"Goddamnit Tim," Brian groused as they struggled out of the truck and toward the door. It was dark out, and these days most people didn't stay out after dark. 

Tim was in no condition, held up with Brian's arm under his shoulder, to really argue. It'd been a fight in the Water of Life over politics that turned into a fistfight. He was busy keeping the bleeding from his nose under control. Wham, one right to the face, and that was all it took. Brian got there in time to stop further damage and kick the two guys out, but Tim's nose was already broken.

"Get him to the ER!" John told him, except Brian knew that there would be no ER. Instead, they waited until after dark and tried to avoid main roads to get where they were going. It was a degree of caution that came naturally these days. Across the US, towns were now shutting down at dark, and only desperate people went out after it. Behind doors, rabbits feet, circles of salt, religious iconography. Guns. Lots of guns.

The one thing going in his favor was that the Sheriff's deputies and the EMT's stayed in after a certain hour and people didn't look out their windows, most of which were barred these days. When a glance out the window to see what was glimmering in the treeline or following a strange sound in the night could lead to a corpse the next morning, people lost their curiosity quickly. Night was a time to huddle near the lights of home, to light a fire in the hearth and wonder what would come next. 

He didn't blame them; he was as terrified of it as they were, not that he'd be able to explain that to them if they knew he was an Emergent. And Tim couldn't go to a hospital, where they'd examine him and find the anomalies. They'd x-ray, they'd CT scan...they'd find something. They'd do a more careful and thorough check and find the 'stigmata.' Brian didn't know what Tim's were, Emergents tended not to talk about it too much. Then it'd be a call to the federal authorities, who would arrive a day later to take Tim off to wherever they were shipping them. That assumed that he wasn't dragged out by a mob with torches.

Things changed in America. That's why Brian was knocking on this door. Not too loudly, and not yelling, because he didn't want to draw any more attention than he had to. It sound louder to him than the pounding of his heart in his ears.

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