Rain lashed the tattered sail of the sinking junk. Each wave shipped gallons of seawater into the boat, wallowing under the strain of its human cargo. Sang bailed mechanically with cupped hands, his body long since lulled into a mantra of scoop-toss, scoop-toss, scoop-toss. Each flick of his wrists flung a mere handful of water into the teeth of the storm.

“No, not my girl!” a shriek rose from the stern of the boat. Sang’s brown eyes peered through the darkness at the commotion. A man struggled to stand with a ragged bundle in his arms.

“She’s dead,” the man yelled, pushing a woman to the deck. “We’re all going to drown if we don’t lighten our load.” Sang did not recognize the man or the woman. Scarcely anyone had spoken in the three weeks since they left Vietnam.

The man threw the child overboard. The woman screamed and jumped into the churning sea. In moments she too slipped beneath the waves. The man slumped to the deck and buried his head in his hands, his body trembling.

Sang’s mind shut down while his body labored. Scoop-toss, scoop-toss, scoop toss.

A foot on his chest woke Sang from his nightly terror of burning villages and brutalized bodies. Excited shouts filled the air and people jumped overboard, trampling those like Sang too dazed to get out of the way. The junk was aground on a sandbar; a jungle-covered island a mere hundred yards ahead.

Sang breathed deeply, wondering if this was what the Philippines smelled like. That had been their destination, though there were no true sailors on the boat. Only he and three others remained on board.

Sang checked them. The first two were dead. He placed a hand on the shoulder of the last person, who jerked away.

A face emerged from the jumble of rags: a young woman; a girl, really, a couple of years younger than Sang. Sang smiled but she recoiled. A layer of cloth fell away exposing an infant suckling at her breast. Sang backed up and sat.

“When your babe is finished, we can go ashore. You’re safe now. I’ll help you through the surf.”

The girl raised her chin and peered over the rail. She scanned the horizon for a moment, and then returned her attention to her child.

Ten minutes later the girl did not resist when Sang urged her to her feet and over the rail into the shallow water. He wrapped his arm around her and did his best to shield the baby from the waves. The girl was all bones and hard edges beneath her clothes.

Half the refugees had disappeared into the jungle, but twenty remained on the beach and set up camp. Days passed in a monotony of foraging and telling stories of lives lost and dreams of new hope. Sunshine, for that is what Sang decided to call her, sat alone with her baby and spoke to no one. He always made sure she had enough to eat before he would take anything.

Every morning Sang foraged for insects and the occasional piece of fruit. He returned to camp for the midday rains so that he could be sure to catch enough water in the broad leaves for himself, Sunshine, and her baby, who he named Sunrise.

“Sunshine, wait until you see what I found,” Sang called out on the sixth day, bounding back into camp. He ran up to the girl and plopped down beside her. “Look!” Sang pulled a handful of white grubs from one pocket, and then, with a flourish, four beautiful ripe figs.

Sunshine reached for the grubs, but Sang snatched them up and stuffed them in his mouth. “No you don’t,” he taunted. “Those are for you,” he said, pointing at the figs. With that he danced off into the jungle.

That evening Sang returned with more food. Sunshine sat, as she always did, at the edge of the camp. Four beautiful figs lay on the log beside her. Sang’s heart fell. He put his latest finds beside the figs and shuffled out onto the beach.

Sang walked along the shore until well past sunset. The camp was quiet when he returned, the moon shining down on the sleeping refugees. He went to his own bed, but a sliver of moonlight reflected off the ground nearby. He found a small basket woven from strips of bark; woven tightly enough to hold a draught of water reflecting the moon. Sang looked over to where Sunshine lay, and caught the briefest sparkle in her eyes before she rolled over.

Sang took a long drink and then lay down to sleep.

The next day a Philippine patrol boat arrived for the refugees. An officer approached them on the beach and began taking down names. The officer came to Sang.

“Sang Hoang,” he said. While the officer wrote, a small hand slipped inside of Sang’s. Sunshine, holding Sunrise, looked up at him, pleading in her eyes.

“Sang Hoang,” he repeated. “Sang Hoang and family.”

The sound of a muffled voice in the distance broke through the darkness, jolting Suzette back from the brink of unconsciousness. The pain in her cold, cramped limbs flooded her senses and she cried out in desperation. Panicking and fearing she might go undetected in the tiny ice cavern, she frantically clawed at the ice with what little energy she had left in her frozen body. She could hear the steady taps of an ice pick and soon a hole formed as hands scraped away the compacted snow.

Through the hole peered pair of eyes, so bright green and clear, took her breath away and she swooned, almost fainting from a combination of relief, awe, and the first intake of intoxicating fresh air. Thickly-gloved hands returned to rip the ice away until there was enough room for Suzette to wriggle out.

