One by J. A. Laraque

refusing to leave their homes during a natural disaster, but would that apply to an entire city?
     
     
     
    Recalculations would need to wait. I reached Halsted Street and found there was another accident. However, this one was different from the one on Clark Street. I left my bike behind and headed toward the intersection. A public transportation bus had crashed into a police cruiser. There were several vehicles that had crashed into one another or onto the sidewalk. These accidents were consistent with my theory that the vehicles were allowed to roll uncontrolled and unmanned. The accident between the bus and the cruiser was different.
    I approached the cruiser, it looked to have been traveling west bound on North Avenue. The impact was to the driver’s side door. Either the cruiser had the right of way and the bus blew through the light or the cruiser, perhaps responding to an emergency, drove through the intersection and was struck by the bus.
    Almost wrapped around a lamppost the shattered glass of the cruiser crackled beneath my feet. The bus sat almost in the center of the intersection, there was no one inside. My attention was fully on the driver’s side door and window. I stepped before the cruiser. I confirmed what I thought I had seen from the intersection, something I had not found at any of the other accidents: it was blood.
    Undeniably, this accident occurred before the event. I leaned into the broken driver’s side window when a sharp pain on my forehead staggered me. I fell backwards onto my backside, my hands slammed atop the shard covered asphalt. The pain on my forehead faded replaced with the pain from my hand.
    Nothing serious, it was just a few minor cuts. It was a shadow cast from the lamppost onto the driver’s seat; that and the force the officer inside would have struck the glass with. Clearly if he did not die on impact, then he would have died shortly after if not taken to a hospital. Fragments of skin were on the few remaining shards in the window.
    He had lost a lot of blood. Still wet, it flowed down the driver’s side door forming a small puddle on the ground. I returned to my feet, I instinctively looked around for any sign of a rescue vehicle. I pondered if it was possible that he was rescued moments before the event or another possibility was that he was somehow able to exit the vehicle and make his way to help. The only problem was the lack of a blood trail or a trail of any kind.
     
     
     
    The police radio, I carefully reaching into the car and grabbed hold of the receiver, which sat on top of the center console next to the computer. The engine was off, but the keys were still in the ignition, a single blinking square icon on the squad car’s computer confirmed that power was still being provided.
    “ Hello? Is anyone out there? My name is Timothy Hayden. I am at the corner of Halsted Street and North Avenue. There’s been an accident. There may be an officer hurt.”
    What I was saying was pointless. With each passing minute I came closer to believing that everyone had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Acting as if this was a normal situation, calling for help like they would actually respond was foolish and yet I continued.
    “ Please… anyone, if anyone is out there… I’m…”
    In a dream one often finds themselves in a situation where there is something important to be said. Like running to escape your nightmare and the process is hampered by your sub consciousness or your fears or both. Running in quicksand, it is not just an analogy for the inability to escape, but the mind’s failure to allow you to properly communicate.
    Often at the most critical time to speak within a dream you cannot form the words. On the tip of your tongue like a child standing at the edge of a diving board for the first time, you are frozen and cannot continue. Standing there holding the receiver in my hand listening to my own words I could not continue. There was nothing to say, I