needles for his heroin habit. Three other brothers were languishing in prison. Mama Josefina endured those painful losses with a quiet stoicism she was able to instill in Valerie and her sisters. While her sisters eventually ended up in menial jobs like seamstresses and fast food workers before they got their own husbands and became traditional wives, Valerie had higher ambitions as she willed her way to finish school and get accepted into the police academy. Even though her mother had hoped she would find a husband and bear her some grandchildren, Valerie refused to get into relationships with men who were interested in her, preferring instead to single-mindedly focus on her job as a cop. Her dedication paid off after she was finally promoted to full detective. But at this point in her life, Valerie had begun to experience the slight pangs of regret. She had turned down numerous opportunities for love and a relationship. In these past few months, she had begun to realize just how empty her life was outside of her job.
The driver’s side door opened and Myron Jones sat down behind the wheel. “Here you go, Val,” he said as he placed a cardboard tray with two Styrofoam cups between them before closing the car door so the rain wouldn’t keep hitting him. “The one with the letter S is yours. No cream, only sugar.”
Valerie took one of the cups and sniffed at the brewed coffee aroma. “Thanks.”
Myron took the remaining cup, tore off the plastic lid and started sipping. “This situation is getting worse by the day.”
“Which one? The non-stop rain, all the rioting in the city as well the rest of the world? Or the one where no planes can fly and we’re about to lose all our phones and the internet?”
“All of them,” Myron said. He was almost six feet three inches when standing fully upright and was a former all-star defensive end back in his high school days, before he tore up his knee. Myron Jones came from a God-fearing, traditional black family. Brooklyn born and bred, he was a twenty-year veteran and detective first-grade, a position that belonged to the most experienced and best paid investigators the city had to offer. They had been partners ever since Valerie made it to detective. Myron was both a mentor and second father to her.
Valerie sipped at her coffee. The squawk on the police radio was incessant. Riots continued to flare up all over the city and the entire New York Police Department was working double shifts. Many of them hadn’t even been paid overtime yet because the city was already in a cash crunch when the disruptions started happening. And it was getting worse by the day. Thousands were now being detained in overcrowded holding cells, police and city psychologists could not identify the cause of the rioting other than to say there was a mass hysteria occurring. A few days ago, thousands of seemingly normal people, both the old and the young, inexplicably began to rampage through the streets and would start fires and physically attack anyone who attempted to intervene. Even when under lock and key, many of them continued their bizarre behavior and would only speak in gibberish when questioned. Firefighters and emergency crews were at their breaking point. The city was ready to explode.
Valerie hissed as she kept adjusting the controls of her handheld radio. “This stupid thing keeps losing the signal. I don’t think I can communicate with Central if I’m outside of the car.”
Myron checked his own handheld. “What about your cell phone?”
“Same thing, sometimes the signal goes out too. They’re saying we could lose the entire cell grid within the next few days if the situation doesn’t improve.”
Myron sighed. “We could lose more than just that, Val. They suspended trading on the NYSE this morning because the market couldn’t keep taking losses like it has in the past few days. All the other stock markets in the world will be doing the same thing. And they say the weird
The driver’s side door opened and Myron Jones sat down behind the wheel. “Here you go, Val,” he said as he placed a cardboard tray with two Styrofoam cups between them before closing the car door so the rain wouldn’t keep hitting him. “The one with the letter S is yours. No cream, only sugar.”
Valerie took one of the cups and sniffed at the brewed coffee aroma. “Thanks.”
Myron took the remaining cup, tore off the plastic lid and started sipping. “This situation is getting worse by the day.”
“Which one? The non-stop rain, all the rioting in the city as well the rest of the world? Or the one where no planes can fly and we’re about to lose all our phones and the internet?”
“All of them,” Myron said. He was almost six feet three inches when standing fully upright and was a former all-star defensive end back in his high school days, before he tore up his knee. Myron Jones came from a God-fearing, traditional black family. Brooklyn born and bred, he was a twenty-year veteran and detective first-grade, a position that belonged to the most experienced and best paid investigators the city had to offer. They had been partners ever since Valerie made it to detective. Myron was both a mentor and second father to her.
Valerie sipped at her coffee. The squawk on the police radio was incessant. Riots continued to flare up all over the city and the entire New York Police Department was working double shifts. Many of them hadn’t even been paid overtime yet because the city was already in a cash crunch when the disruptions started happening. And it was getting worse by the day. Thousands were now being detained in overcrowded holding cells, police and city psychologists could not identify the cause of the rioting other than to say there was a mass hysteria occurring. A few days ago, thousands of seemingly normal people, both the old and the young, inexplicably began to rampage through the streets and would start fires and physically attack anyone who attempted to intervene. Even when under lock and key, many of them continued their bizarre behavior and would only speak in gibberish when questioned. Firefighters and emergency crews were at their breaking point. The city was ready to explode.
Valerie hissed as she kept adjusting the controls of her handheld radio. “This stupid thing keeps losing the signal. I don’t think I can communicate with Central if I’m outside of the car.”
Myron checked his own handheld. “What about your cell phone?”
“Same thing, sometimes the signal goes out too. They’re saying we could lose the entire cell grid within the next few days if the situation doesn’t improve.”
Myron sighed. “We could lose more than just that, Val. They suspended trading on the NYSE this morning because the market couldn’t keep taking losses like it has in the past few days. All the other stock markets in the world will be doing the same thing. And they say the weird
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