidated world; this room with its stale air and poor light where broken bodies lie surrounded by drab green walls. A room that begs for healing much as does the larger world, but that healing is fickle and elusive. I take a breath and enter.

Sabine pulls back the curtain that sequesters my wife and child; their beds pushed together so that they can be side-by-side.

"Hi Heath," I say quietly.

"Daddy?" Heath yelps. His shoulder is heavily bandaged and his arm rests in a sling. Though awake, his eyes look heavy--from pain medication I expect. "You look like a doctor."

"Shhh, buddy," I hush him. "We have to be very quiet in here."

"Okay," he whispers back. "I was just talking to mommy."

"Oh you were?" I say in that patronizing manner parents use when dealing with the rabid imaginations of children. "What did you talk about?"

"I told her I got an owie like her."

"I suppose you did," I say. "How is your owie?"

"Still hurts," he answers. "I'm not suppose to move my arm."

"Then don't," I reply. "Just rest. Both you and mommy need rest to get better."

"Okay," he says as he reaches across to Kate with his good hand and gives her hand a squeeze with his small, thin fingers. "Good night mommy," he says.

Kate's eyes flutter open for a moment, they remain focused straight ahead, but they are, for the first time in months, open.

"Kate!" I say, louder than I should. I look back to Sabine, "is she awake? Can she hear me?"

"I don't know," Sabine answers. "She did that earlier too, when we brought Heath in and he spoke to her. We're not sure how much she can see or hear, but it is a good sign."

"And the infection?"

"I think it's taken care of, fever is gone," she replies even more quietly. "Which means when you get the supplies back from those other people we'll have to fake a course of antibiotics with placebo." Sabine checks her watch. "I have to do my rounds, you can stay for a few minutes, but it would be a good idea to sneak out of here soon."

"Okay, will do."

Sabine leaves, closing the curtains as she does, leaving us enclosed in our own private little world for a few moments. Our family unit reunited in unfortunate circumstance. Heath has already drifted off again into his opioid slumber. Kate's eyelids continue to flutter as if she's fighting to stay awake. I will her eyes to meet mine, but they are transfixed on some arbitrary point in space; or perhaps on nothing at all.

"I'm here Kate," I whisper. "We're both here. I'm sorry about Heath," I say and his name catches in my throat. "I'm doing the best I can, I just don't know if I'm doing the right things. Everything has gone to shit Kate, everything. I wish you were here with me, I need you. I thought I could keep him safe, I thought staying at home would be the best choice, but now... this... now he's not safe... I can't protect him..."

I have Kate's hand clenched in mine, I hold it to my mouth as my eyes start to burn with tears. The helplessness I feel wells up inside me, wraps me in the cold tentacles of despair. The dam I have built to keep my emotions in check is failing. Placing my folded arms on the side of her bed, I bury my face and weep openly, as quietly as I can. I desperately need to let some of it out before it destroys me.

In the midst of my meltdown something brushes against my arm. Looking up I see Kate looking back at my, directly, though her eyes are barely more than slits. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Her eyes close again for a long moment and then open again slightly. With much effort she manages say one thing, though barely audible, "s'okay," before her eyes again close and stay that way.

I stare at her for long, breathless moments, in absolute shock. Before I can speak again I hear a door open and shut down the hall and the unmistakable sound of a hard leather heel striking the engineered concrete flooring in the corridor outside the ward. My heart pounds in my chest, I dry my face on the bed linen and quickly exit the curtained area and strike for the door. Unlike when I arrived, the lights in the corridor are now on, I exit the room only to come face-to-face with Denton and his bodyguard.

Denton scrutinizes my face for a moment then says, "Having a tender moment?" Taking a clear stab at my obvious emotional state. "This floor is off limits by the way... and I'm pretty sure the deal was for you to get me my drugs, then you get to see your wife. Not--come and see your wife whenever you can manage to sneak into my hospital."

"I was visiting my kid." I say as I take off the mask and cap, no need for the disguise now.

"Well, your kid shouldn't be up here either."

"My kid shouldn't be in the hospital at all, except someone thought it was a good idea to take a shot at me and missed."

