The emptiness of the streets had a very different feel to it as Myra drove back to the bridge. It had gone from feeling a bit lonely to being haunting. There truly was not a trace of humanity around, and the lack of an explanation was terrifying. It was like knowing there was an enormous but invisible hole in the ground somewhere, and that she would eventually step into it.

“Where is the dawn?” she whispered to herself as she drove absent-mindedly through High Town’s deserted streets.

Something happened in the corner of her eye. Myra slammed the brakes, forcing the auto into a screeching halt. She twisted her spine around to stare across the river.

It happened again, at the police station. Through the wall erupted a blast with a very familiar green hue.

“Oh, come ON!”

She shifted into first gear and forced the gas pedal to the floor, immediately cursing the automobile for not going faster.

A narrative formed in her mind as the bridge began filling up her view. The Green Bomber had been less manic than usual last time. He’d spoken of going after the banks, so of course virtually all the cops had prepared ambushes. That left Lion Station near-empty. Empty enough that a madman might be willing to assault it. And his damn stick of death was kept in the evidence room.

“No,” she growled as she shifted gears and reached the bridge. “No, no, no. Enough.”

There was nothing at all unusual to see on the bridge itself, save for some damage to the railing, and as she finished the crossing the thought left her head entirely. She forced the auto into a swift, brutal, screeching swerve that seemed to lift the left-side wheels off the ground for a second, then shifted gears again.

There was another green flash visible through a window, now on the second floor.

Myra gripped the wheel fiercely as all her strange terrors and frustrations found an outlet, a goal. A target.

The entrance to the station parking lot was too narrow for another screeching turn, so she settled for a simple screeching stop just in front of it and hopped out of the auto without even killing the engine.

The building had thick walls and sturdy windows, but sounds of destruction still made it out. Myra sprinted for the stairs, went up past the giant brass lion, and drew her pistol as she shoulder-slammed the doors open.

There was an acrid smell in the air and the faint noise of shouts making their way down the stairs. On her right was the reception desk, and sprawled behind was a groggy-looking uniformed officer with a bleeding cut on his forehead. There were signs of a struggle as she ran through the main space and Myra spotted a typist cowering behind a desk. Another desk had been reduced to bits of charred wood.

“It’s time, it’s time!” that familiar voice shouted from upstairs.

Yes, it’s time.

Myra reached the stairs and went up. Her first sight on the top floor was a window that had been blown open by one of those damn blasts. The second was a small heap of ash, spread out beneath a badly scorched section of wall. The charred remains of a police cap rested just outside of the burnt area.

“Lies! Lies!”

Myra ran beneath a hole blasted into the ceiling. There were signs of violence in the hallway, a trail leading to the disintegrated doors to the chief’s office. She ran through it and raised her gun.

The huge windows were broken, chairs were thrown about and destroyed, a bookcase rested on the floor and a hole had been blasted into the wall and another into the ceiling. It had all led to Chief Matew and the Bomber grappling by the case behind the desk. The chief was bleeding from his head, sported small burn wounds here and there, and had one hand clamped around the black rod.

The Bomber looked more ragged than ever, his eyes wild and staring, his skin glistening with sweat, and he fought the chief with the manic energy of one at the end of his rope.

Before Myra could speak or walk close enough to dare take a shot, the Bomber gained an advantage in their struggle and swung the chief around. Matew was splayed over the desk, on his back, and the Bomber forced the length of the rod down on his throat with both hands.

“Die! Liar! The bell... You! The-”

He looked up as Myra aimed at his head. Her shot hit the bookcase as he dodged like a viper. Before she knew what was happening he’d yanked the chief back to his feet and spun him around. Using the rod like a garrotte he held Matew up as a human shield.

“No,” the Bomber said. “No, Myra. You should-”

“Enough,” she hissed through her teeth, seeking a clear shot at his head.

“He has to die, Myra!” the Chief shouted. “It has to end! Myra-”

She fired, hitting the Bomber in the left arm. It bought Chief Matew the space he needed to drive an elbow into the Bomber’s face and break free. He followed this up with a shove and the madman was thrown into the bookcase. But he still had the rod in his hand and it lit up with that horrible green light. Matew nimbly vaulted over the desk as the blast went off, flying past him and up into the ceiling above Myra.

She was too hell-bent to flinch. She simply shielded her face with one hand as scorching debris rained down and sidestepped for a shot at the Bomber as he tried to take cover behind the desk. She was half a second away from pulling the trigger when, with a scream of utter frustration, the Green Bomber set off another blast.

