"You sure you're okay?" he asked. "You seem different after yesterday."
"Who isn't?" she asked him back.
Marco nodded as he closed the hood. "Still, don't spend too much time worrying over it. Make your head pop."
"I'm surprised it hasn't already," she admitted.
He stared at her for a long time before saying anything more, obviously choosing his words carefully. "I don't know what's going on in your head, Bunny, but I know this. I'm glad it was you who came back and not him. Somehow, I get the feeling it was an either-or situation, and I'm glad of the outcome."
"Is it okay if I'm not so sure?" she asked him.
He smiled. "It's only human to be unsure of something like that."
"Well, there's that," she said with a cynical laugh. "I know I'm still human."
"You are, yeah," Marco replied. "It's not a bad thing, you know."
"Maybe," she said. "I just worry about how long I'll be human. How long until I'm no different than them out there."
"Don't worry over it so much. Follow your conscience and don't try to over analyze everything," he advised.
"Or I'll make my head pop?" she asked with a small smile.
"Probably," he said grinning. "World's changed. You gotta change with it, or die. Focus on that, and do what you think is right. It's all any of us can do now."
She pointed a finger at him. "I knew you'd say that."
"It's like you can see inside my head," he said. "Oh, wait, you can."
Bunny laughed without meaning to. "Gross-out humor survives."
"Better than ever," he joked.
"Well, at least she didn't walk out on you," Rosa said from behind them.
"Do what?" Marco asked.
"Sorry about that," Bunny told her. "There are some hard truths I'm having trouble accepting."
Rosa nodded as she handed Bunny a backpack. "I get that. I think you'll come to them in your time. Just not today, and maybe that's good. Hang on to your humanity as long as you can."
"I'm not sure how much I still have," Bunny admitted. "Actually, I think that's the thing I'm most worried about."
"Then deal with it," Rosa said with a shrug. "None of us have the luxury of running from things we don't want to face anymore."
"Like mirrors," Marco said, drawing a laugh out of both of them.
"Thanks," Bunny said sincerely.
Rosa shook her head. "Be careful out there. I packed you some supplies. Mostly canned stuff and water. It's not much, but I don't guess you're going to need a lot."
"Should be there before noon," Bunny agreed. "Of course, you guys could come with me."
"Sorry," Marco said. "I'm in no hurry to be a science project."
"And I can't abandon him," Rosa said.
"Sure you can," Marco told her. "I'll be fine."
"Swear it?" she asked him with a skeptical look.
"I'll get back to you on that," he told her.
"See?"
Bunny smiled as she dropped the backpack next to the duffel bag and the assault rifle. "I'll tell them about you, if that's okay, Marco. Maybe you can be helpful to them. You never know."
He nodded, though obviously he had doubts. Bunny did too but couldn't bring herself to simply abandon either of them, something that made her feel slightly better about everything that’d happened. It was small, but it was something, and these days, even small things meant everything.
She gave Rosa a hug, shook Marco's hand, and took a deep breath. This was it then. All that was left was to set up the radio, and leave. By noon, as she’d said, she figured she’d be in Washington Park with the military and could pretend a lot of this nightmare hadn't happened.
"Ain't you all just cozy as hell?" Peyton drawled as he leveled a handgun on them from the gate.
Chapter Eleven
BUNNY HAD ONCE THOUGHT she was untouchable, a modern-day Elliot Ness, braced for the worst life could throw at her. She’d believed herself capable of meeting it all with a steely-eyed glare, determination, and sheer grit. She had, once upon a time, believed it was all she needed in order to survive the world.
When she graduated from the Police Academy, a bright-eyed 21-year-old, she’d been naive while thinking she was wise. She had somehow confused intelligence and training with common sense and cunning. Even when she'd watched a man get shot in the head, somehow, she had retained these beliefs.
In the five years she served on the force, she had slowly learned the difference, and come to realize that her basic belief in herself wasn't always enough. Confidence was nothing compared to actual understanding of things, an understanding that she, day by day, garnered through hard work.
Every medal she earned, every commendation she was given, and every ounce of praise she was handed only served to teach her the difference between thinking you knew something, and actually knowing it. In her life, it had been the hardest lesson she’d ever learned, and often, it had come at a price.
For each of those medals and commendations, someone else had almost always lost their life. For every word of praise, she’d been forced to act drastically in order to save lives. She had learned, in time, that shiny baubles and transient accolades came with a burden, and over the years, it had grown heavy.
Her final lesson had come with her promotion to sergeant. She had been proud, of course, and also humbled. The uniform she wore, she had come to understand, was more than a set of clothes. It was a symbol, one people looked to for salvation, or at with revulsion. Regardless, it wasn’t something to be taken lightly, or sullied, for it meant something, and was more important than the person who wore it.
On that day after the ceremony, in the showers, she’d learned how little