"Oh?" Denton says, feigning concern. "Dangerous world out there. Hope you find out who did it."

"No worries there, we already did."

"Oh?" he replies, but this time his interest seems genuine. "And?"

"And I did what any father would do, I put two bullets in the bastard and buried him in a field." I lie.

"Well, I can't condone your vigilante justice, but I don't blame you."

I watch Denton's eyes and for a second I get the impression that he's relieved to hear I had dispatched the attacker.

I shrug. "No cops, no courts, what am I suppose to do. Violence begets violence."

"How poetic. We'll be reinstating social order soon, at which time you might want to be more careful about doling out your own brand of justice?"

"We? You mean you and your security goon squad? How is that any better?"

"Due process. Written laws, a court system. It's better, trust me."

"All of which can be subverted in an autocracy."

"I didn't come here to debate the future of Grey Harbour with you."

"Why did you come here? I'm pretty sure you're not here to check on patients."

"I was already here working when we were alerted to the possibility of an intruder in the building. When I heard what floor the intruder was on I had a suspicion on who it may be, so Mr. Beck and I decided to come see for ourselves. Sure enough, I find you here, again, in contravention of our previously agreed upon deal," Denton answers in his snide tone.

"Again, I am here to see Heath."

"Yes, so you say. But you're still trespassing and your son was admitted without proper documentation, in which case I need you both out of here," Denton says and steps toward Kate's room. I immediately step in front of him, he stops and gives me a hard glare.

"You're not touching him. He's resting." I say, returning the stare.

With a smug grin Denton gives me a solid push. "Out of my way!"

Without thinking I take his forward momentum, capture his arm and yank him into a textbook hip toss, sending us both to the hard floor with me on top. In a fraction of a second Mr. Beck hauls me up and sends me flying in the other direction.

I did my homework after my last meeting with Mr. Beck and Mr. Wiliam Beck--whose friends (if he has any) call him "Billy"--is a formidable opponent. Before coming into Denton's employ, he was a private security contractor, which means former elite military. That's about all I could dig up, with Ari's help, but that is plenty enough to tell me I have about a hundred kilos of kick-ass striding my way as I scramble to my feet.

I back pedal briefly before planting my feet, he blocks my jab and my right-cross but his elbow is high enough for my liver shot to sneak through. It's like punching an oak tree, he soaks up the hit without so much as a flinch before grabbing me by the throat. Immediately I jump into a flying arm bar and end up dangling inverted for a moment hoping to haul the bulk of Mr. Beck downward as I attempt to break his arm.

Instead Mr. Beck, in a demonstration of his monstrous strength, counters the move grabbing his trapped arm with his free hand and essentially lifts me up to eye level. It's at this point I realize I am in a lot of trouble, I also notice Mr. Beck is smiling. I am not.

In a swift and violent motion, he slams me down on a nearby laundry cart, the back of my head connects with something hard and unforgiving and stars dance before my eyes. I release my grip on Mr. Beck and tumble off the cart onto the cold concrete floor.

"Stop this!" a female voice orders, as I attempt, unsuccessfully, to right myself and get back in the fight.

Looking up I see Dana standing next to Denton, who, unlike myself, is standing upright and straightening out his tie. Mr. Beck is still standing over me but looking back at Denton as if awaiting orders. I grab at the handrail that lines the corridor.

"Stay down," Mr. Beck growls.

"Oh for God's sake Billy, help him up." Dana commands.

Mr. Beck yanks me up where I wobble uncertainly until I just give up and lean against the wall.

"For future reference," Mr. Beck says, "hands off the boss."

The back of my head is wet and I feel a tickle of something running down my neck. I reach back and my hand comes away slick with blood from where my head has been split open.

"I'm taking him downstairs to get looked at." Dana tells the men as she walks over to me.

I look Mr. Beck straight in the face. "In my absense, hands off my kid." He just smiles back at me and nods.

Dana takes my arm and guides me to the nearest stairwell.

"Do you go looking for trouble, or does it just find you?" she asks.

"I wish I knew," I answer honestly.

* * * * *