The floor came apart beneath him, and in a cloud of green fire the Bomber dropped down one floor. Myra didn’t think: She simply leapt down after him.

The stomach-lurching drop took her through burning hot smoke and ashes and into a barely-lit bathroom. The hard tiles made for a rough welcome but the Bomber was already up on one knee and still had his rod. He grasped for her gun-hand with his injured arm, which forced her to use her off-hand to grab the rod and aim it away from her. They struggled for a moment. He was stronger, but was also carrying however many wounds and barely able to get his feet under him. Between that and sheer, grunting ferocity Myra managed to throw him completely off balance and into a windowsill. She pulled the trigger, hoping to score a hit, but instead the window shattered.

The Bomber let out another angry cry and the rod lit up again. Myra shifted all her strength into pointing it away from her, but he didn’t even seem to be trying to fight her. The blast went over his shoulder and utterly destroyed the entire window frame. Myra yelped at the searing heat, and her reaction let him get a foot up between them and shove her away. He then let himself flip backwards, out into the night.

Myra stepped into the gap and aimed the gun out, but couldn’t immediately spot him in the darkness, so she jumped out after him. She managed a roll as she landed, although her ankle made an angry protest. She ran after him, chasing sound more than sight. She waited for another glimpse of that green glow, and the instant she spotted it she fired.

Myra didn’t know if she hit him, but the blast went off either way. It wasn’t directed at her, instead blowing open a wall. Beyond it was the construction site that had stood abandoned for however long, and the Bomber darted in through as sirens sounded in the distance.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She remembered her flashlight and brought it out with her free hand just before following him. A quick sweep of the beam showed his back as he went around the corner of a work trailer. Myra fired, but was just a fraction of a second too late.

“We must wake!” the madman shouted.

She rounded the corner herself. She didn’t see him, but heard his footsteps echo up the stairs of the skeletal structure the work crews had left behind. Myra shut off the beam so as to not make herself a perfect target while she didn’t have him in her sights, and gave chase.

She bounded up three steps at a time, ignoring her pains and her fears. This had to end. It had to end.

The echoes were all around as she reached the second floor, and she spun in a circle in search of him. Finding nothing, she risked the light again, and now spotted him running away from her. Enough wits penetrated the red mist to remind her of that armoured plate he wore, and so she aimed low, at his legs.

The Green Bomber leapt, soaring up impossibly as he had before, passing up through an unfinished section of ceiling and up onto the roof. Caught in her light, the madman sprinted for the edge. He was going for another impossible jump. Once on the neighbouring line of roofs she would never catch up with him.

Myra called upon all of her training and the instincts it had ingrained in her, and aimed, tracked, and fired her last bullet. It caught him in the leg a moment before he reached the edge, and the momentum sent him plummeting down.

She immediately started running for the second-storey edge, sat down on it, then let herself drop. Her ankle didn’t like another impact, but she ignored it and kept moving.

True to his nature as the bane of her existence, the Bomber was struggling to get up. The rod lay on the ground and he was reaching for it. Myra hobble-ran over and kicked the horrible thing like a football, sending it well out of his reach.

The Bomber lashed out with strength she wouldn’t have thought he still possessed and punched her in the gut. It bent her over and she staggered back a couple of steps. The spent revolver fell from her fingers and the Bomber shakily got to his feet. He put his good arm up in a fighting pose, and his injured one hung just a little bit lower.

Myra dropped the flashlight and it was the Bomber’s turn to be surprised as she defied the breathless pain and closed the distance between them with a charge. She landed a blow on the side of his head. He blocked her next one, and by pure instinct she threw her third one into his torso. Her fist met his armour and almost broke.

The dropped light illuminated him just enough for her to see his counterattack coming. She took it on the arm and followed with a jab right to his jaw, then another one, and another one. The blows drove him backwards and it was more a stumble than a dodge that caused her swing to miss. He managed a blow with his injured arm, but it was weak enough that she simply took it in the ribs and threw a punch at his head.

It was a glancing hit, but she immediately followed it by hitting him in the injured arm, and that got a scream out of him. It left him wide open for an uppercut, and she let him have it with all her strength. It took away the last of his balance and he collapsed, but blind flailing and a bit of luck let him grab her arm.

His weight dragged her down with him and Myra landed roughly. She thought she banged her head on something, or maybe he hit her. Either way, she couldn’t stop him from shoving her into a clumsy roll. It took her a moment to get her bearings, and once she did she spotted the rod in the flashlight beam. The Bomber had spotted it as well and was crawling the final inches towards it.