“Are you alright, love?” her rescuer asked as Suzette sat dazed in the snow. Those eyes that first dazzled her were set in a bold face full of character, with cheeks rosy from the cold and hard work. Suzette couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath the professional, orange uniform and imagined a well-toned, muscular body, perfectly-formed in every way; firm, yet still feminine, still young, yet tanned and healthy from a life spent working in the outdoors.

Embarrassed by her wondering mind, Suzette looked away. “I think am ok,” she mumbled as her rescuer crouched down beside her and reached out a gloved hand to wipe the wet hair and grime from Suzette’s face. “All the same, I don’t like the look of that gash on your forehead. I’m going to call the rest of the crew to get up here and help me bring you back down to the village. We’ll get some medical assistance for you and take you down into town to the hospital if we need to,” she said, matter-of-fact yet friendly. "Can't be too careful with these things."

“Thank you,” Suzette wanted to tell her how grateful she was, how she’d saved her life, but in the whirlwind in her mind the words slipped away from her; so she kept quiet, fearing whatever she said now would sound ridiculous or corny.

“They’d better bloody hurry up before the weather turns nasty,” muttered her companion. “My name’s Karen, anyway,” she smiled.

“Hello, Karen,” Suzette replied, stealing another glance and remembering the strength of those arms on her body as they pulled her from her icy trap and the tenderness of those gloved hands stroking her face. Suzette wished for the gloves to be gone, and the thought of the deft, powerful fingers stroking her own naked skin made her heart contract. She had never felt such instant attraction towards anyone before and the intensity of her feelings frightened her.

“That’s an interesting accent you’ve got there, love. Where’re you from?”

“Bern,” said Suzette.

“Jeez, you’d be used to real avalanches then, not piddly little things like what you were caught in!” Suzette first thought Karen was rebuking her and it hurt her so much she felt she would cry, but before she could protest she caught sight of the look in Karen’s face - kindly and joking, with not a hint of anger or cruelty. Suzette laughed quietly, not really knowing how to respond, and not wishing to reveal how her own cockiness and stupidity separated her from her friends and landed her in the hole which caved in around her. Distractedly, she looked over her shoulder at the dark clouds speeding overhead

“So what’re you doing on holidays here? Our snow’s nothing compared to what you get at home; I mean, half this stuff’s artificial,” Karen laughed.

“Actually, I’m on exchange with university, and some of my friends, we thought it would be nice to holiday here and come skiing,” Suzette replied, raising her voice to be heard. The wind whipped around them, stealing their conversation, and indecipherable crackles burst from Karen's walkie-talkie drowned Suzette out.

Karen shuffled closer, reaching her arms around the younger woman to shield her. “They’re on their way with a stretcher, but it’s rough going. I don’t want you walking yet, and we’re not going anywhere while the weather’s on the turn,” she said and Suzette leaned in closer. Their faces were almost touching and she could feel the heat radiating from Karen's cheeks. The snow started falling, whirling around them violently, and as the world closed in around them in a flurry of white, their eyes met, sparking something within them . . .

“We’ll be at the hospital in a few minutes, Mrs. McGinty.” The ambulance’s siren rose and fell in sharp counterpoint to Rob’s deep, soothing voice.

The small, pale form on the gurney stayed silent, her eyes closed. The monitors beat a steady rhythm.

“I can’t believe someone would do this,” she said, anger rising.

“The guy was drunk,” Rob said harshly. His strong, tanned face was taut with barely leashed fury. Usually Rob was the unflappable one, taking everything in stride. Sometimes she’d wondered if he had any emotions at all.

“And an innocent person has to pay the price,” Susan responded. She watched in fascination as Rob’s fists clenched. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye, she thought.

“I hate drunk drivers.” The vehemence of the statement sent a shiver up Susan’s spine. She glanced at him. This wasn’t the cold, emotionless man that she was used to working with. His hazel eyes flashed with passion, and a small muscle ticked at his jaw. His firm, square jaw, highlighted with just a touch of five o’clock shadow. She imagined how it would feel rubbing against her sensitive flesh…

Startled at her thoughts, Susan busied herself checking their patient’s vitals. Mrs. McGinty had been lucky – the drunk driver had struck a telephone pole before hitting her car. But at 89 years old, even a glancing blow can have serious consequences. She studied the dark bruise forming on their patient’s head.

“Hold in there, Mrs. McGinty.” The elderly woman didn’t respond to Rob’s voice, but Susan did. She’d never noticed its lyrical quality, or how the deep timbre played across her nerve endings. The ambulance started to grow warm.

