A gunshot from the alley ended the jogger as Marco turned his back and walked over to join Bunny. Rosa coughed blood, flailing her arm as she convulsed. Bunny felt tears stinging her eyes as blood poured between her hands.
"Please, no," she whimpered. "Please, I'm sorry. Make it stop."
Rosa grasped her arm for a moment, looking into her eyes, but Bunny found only a profound sadness in them. A deep and unimaginable sorrow as she squeezed Bunny's arm, then went still. Her hand drifted away, and there was nothing more in her eyes.
"Oh, God!" Bunny cried.
"Help me!" Peyton cried from the alley. "Somebody, help me."
Bunny bowed her head, tears falling as she closed Rosa's eyes, unable to look up and meet Marco's gaze. He had survived death to save her, and Bunny had brought her death to her door. She’d been weak, costing the woman her life.
"Please!” Peyton screamed. “I’m bleedin'!"
Bunny rose to her feet, and forced herself to meet the dead man's gaze, expecting anything but what she got. Sadness filled that single good eye as he looked at her, and forgiveness as well.
"Fuck!" Peyton bellowed. "I'm dyin'! One of you bitches help me!"
Slowly, Bunny turned away from his gaze and walked to the fence, drawing the sidearm she’d taken yesterday. Marco said nothing, just stood there, knowing what she planned to do. She had doubted he'd try to stop her, and was a bit relieved when he didn't.
"Bitch!" Peyton cried as he lay in his own blood. "Open the fuckin' gate. Get out here and help me. I'm orderin' you!"
Bunny raised the gun. She saw he had time to understand, though doubted he could grasp the mercy she was showing him. The shot was loud, the bullet true. Peyton's head jerked then he collapsed. He wouldn't rise as one of them.
"You should go," Marco said after a long moment of silence. "More will be coming."
"Marco," Bunny began.
"It's not your fault. Don't apologize," he told her. "It was his. It was all him."
"Come with me," she offered.
He shook his head. "Can't do that. Sorry, but I can't. I'm not like you. I'm like them."
"No, you aren't," Bunny argued.
"Doesn't matter now," he replied. "But I still can't. I have to stay. She'll be coming back soon, and I need to..."
"I'll do it," Bunny told him.
He shook his head. "It's for me to do. I promised her, if it ever happened, I'd be the one. You should just go, before you can't."
She nodded, understanding his decision. "Be careful out there, okay?"
"You too," he said. "And watch for flatbeds."
She smiled at his attempt at humor. "I'll see you around, yeah?"
He nodded. "Go on. Be careful."
She got in the car and turned the engine over, getting that old roar and rumble she was so used to. She looked in the rearview as she shifted gears, watching as Marco waved. She raised her hand, hoping she would see him again, and fearing she wouldn't.
Bunny nudged the gate open with the nose of the car, and pulled into the alley, sparing Peyton's limp form one last glance as she drove away.
Five years before the world ended, a man named John Dyson held Bunny Beckman down in the shower of the 32nd Precinct and assaulted her. He’d told her she deserved it, for stealing his promotion. He told her she wanted it, that she was a cock tease, that she’d earned it for being so uppity.
She had screamed. She had pleaded and begged with him to stop, but he hadn't. No one had come to save her, though they were only 10 feet away. No one had lifted a hand, either too afraid of the hot-tempered corporal, or believing he was right.
Two days later, Bunny went to his apartment and gained entrance with nothing more than a smile and a low-cut top. She had pulled a gun, intending to shoot him for violating her, but his arrogance, his sheer arrogance at saying he’d been waiting for her to come get more, had sent her over the edge.
She had laid the gun aside and beat him to within an inch of his life with her bare hands. Even when he’d lost consciousness and ceased pleading with her to stop, she’d kept hitting him, screaming mindlessly. Somehow, and she could never say how, she had stopped herself short of killing him.
There had been a trial, of course. He claimed to not know why she’d done it, and though there were witnesses who could’ve backed up her story, they didn't. His lawyer had dug deep into her life and found all the things she didn't want people to know, leaking them to the press.
Her affluent childhood, which he claimed made her feel above the law. Her excellence in the Academy, painted as cheating. Her commendations brought into question. Her relationship with Assistant District Attorney Samantha Harris, exposed.
In the end, Bunny Beckman had been found guilty. The only thing that helped her avoid jail had been her merits and the work she’d done as a police officer, and the simple fact that several of the women on the jury had believed her story.
She lost everything that day. She’d found her parent's door closed, their shame more important than her need. She had been stripped of her uniform, and forced to return her medals. The newspapers, once in love with the hero cop named Bunny, had turned on her and made her out as a monster. Even Samantha had turned her back, claiming her career as her excuse.
In the end, Bunny lost everything, and John Dyson was given a promotion. The injustice had sent her to the bottom of a bottle for many weeks, as fewer and fewer friends seemed able to remember her name. Indignity was
