Grand Central Terminal, once one of the world's most magnificent transportation hubs, had transformed into a battlefield. Erin Wu pressed her body against a marble column, her heart pounding violently in her chest. Her left hand clutched the specialized backpack containing the encryption key, while her right hand gripped the handgun Morgan had given her. Thirty-six hours had passed since her escape from the Federal Building, during which she had navigated through subway tunnels and abandoned buildings, searching for a way out of New York.
Above the main concourse, the ornate constellation mural still glimmered faintly, but beneath it was pure chaos. A squad of heavily armed soldiers had formed a perimeter at the eastern entrance, facing off against protesters. Erin observed them for several minutes, noting these weren't regular troops but special forces equipped with cutting-edge tactical gear—likely hunting for her and the encryption key.
"Everyone, drop your weapons and disperse immediately!" the military commander shouted through a megaphone. "This is your final warning!"
The response was an angry roar and several rocks hurled toward the soldiers. Erin spotted individuals in the crowd raising weapons—in recent days, firearms had flooded into civilian hands from looted police stations and armories.
The first gunshot shattered the tense atmosphere. Erin couldn't determine which side fired first, but what followed froze her blood. The soldiers immediately spread out, establishing tactical cover positions as their M4 rifles spat streams of fire. Armed protesters returned fire, with 5.56mm bullets striking marble columns, sending fragments flying in all directions.
"Fall back! Fall back!" someone shouted from within the crowd. But it was too late.
The soldiers executed a systematic clearing operation. Flashbang grenades exploded throughout the hall, the intense light searing Erin's eyes. She heard the synchronized sound of tactical boots hitting the floor and saw red laser sights sweeping through the crowd.
Erin ducked and sprinted toward the western exit, bullets whistling past her ears. A soldier noticed her movement, turned and raised his weapon. Acting on instinct, Erin dove behind another column as bullets struck the wall behind her, sending sparks flying.
"There! Female target moving west!" the soldier reported through his tactical earpiece.
Erin quickly assessed the situation. She couldn't be captured—the key's importance transcended her personal safety. Seeing the soldiers momentarily distracted by another group of demonstrators, she crouched low and rushed toward the baggage area, then accessed a service corridor leading to the underground level.
In the enclosed hallway, the gunfire became muffled and distant. Erin knew Grand Central had an intricate network of tunnels beneath it, connecting to various parts of the city. She navigated the damp, dimly lit passages for about an hour before emerging from an exit far from the conflict zone.
New York was no longer the city she knew. Once-bustling streets were littered with burned vehicles and shattered storefronts. Sporadic gunfire echoed from different directions, while thick smoke coiled upward between the skyscrapers. No electricity, no cell signal, no order.
Looking at the collapsing city, Erin made her decision. She had to leave New York, reach a safe zone, and protect the key she carried. It was the last hope for rebuilding the nation.
On a Pennsylvania highway, Erin drove an old Ford pickup truck she'd found in an abandoned parking lot, carefully avoiding main roads. The windshield had a long crack running across it, and the engine made concerning noises, but it was the best transportation she could find.
The night highway was unnaturally quiet, devoid of its usual traffic. The forests on both sides loomed dark and deep, with moonlight casting silver patches on the asphalt. Erin checked her rearview mirror frequently, ensuring she wasn't being followed. Her plan was to head toward the Midwest, where reports suggested the situation was relatively stable and the Great Lakes Workers' Alliance had established rudimentary order.
Suddenly, the engine made an abnormal clicking sound and the vehicle began to slow. Erin slapped the steering wheel in frustration and pulled over to the roadside. She opened the hood but struggled to identify the problem in the darkness.
As she attempted repairs, the sound of an approaching engine reached her ears. Erin quickly closed the hood, drew her handgun, and took cover behind the truck. A motorcycle gradually approached, stopping several meters from her pickup.
"Car trouble?" a male voice asked, calm but cautious.
Erin didn't answer, her finger resting on the trigger. The motorcyclist slowly raised both hands: "I mean no harm. If you need help, I know something about mechanics."
In the moonlight, Erin got a clear look at him—a powerfully built man with a military-style crew cut and several scars on his face. His posture and alertness clearly indicated professional training.
"Military?" Erin asked, maintaining her guard.
"Used to be. Chris Rodriguez, Marine Corps, six years, special operations. Now I'm just a civilian trying to stay alive."
Erin hesitated, then decided to take a chance. "Can you fix the car? I need to leave this area as soon as possible."
Chris slowly lowered his hands. "Let me see." He walked to the hood, switched on a flashlight, and examined the engine. "Fuel pump's shot. Hard to find replacement parts under these circumstances."
Erin's tense nerves relaxed slightly. "Where are you headed?"
"West. The military is pushing inland from the East Coast. Things will only get worse here," Chris said frankly. "I have a cousin in Ohio. They say some kind of workers' autonomous zone has formed there."
He closed the hood. "Your truck won't run anymore. If you don't mind, you can ride with me. Motorcycle's more maneuverable and uses less fuel."
Erin weighed her options. Staying meant risking discovery by military search teams, while this ex-Marine at least offered some protection.
Just then, the distant buzzing of a drone reached them. Chris immediately tensed: "Military reconnaissance. I recognize that sound. We need to leave now."
Erin made her decision quickly, grabbing her backpack and jumping onto the motorcycle's rear seat. "Go!"
Chris started the motorcycle, turned off the headlight, and rode onto a small path leading into the forest. They weaved through dense trees as the drone's sound gradually faded.
"What are they searching for?" Chris asked, his voice barely audible over the wind.
Erin hesitated briefly. "Possibly me."
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," Erin clutched her backpack tightly. "But I know something... something that might be key to rebuilding this country."
Chris didn't press further, focusing on driving. A few minutes later, they reached a hidden stream and stopped.
"We'll rest here for a few hours," Chris said, "and continue before dawn. Drones are more efficient during daylight."
Erin nodded in agreement, holding her backpack firmly against her chest. Whatever awaited her ahead, at least she was no longer alone. But she also understood that in this fractured nation, trust might be the scarcest resource of all.