Suddenly, the rhythm of the monitors changed and alarms filled the small space. Rob reached for the oxygen as Susan checked the IV line. He carefully placed the mask on Mrs. McGinty’s face, his strong hands gentle against her papery skin. The tension grew as they watched for signs of improvement.

“Come on, stay with us,” he whispered. His free hand lightly stroked Mrs. McGinty’s arm, encouraging her to fight, to hang on for a little longer. There must have been magic in his touch, because the alarms stopped and her breathing deepened. He continued his soothing touch and soft words, and Susan found herself jealous of the older woman.

Shocked at herself, she turned away to hide her response. This couldn’t be happening; this was Rob, her coworker for the last two years, the man without any emotions. When she turned back, his eyes were on her. She flushed, conscious of his scrutiny. His glance fell – and lingered.

Looking down, she saw that her standard-issue blue jumpsuit had come partially unzipped. Soft, generous curves peeked out from between the harsh line of metal, the creamy-white of her skin a sharp contrast to the dark blue uniform.

She looked up and was surprised by the heat in Rob’s eyes. She leaned forward and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath. Her fingers toyed with the zipper, teasing.

“Don’t make any promises you don’t intend to keep.”

She froze at Rob’s soft whisper. The sirens continued to wail, isolating them from the outside world. She looked deep into his hazel eyes – then lowered her zipper another inch.

The ambulance slowed, marking the approach to the emergency room. She broke away from Rob’s gaze, suddenly embarrassed. What was she thinking? Seduction in an ambulance?

She started to adjust her uniform when Rob’s hand shot out, grabbing hers. She was startled by the look on his face, a look of determination, passion…and something more.

He leaned across the gurney, pulling her closer. “I don’t forget promises,” he said. Her hand stilled, taking in all the possibilities of his statement. She could feel his hot breath on her face, mirroring the heat that was growing in her.

Neither of them noticed when Mrs. McGinty removed her oxygen mask.

“Would you kiss her already?” she murmured. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Rob laughed and closed the distance. “You heard the patient, and keeping her happy is one of our responsibilities.”

His lips closed on hers. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, but one full of demands...and promises. By the time it ended, they were both out of breath.

The ambulance stopped and emergency personnel appeared to whisk Mrs. McGinty into the hospital. As she was lifted out of the vehicle, she waved Susan over.

“Promise me an invitation to the wedding,” she whispered.

Susan glanced at Rob and saw the emotion he didn’t bother to hide.

“I promise.”

A small band of soldiers made their way through the forests of upper Gansu province, China. At their lead was Yingqi, son of a rich merchant. Along with Gongzhu, captain of his father’s guards, he was escorting the returns of the year’s silk trade back to their home in Chang’an. The year had been a profitable one, the best Yingqi could recall. His father would be pleased.

As they rounded a bend in the road, they came upon a solitary figure upon a horse. The rider wore all white, including a scarf wrapped around his head.

“Honorable friends, lay down your weapons in peace. I do not wish to harm you.” The rider sat erect on the horse as he spoke.

Gongzhu growled back, “Perhaps you should be the one to lay down your weapon. If so, perhaps I’ll consider burying your corpse, rather than hanging it in a tree for all would-be bandits to see.”

The rider slowly nodded his head. “If that is how you would have it then.”

From the woods, more bandits appeared. The small band of soldiers drew their weapons, ready for a fight. As the men engaged in battle, the solitary rider spurred his horse into the fray. Yingqi lunged at him as he rode past, sending both to the ground. The bandit was on his feet with the speed of a leopard. He was a small man, and judging from his voice Yingqi gathered him to be barely past puberty. What he lacked in size and strength, however, he more than made up for in speed and skill.

Yingqi held his sword at the ready as the bandit pounced. The boy struck with deathly accuracy and seemed to anticipate Yingqi’s every move. It took all his effort just to keep the boy at bay.

To his left, another of the bandits struck at him. He turned just in time to parry the blow. He began to wonder what it would be like to die. He had hardly begun his life; there was so much more he wanted to do.

From behind the white rider he saw his salvation. One of his father’s guards was rushing at the young bandit, shoulders down, obviously intending to knock the bandit over by brute force. Yingqi used the opportunity to attack the larger man, slashing at the man’s midsection with his sword. He turned back in time to see the bandit skillfully flipping the soldier over his shoulder, tossing him to the ground. As the soldier flipped, his belt caught the scarf wrapped around the bandit’s head, revealing long black hair as it cascaded down the bandit’s back.

Yingqi gasped as the bandit turned back to face him. This was no ordinary bandit! This was a woman! And no ordinary woman at that! Her beauty was striking.

