THIRTY TWO
STEVE ARKIN flew across the dark, dirty river toward the Bronx Children's Hospital. By morning, the east coast of America remained without its electricity grid. The sun peeked from the ocean, as the headlights of the cars below shone up from dark crevices. Crashes and scrapes at numerous intersections, drivers battled to push ahead of one another in the chaos.
As Steve floated in toward the brick block of a building, he saw bright yellow police tape stretched across broken glass. Below the hospital, parked on the street, a pair of blue police cars sat quietly.
Steve landed immediately on the sidewalk, and he walked up to the nearest police car.
The two officers panicked. Doors flew open, and they jumped out of their car grabbing for guns.
Steve halted in place. “What’s goin