Myra tried getting to her feet, but fumbled the initial attempt. His shaking hand closed around the strange, terrible weapon, and despite his wobbling he managed to get up into a kneeling position and turn her way. Myra held her hand out. Lightning shot out of it and hit the Green Bomber in the chest. The man’s limbs flailed out for an instant before he flopped down onto his back.

Myra speed-crawled over to him like a baby in a hurry. She snatched the rod off the ground with her left hand and rose over the man on her knees. He made a half-conscious noise, and she drove one last punch into face.

The Green Bomber lay still on the ground, silent save for weak gasps. Defeated at last.

Myra gasped, her breath coming out in angry, pained, irregular bursts. After a few seconds of that she let out a roar that held all her accumulated frustrations, then started checking him. She moved aside the hood and scarf that had always kept his face obscured and got her first proper look at him.

She had seen this man before. She knew it. She felt it, with utter conviction, and yet she could not quite place it. Behind the ragged, dirty beard and hair of a homeless lunatic was a face she knew, but like a maddening itch she couldn’t quite reach the connection eluded her.

She heard a voice now, and feet, over the thunderclap lingering in her ears.

“HERE!” she shouted. “I’M HERE!”

Next she stared down at her hand. What had just happened? HAD that really happened? Her rationality wanted to deny it, but the smell of burnt cloth coming off the Bomber was very real.

Then she looked at the rod in her hand, and again she was struck with how damn familiar the thing was.

“HERE!” she shouted again as they came closer, and in a few moments they came into view.

Brown was in the lead, bearing a flashlight.

“Oh, you’re on your feet?” Myra asked, feeling glad.

“I am,” he replied. He shone his light on her catch. “Wait, is that... Did you get him?!”

“I did.”

Talking hurt, and she took a moment to compose herself as Brown and the other officers came up to her.

“I have his weapon,” she said, indicating the rod. “I shot him twice. And he fell off the roof. We need to get a doctor. He needs to stand trial. We... we need to do this properly.”

Brown shone his light at the man’s face for a couple of seconds.

“We’ll get him a doctor in his cell,” he then said. “The chief will want to talk with him.”

“Sure,” Myra said. “Sure.”

She hesitated, dreading the pain that was to come, then she forced herself to stand up. Her ankle was hurting more by the second, and so was her skull. And everything, really.

“Alright, everyone grab a limb,” one of the uniforms said. “We’ll just carry him to the station.

Myra wobbled on her feet, and lost her balance as she picked up the flashlight. Brown caught and steadied her, and helped her lean against the wall.

“Myra...” her partner said. “What happened? We saw a light and heard a boom, and it wasn’t any gunshot. And what’s this smell in the air?”

“Ozone, I guess.”

“Ozone?”

Myra let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Too much. It’s all just too much.

“I d... I...”

“I’ll take that,” Brown said and reached for the rod.

“No, no, that’s okay,” she said and moved it out of his reach.

“Come on Myra, what happened?”

She lifted the light and pointed it at the wall, illuminating both of them a little bit.

“Brown... something is wrong.”

“That’s very vague of you.”

“It is vague. But it’s... look, there really is something big going on. Some big secret is being kept, and I think he knows something about it.”

She pointed towards the vanishing silhouettes of the four officers and their burden.

“He’s insane, Myra.”

“Yeah, sure. But I still think he knows something.”

She’s been waiting for her strength to return, but it seemed to have been spent for the night.

Where is the dawn?

“Brown, High Town is empty.”

“What?”

“I was just there. There doesn’t seem to be a single person in the entire district.”

Her partner was silent for a breath or two.

“That makes no sense, Myra.”

“I know it doesn’t. But it’s the truth.”

She looked at the rod. The feeling it caused her was as potent as ever.

“And this thing... I’ve seen it before. I know it. Like I know my own name, even if I don’t remember the first time I heard it.”

Brown looked hesitant, thoughtful.

“You’ve done good tonight, Myra. You’ve done great. You’re also banged up. Save those thoughts for later. Go get some rest.”

“No,” she said, and felt some of her fire return, although only embers. “No, I... I need to talk to him.”

She walked past Brown, hobbling after the officers and the Bomber.

“Myra.”

“Something’s really wrong, and I have to find out what it is.”

“Myra.”

He put a hand on her arm. Myra turned around.

“What?”

Brown punched her in the jaw. She collapsed backwards and into darkness.