Having disposed of the guard, she lunged at Yingqi. Their swords clashed as they closed in. He grabbed her arm, pulling her so close he could feel the heat of her breath on his neck. Time seemed to stop for them.

She was even more beautiful up close. Stunning blue eyes peered out of her milky white face. He searched those eyes, eyes that seemed to be quivering with some untold emotion. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. They stood there, unmoving, for what seemed an eternity. Finally, unable to help himself, he loosened his grasp on her arm and slid his hand around to her back.

The movement seemed to awaken her. Whatever emotion he had read in her eyes was quickly gone, replaced by hardness well practiced.

Before he was ready, she spun from his grasp, whipping her sword around for another strike.

Thankfully, his training enabled him to react quickly, even before his mind caught up. He defended her blow, but did not return it.

“What is your name?” he implored her.

At that moment one of the bandits raced past, grabbing the reigns of the party’s two camels. “Let’s go!” he yelled.

She quickly ducked, spinning around and catching Yingqi’s legs with her own, flipping him onto his back. She paused over him, sword ready for a final strike.

“Your name…” he whispered.

She appeared to be fighting a battle within herself as she stood over him. He did not think she would answer him, but then, “You may call me… Lue Duo.” Raven. It fit her.

She turned, leaving him on the ground. Racing to her horse, she swung gracefully up to its back. As she urged it into a run, she glanced back at him, her eyes piercing into his very soul. The movement and the rush of wind loosened her scarf. It was pulled away from her, left in her wake to flutter in the breeze. Before it could touch the ground, Yingqi lunged at it. He held the fabric up to his nose, inhaling the scent.

“Lue Duo,” he breathed. He knew he would find her again, and not just to recover his father’s money. No, he would find her again and then, he would never let her go.

“We are now cruising at 30,000 feet, we will reach Toledo in, oh sh...”

The entire first class section of the Airbus burst into panicked speculation. Todd could hear vague screaming from economy. He folded his paper.

“Please, take your seats, and fasten your seat belts.” The red haired stewardess with the Phillip name tag pinned upside down on her vest valiantly tried to restore order. Todd could see another stewardess talking frantically into an intercom.

“Folks,” Todd said in a deliberately bored tone. “We haven't fallen out of the sky yet. I haven't even spilled my tea. Likely our poor Captain did exactly that.” He took a sip from the china cup. It was excruciatingly horrible tea, but it made his point. People started breathing normally again, and the red head looked grateful. She came over to him.

“Thank you, sir.” she said. “I wasn't sure how I was going to calm them down.”

“Surely your name isn't Phillip.” said Todd. “You look more like a Soibhan or a Fiona.”

“Actually,” she replied blushing, “It's Phillipa, but they ran out of space on the name tag. So, here I am.” Todd shook his head at a company that had a fleet of multi-million dollar airplanes, but couldn't come up with a name tag to fit more than seven letters.

A different voice came on the intercom.

“Sorry about that folks. A little hot coffee in the wrong place. No need to panic.”

Todd took a satisfied sip of his tea, making a face - bad and cold. The voice on the P.A system kept talking trying to undo the damage

“I'll get you a fresh cup.” Phillipa said and reached for the cup.

“Hey, that isn't right.” A bang sent shudders through the airplane. “Turn that thing off. Not that switch!” The lights went out just as the oxygen masks fell into the faces of passengers once again screaming with fear. “You idiot. You're going to kill us all.” The argument lasted a couple more minutes before it was cut off in mid word. Todd took hold of his mask as Phillipa turned to go back to the front of the section.

“I should be going to Tahiti.” He muttered.

“Pardon?” She said pausing, cup in hand.

“I would much rather die en route to Tahiti than Toledo.” Todd said, sounding muffled as he put the mask over his face.

Phillipa smiled and was just turning again, when a second bang shook the plane. This time it banked hard to the right. Todd just managed to catch the stewardess before she would have crashed into his seat. He pulled her onto his knees and held on tight as the world went crazy.

“I wish, “ Todd said. “That I were a horse.”
“What?” Screamed Phillipa.

“Your name, Phillipa. It means lover of horses.” She twisted around until she could wrap her arms around him. She buried her head in his chest.

“I don't like horses.” He heard her whisper into his jacket. The screams, prayers and curses of the other passengers faded out. His whole world was the woman he held in his arms.

“I am more fox than horse.” Todd said.

“Foxes are cute.” He heard through his jacket. He had a thought, and put his mask on the woman. He couldn't tell any difference in the air. The plane was rolling and twisting violently. He had to use all his strength to hold on to Phillipa.

“We are going to die.” She said. It wasn't a question. She said it as if she could already feel the ground crushing the life out of them.

