I can’t breathe. Lights speeding by are flashing in and out of my view. Éamon lays unmoving next to me. I honestly don’t know if he’s alive or not. CZ is nowhere to be seen. The skipper is in flames and I don’t care. Chances are, I won’t make it. Finch is missing a leg but she's dragging herself trying to help others. But these kids are long gone. They popped off. There is no saving them. Those goddamn 2-Tones killing these innocent kids; most of them are not even 12. I’m the one responsible. Kill me; not them!

“It’s me. I stole your fucking money. Al-Dawal kill me, you fucking coward! Don’t take their lives! THEY WERE INNOCENT!”

It’s my goddamn fault. I can’t help them. I can’t breathe. I can’t go on. I just want to die. This is my fault. I was trying to keep them safe.

I see CZ descend from the flight of the Columbi. Al-Dawal is right behind him, giving me a shit-eating grin. CZ lands and picks up Éamon. CZ sets him on the flight and comes for me next. I’m not surprised. They did something in prison to him, took him away, messed with his wiring and microchips. Finch starts shrieking, there’s no point. Escape while you still can. There is no hope for us. I think I was picked up but I don’t know; the only thing I can feel is the blood dripping down my face, I must have been hit in the head at some point. I can’t remember. Éamon is right next to me, laying down. I grab his hands and squeeze. I grabbed the letter that I had written to him in prison and put it in his breast pocket. I kiss him one more time. I don’t know if I’ll see him again. I try to take a deep breath and jump.

As soon as I hit the ground, I wake up. It was just a dream. The kiddos are safe and Éamon is right next to me. My heart still pounding, I decide to go for a 'late-night stroll,' which is what I call me taking my Deck of Luckies and smoking out the stress. CZ hates me smoking, but it was either the deck or giggle juice and, he choice the former.

 I hate the Whispering Trees, got its name for a reason. Stiffs all over this joining and the spirits of the damned are here to stay. I found my people though, it's where the old big shot used to send criminals. I'm damned and I'm a criminal (a very handsome looking fellow).

Blowing out the smoke, I look around the house we're in. It's a shithole, everything is falling apart, mould in it and I think I saw a couple-a rats skittering about. This joint is the best we got right now. There might be some abandoned skippers around here that we could scavenge for parts. Might have to do it myself, the rubes around here can't tell the difference between the flux and the shortwave.

I take a final drag of my cigarette before tossing it down, maybe thinking everything over and formulatin' a plan might help me get back to sleep. Let's hope.