His name was Early and he was beaten, broken, bloody and heard a baby screech through the haze, red overglow. There were bodies scattered about like sunflower's seeds. There had been explosions and so many people running.
He couldn't even hear the gunshots because so many people screaming and he couldn't tell where the shooting was coming from. A bright spark like red lightening shot up in the air and brought down a hoover-mobile. Early had seen it, coming down like a flaming, steel fist. The mobile smashed into a street-walker and the both of them exploded. That had done the worst of the damage.
The ground shook beneath his feet, throwing him to the ground. He smacked his head hard, a concession and then a bullet bit the tip of his ear off, spilling blood donw the side of his face. He'd been screaming and didn't remember blacking out.
A name nearly slipped from his lips, but he remembered that his only son, Gabriel had died a long time before the attack. Instead of saying the name, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his knees. Everything was red and everything hurt to look at. Early held his ribs and shuffled his way toward a squalling baby trapped in its bassinet.
It was up on its side with dirt smeared across the baby's face. Early righted the bassinet, released the child, taking the baby, a boy, into his arms. The baby squirked in outrage, though the shooting and the killing had ended.
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