“Then we die grateful for the life we had.”

“You are the first person to like my name.” Phillipa raised her head to look at him. She tore the mask off and kissed him gently on the lips. “Thank you, I don't want to die hating my name.”

Todd shifted his grip slightly so he could cup the back of her head. Her hair felt silky soft to his fingers.
He kissed her back, gently then with more urgency. They were welded together by passion. Even in the face of destruction love bloomed. They pulled back to look deep into each other's eyes.

“I'm glad I was on this flight.” said Todd. “To have met you.”

“Even if we are dying in Toledo?” she asked.

“Even if we are dying in Toledo.” he said, and kissed her again.

“I love you.” They said in unison, as if they had practiced all their lives for this moment.

The ground arrived at that moment, and death with it.

*****

They looked at each other, each shining with the brightness of love.

“No, this is life.”

An interesting phenomenon of which to take note is the romance between two lab rats, Chester and Collette. These were the names given to them by the scientists that hurt them every day for the greater good. Their cages lay directly adjacent to one another, with only thin metal bars separating them. After the day was done, and whatever sadistic tortures inflicted upon them were over, they found solace sleeping with each other. Their noses stuck through the gaps in the barrier that separated them, and their whiskers intertwined. This was as close as they could get, but it was enough.

Chester and Collette weren’t aware of the names they were given. Words aren’t what animals know. Animals know instinct and survival. They know fear, they know hunger, they know exhaustion. They know sex. Chester and Collette also knew love, and they knew it without words to tell. Imagine: pure emotion. Love, without the cluttered thoughts that wreck even the deepest of romances. Love, without jealousy. Love in its purest form. Love without words.

One day each of the lab rats were given a painful injection with a serum that would, in theory, heighten their sense of smell. The serum was tested in a maze the size of two ping pong tables placed side by side. Two rats at a time were placed in the maze at opposite ends, and a single piece of food was placed in the center. The first one to reach the food pellet would continue on to further testing. Chester and Collette were placed in the maze several times against other rats. Every time they were victorious, they were given another painful injection. But none of this mattered at night, when they slept with their whiskers intertwined.

The inevitable happened, and Chester and Collette were eventually placed in the maze against one another.

What happened on that day was an event that none of the scientists overlooking the experiment had predicted: instead of using their newly-attained keen sense of smell to find the food, they used it to find each other. They had become so accustomed to each other’s scent that they knew at once where the other was, and maneuvered around the many twists and turns to seek one another out. They succeeded, and they were together, truly together, at last. They ran their paws over each other's faces and fur, they rolled around on the floor together, they felt each other for the very first time. They then slept with one another, side by side, with their whiskers intertwined.

The overlooking scientists were baffled by this exhibition, and even more so when the lab rats made no further attempts to reach the food. They tried the experiment again, and again, every time to similar results. Sometimes when Chester and Collette met they would roll around together on the floor, sometimes they would simply stare at one another, and other times Chester would mount Collette. But every experiment would end the same: with the two lovers pressing their faces together and sleepng with their whiskers intertwined.

Theories were thrown around the laboratory about the phenomenon which the scientists were witnessing. Some suggested that perhaps the chemicals in the rats’ bodies had affected them in a way that would allow them to seek out more of the same chemical, which was found in the other rat. But why, then, didn’t they seek out any of the rats injected with the same serum in similar tests? Blinded by logic, none of the overseers allowed themselves to anthropomorphize the rats enough to see the obvious: that they loved one another. Such a trait doesn’t exist in rats.

A final test was conducted upon the strange case of Chester and Collette. This time they ran the maze separately. Chester ran first. He found the food almost immediately. He ate it, and that was the end of his test.

Collette ran next. She was placed in the same section as Chester had been, and immediately found herself surrounded by his smell. But she couldn’t see her beloved, and this was something that she couldn’t understand. She followed the trail of Chester’s scent all the way to the food. When it ended there, and she still couldn’t find him, she followed it back. She repeated this over and over, and never even cast a disinterested glance at the food. She needed Chester more than she needed to live.

The supervising scientist had seen enough and scooped Collette from the maze. He didn’t return her to her cage, though; there was something special about these rats, and he was intent to find out what it was. Chester would continue to run the maze against other rats to see if they could duplicate the results. Collette would be dissected the next day, to find out what made her so special.

“Personal reasons? You want to be taken off this case for personal reasons?” The director stared at Detective Jackson in amazement. “Would you care to elaborate?”

Jackson shifted nervously and cleared his throat. “I’d rather not. I’m just not sure I’m the right person for the job, due to, uhmm, personal reasons,” he finished lamely.

