Page 86 of The Company We Keep

Leta, Vashvi, Wayles, Herron…

I’m so sorry, Ansel.

He squeezed his eyes shut. The world had erupted around him.

It made no sense, then, to find himself alive.

Maybe this is the afterlife,he thought.

But that made no sense either. The afterlife wouldn’t have sirens and what felt like several broken ribs.

As he came back to himself, Dust tried harder to move. He realized that he wasn’t paralyzed — just trapped. And if he pressed through his legs, he could actually move whatever was piled on top of him.

By the time he was shimmying out of the rubble, police and fire rescue staff were arriving. He must have only been out for a few minutes. The garage was a dark, smoldering wreck — the chaos so intense that it was difficult to even understand which direction he was facing. Or maybe that was the head injury talking. All he knew was that he wanted to go in the directionawayfrom the cops.

Dust struggled to get his bearings. There was a jagged opening in the wall behind him. Was that the way into the rest of the garage, or the way that faced the street? He clutched his head, willing it to stop throbbing. Lights flashed as a fire truck arrived, and his feet started marching him in the opposite direction, towards the jagged opening. He only hoped that he wouldn’t find more devastation on the other side of the wall — that he could get out of the building.

Dust lost some time, then.

He woke up in a park. It was night. A full moon. Dust let himself drift back to sleep.

“Hey, come on.”

Someone had a hand on his back. Dust woke. His blood ran cold: a cop.

“I haven’t seen you here before, so I’m not taking you in,” the man said, sweat beaded on his forehead. “But you can’t stay here. There’s a day center up on Main — you go to this intersection right here and hang a left.”

The cop gestured to the stoplight close by. He recognized the intersection. He was still in the financial district.

“What time is it?”

“Just after 3. You head up there and they’ll tell you what shelters are admitting tonight, OK? But I can’t let you stay here.”

Nothing the man said made sense to him, but he knew better than to argue. The man helped him to his feet and he wobbled, wanting to vomit but knowing that he needed to simply go along with whatever the cop said and try not to be suspicious.

“Thank you,” Dust said. The cop nodded and walked on.

Dust walked as far as he could towards the intersection before he needed a break. His vision went funny and dark at the edges. It was very hot. He found a bench. He lost some more time.

When he came back, he was in the sunshine on a street he recognized as Main. At least he’dtriedto follow the cop’s directions. He was sitting at a bus stop.

“Hey man, you OK?”

A kid had stopped and squatted in front of him, peering up at Dust where he sat.

“I’m good. Thank you. I just need the bus.”

“You’re bleeding, man — let me call someone.”

Dust took a deep breath, trying to process things. His hand found the gun in his waistband. There was nothing in it — he’d unloaded clip after clip at the cartel — but that made it no less intimidating. Weakly, he pulled it out of his waistband, just enough to flash it at the good Samaritan.

“Keep walking. I said I’m good.”

The kid disappeared without another word.

Dust needed to go east. That’s where The Company would’ve gone, if they made it out.

He didn’t knowhow much time he lost after that.

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