The director ‘s incredulous attitude quickly began to turn to anger. “You’re the right person for the job until I tell you otherwise. Now quit wasting everyone’s time and get over to that house and do what you are paid to do.” His tone made it clear that there was not going to be any further discussion.

Not knowing what else to do, Jackson got into his car and headed down the highway toward 877 Oak Lane. As he drove, he considered the details of the case. Mary and Amy Hylton had been shopping at the mall when the mother had gotten distracted. When Amy turned back, her six year old daughter had disappeard. She had searched for 15 minutes before calling the police, and the local cops had wasted some additional time before calling in the FBI.

By the time Jackson had gotten there, Mary had been missing for six hours. Now, it had been three full days. No ransom had been requested, and Amy’s ex-husband had a rock solid alibi. Every additional hour that passed at this point, decreased the likelihood that Mary would ever be seen alive again.

Jackson was one of the best child recovery specialists on the force, but he still felt uncomfortable remaining on the case. He had managed to maintain his professionalism even though he had been instantly attracted to Amy. Each time he saw her, however, he felt his objectivity slipping away. Becoming involved with a victim was highly improper, but it was nothing compared to the problems that came from becoming attached to the prime suspect.

And that was the why he had asked to be excused from the case. It was a harsh reality that parents were often to blame when children went missing. It didn’t help that none of the other shoppers had a clear recollection of the pair. That didn’t mean that they hadn’t been there; but it did mean that it was going to be much harder to find the missing girl. And, if she didn’t reappear, or if she turned up dead, it would make it much harder to exonerate Amy.

Jackson knew all of this, and he should have been headed to her house to attempt to shake her story. Instead, he realized that he was hurrying to comfort her. In an effort to clear his mind, he focused on the scant details of the case. There were no witnesses and no real clues. In truth, all they had was Amy’s recollections of events. It certainly was suspicious.

All of Jackson’s instincts melted away, however once he reached the Hylton house and Amy answered the door. She should have looked awful with her teary, swollen eyes and disheveled hair, but her fragile appearance just made him want to protect her that much more.

“Detective Jackson, have you found anything?” she asked as she struggled to keep the tremble out of her voice.

“No, Mrs. Hylton,” he answered softly, hating the way her shoulders sagged with renewed defeat.

“Why don’t you come in,” she said, holding open the door.

“We’re doing all we can,” he stated putting his hand on her shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. Amy slumped against him, all pretense of bravado, gone. She sobbed softly against his chest as he awkwardly rubbed her back.

They stood together in a passionless embrace fueled by simple compassion, but as the seconds passed, it slowly morphed into something different. He found himself running his fingers through her hair as her crying stopped and she drew closer into his embrace.

Drawing upon inner reserves of strength that he hadn’t realized he possessed, Jackson pulled away. He cleared his throat self-consciously as he stepped back. “I’m sure that something will turn up soon.”

Ms. Hylton smiled sadly. “I appreciate all that you have done, Detective, but my lawyer has informed me that I am your most likely subject. I’ve been instructed not to speak to you alone. No hard feelings?” she asked extending her hand toward him.

He wondered if she felt the same electric charge jump between them as he shook her proffered hand. “I’m just doing my job, Ma’am.”

“I know that,” she whispered. “I also know that she is still alive, and if anyone is going to bring my baby back to me, it will be you.”

Jackson turned and headed back to his car with a renewed determination. He would find that little girl and bring her back. He would do it because it was his job. He would do it to save a little girl. And, he would do it because Amy was depending on him,

"Are we going to die?" my wife asked me.

I reached out and took her hand in mine. I could feel her pulse racing. "Quite possibly."

She smiled despite her fear. "You know, you could have lied to make me feel better."

"Can't do it, babe," I said. "I haven't lied to you in twenty years. I'm not about to start now."

I held her hand in the wind and smoke, and we waited.

A short time earlier, she and I had been sitting with a loan officer on the eighteenth floor of the City Savings Bank Building, discussing the terms of a business loan. We hoped to open a toy store near our home. That seems so far away to me now, a distant memory, a dream.

The banker had just passed a batch of papers across the desk for us to sign when we heard a distant booming noise, like an explosion. The windows rattled in their frames. Anna's eyes met mine, and I gave her a comforting smile as the loan officer stood to peer out the window.

There was another boom, then another. The building vibrated like a tuning fork. Something like water fell past the windows, and I realized it was broken glass. Thinking that it probably wasn't a very good idea, I stood and hurried to the window, where the banker was standing looking out, not moving, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, his mouth wide open in shock.

A mechanical spider was walking down First Avenue.

It was perhaps two-hundred feet tall, with eight legs and enormous feet that pulverized the pavement far below. I watched as it flattened a bus as easily as you or I might crush an aluminum can. Thick clouds of smoke and dust poured into the sky. I looked down the street and saw that half the buildings downtown had been crushed by a gleaming sphere — a spaceship, I suppose. It was disgorging more of the robots, which were clambering over the landscape and destroying everything in their path.

"It's the apocalypse out there," the banker announced, as casually as if he were watching it on TV instead of seeing it unfold in real life before his eyes. Then he tumbled backward in a dead faint.

"Jonathan," Anna said, calmly. She was still in her chair. "Get away from the windows. Right now."

The machine moved past the building, its eyes sweeping back and forth as it observed the chaos it was causing below. I watched in horror as one of its snakelike legs whipped through the air and crashed into the building about ten floors beneath us. The structure shook so violently that I thought it would topple at any second; I hurled myself away from the windows an instant before they shattered inward with thunderous force.

"Anna!" I shouted, nearly pulling her arm out of its socket. We ran into the corridor, which was thronged with screaming office workers. A receptionist wept as she stabbed at the elevator button.

"It won't work," I said. "We need to take the stairs."

"Jonathan," Anna said. "I'm very frightened."

I looked into her green eyes. "You brought four children into the world. You worked long hours and often went hungry to make sure they never missed a single meal. When Timmy was in the hospital, you went without sleep for two days straight just to make sure that if he woke and needed you, you'd be there. Anna, you're the bravest person I've ever known, and I know you can be brave for me now. Whatever happens, we're together."

We followed the crush of people to the stairs. When we got there, however, we saw that everyone was streaming upwards.

"Blocked," a young man explained. His face was smeared with soot. "A couple floors down, it's all debris. Nowhere to go but up."

"Then up we go," I said, and up we went.

The machines had moved on to wreak havoc elsewhere, but I knew they might return. As we huddled on our corner of the rooftop, surveying the nightmarish carnage and shivering in the cold, Anna said, "I don't care what happens to us. But our children ...."

Tears moistened the corners of my eyes, but I fought them back. "They're survivors," I said. "You taught them to be. You did your job and did it well, and now it's up to them. They're smart, they're tough, and I know they'll make us proud."

"I love you so much," she whispered. "Thanks for keeping me strong."

"You're the one keeping me strong," I replied. "I'm here with you. I'm with you until the end. Do you remember our wedding song?"

I wrapped my arms around her, my love, my life, and softly sang to her as night fell and the sky grew dark, lit only by the fires that raged along the horizon.

“Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you”

He ripped the headphones from his ears and slammed the iPod down on the desk. How was he to respond to her? She was clever. She was witty. Her e-mails had proved that.

Those surrounding him had no inclination of his predicament; “Just stuck with his coding again’’ they assumed as he sat head in hands, face pointing desk-wards.

“Well, there was that time she tried to Skype me then blamed it on one of her dogs putting a paw or something on the keyboard.” He deliberated “No, too confrontational; looks like I’m picking an argument.’’ He knew he had to do something though; it had been nearly 48 hours since they had made any contact; he was in danger of loosing her to someone who was better at ‘verbal chess’ than he. She had loved that. He remembered the first time he had mailed her after she had made a pedantic comment: “Do you like analysing everything one says?” he had retorted.
“Ruddy hell. Check mate!” was her reply, as he had left her wordless.
He liked that. He liked to win and he liked to make her think he was on the ball.

“Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you”

Why was that song in her head? She just couldn’t get rid of it. It had been nearly 48 hours since he had e-mailed her and she was feeling quite despondent. He was clever. He was witty. His e-mails had proved that.

“Maybe I’ve been overly clever and put him off,” she thought, “I over-analysed everything he wrote, made witticisms about it and now he thinks I’m belligerent.” Those surrounding her had no inclination of her predicament; “Just stuck with her equations again’’ they assumed as she sat head in hands, face pointing desk-wards.

Karma tried to be kind that day. When he got up from his desk, a glint caught his eye. Bending to examine, he found the answer to his contemplations and immediately gave the item to the appropriate person who was allowed to deal with the concern. The ‘lost’ article was duly claimed.

Now was his chance. He e-mailed: “Was the necklace sentimental to you?”

“Yes. It’s one of the few things I had left from when I was a kid. Why?”

“I opened up the heart and there was a picture in it of two poodles Skyping!”

She giggled almost uncontrollably, her neighbouring colleagues starting to assess her to see if she really did need to be committed; they had seen her chuckling at her PC monitor before.

“It’s one of the few things left from my childhood…..that and a couple of plastic zoo animals”

“Zoo animals? I didn’t think you were that kind of girl! Hand on heart, I prefer farm animals myself.”

She had to make a dash for the lift to flee; the ‘crescendo effect’ had taken control. The lift doors opened. Somebody was arriving for their shift. They said ‘’hello”. She erupted in laughter. “oh, no. somebody I might need to apologise to,” she thought, but carried on with her jollity; it was rare but he could do that for her; he was gifted enough to make her laugh; he’d done it in e-mails for some time now.

She was about to return to her table, but decided to heed the call of nature. She loped up the stairs to the floor above, passing his desk; he was there, typing on his keyboard.

He looked up; she gazed.

Their glance met; his eyes locked onto hers. He would never forget her big, blue-eyed bashful look and her smile that day; not that day. She would never forget the wicked glint in his green-hazel eyes that day; not that day.

Neither could verbalize; both were too timid.

Nothing was said.

She returned to her work. He returned to his work.

“Just stuck with his coding again’’ they assumed as he sat head in hands, face pointing desk-wards. “Just stuck with her equations again’’ they assumed as she sat head in hands, face pointing desk-wards.

“Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you”

Dan Olean, a big, burly man of 42, and Sheriff of Nectar, Alabama, stood at his office doorway and faced the cameras, microphones and lights of the Network stations from Mobile and Birmingham.

“All I can tell y’all now is that I have one suspect in custody and an All Points Bulletin has been issued for the primary suspect, a Mr. Larry Pusillo, who we believe was the instigator of this robbery and has the stolen money in his possession”

Any other questions?”

“No?, Good night then. Be careful on your way out of town. Do not bother the people here, they don’t know anything about what happened.”

Sheriff Dan Olean, spun on his heel and went into his office and locked the door.

“Dan, I heard what you said. I’m a suspect? Am I under arrest? I told you what happened.”

“I know you did, Grace. Now I want to know all of it. This Pusillo guy? The Reverend? Why were you at Doc’s house last night with a head wound? Tell me everything. If I hear it from someone else, I won’t protect you. I’ll have to do my job.”

“Please Dan, don’t do this. I can’t. Don’t make me tell you, it’s awful, it’s embarrassing. Please!”

Grace saw the determined look in Dan’s eyes and although she hadn’t known him that long, she knew to do as he said and began the story of Larry Pusillo and Grace Watkins and the Reverend and what had happened since she joined the Revival. She knew his opinion of her was going to be changed when she was through, but she needed to tell someone, to get all this humiliation out of her mind and out of her soul. Although she had lived it, her words flowed as from a stranger.
“Oh, how could I have done these things? This wasn’t who I am, yet I did it, all of it.”
The realization of what she had been turning into struck her as she went through detail after agonizing detail. Would he even talk to her after this. He was such a kind man, unlike the men she had been with for the last year. Oh, Dan, I’m so sorry to have to say things like this to you. Please don’t hate me, please. She sobbed out the last few lines about last night and sat, looking at her hands in her lap, silently hoping that this man could somehow forgive her for all this.

“Please say something, anything.”

She waited for his voice and quietly the tears flowed and dropped in her lap.

Dan sat and listened silently, looking at this child-woman as she poured out her story of blind faith, lustful men who took advantage of her inexperience and the bad choices she had made, none of which were illegal in his eyes. He took out a box of kleenex from his desk and gave it to her, regretting that he had made her do this, wanting to feel her softness in his arms and hold her close. It had been 19 years since any woman had affected him this way, and now this. Her tale had touched him even more deeply than he was yet aware. He only knew that his heart felt heavy in his chest and he wanted to see her smile again and look into those big green eyes that seemed to draw his soul right up under his skin where it could touch her and feel her breathe. She was so young. Could it be possible for her to love an older man like him? Her rejection would be utter devastation.

“All right, Grace, I believe you. Now let’s get you somewhere so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

“I can stay in the motorhome like I always. . “

“No, you’ll stay with me, in the guest bedroom. That way, in the morning, the church people can’t get at you without me being there. Are you ready?”

Grace sat curled sideways on the front seat and looked at Dan. He would look over at her quickly and give a little smile, which was returned with a huge radiant smile from Grace, but no words were spoken all the way to his house in the countryside south of town. Grace offered to make some tea when they got there and Dan built up the fire against the cool October night and sat on the overstuffed old sofa and waited for the tea. Grace had found one of his old oversized t shirts to change into and came out looking even younger, holding two steaming mugs. As she moved in front of Dan and placed the mugs on the side table, her body was in silhouette from the fire. The Sheriff pulled her down onto his lap and they kissed for the first time.

“Grace, could you ever. . . ”

“Oh yes, Dan. Anything. I love you”