Chapter 1

The first thing to run through Mark's mind as the sharp point poked at his throat was “Damn the politicians.”

He opened his eyes and they were presented with a grimacing mouth that was more space than teeth.  Inhaling what he later realized might have been his last breath, he was surprised that he hadn't smelled the guy sneaking up on him earlier.

“What you doing here boy.”

“Damn the politicians and their daughters.” Mark thought to himself again.

“I was hoping to sleep, but that seemed like a stupid idea back then”  If you had told Mark a year ago that a wooden bench on the edge of New York's Central Park would be an upgrade of a bed, he would have looked at you funny.  “Damn Al Qaeda, Osama Bin Laden, and all 747's.”

“Damn straight it was a dumb idea.  Stupider idea now.  This here's my place.”

“I see that.  I was just warming it up for you.  Now I'll be going.”  He leaned forward to get off the bench, and felt the jagged piece of metal dig farther into his neck.  

“I'm sorry, but to use this here bench, you got to pay the toll.”  The bum ran his finger across Mark's jacket.  “This here overcoat will do just fine.  It's a cold night tonight, and you'd hate it if I froze, wouldn't you.”

“It would be a god damned shame.  Irretrievable loss to civilization.  Feel free to my coat.”  He pulled the coat off his sleeves, thankful he at least had a sweater on underneath, all the while trying not to move closer to the broken point pressed against his throat.

Once his coat was off and laying on the pavement, the hobo let up with the point, but slammed an elbow deep into Mark's stomach before he could move.  Mark grunted and involuntarily rose up, at which point the bum grabbed him on the shoulders and tossed him onto the pavement like a sack of flour.

“Now get the hell out of here.  I see you around here again, I'll spill your blood on the sidewalk and dump your body in the sewers, and no one will give a damn edgewise.”

Mark nodded, still coughing since the elbow had knocked the breath from his lungs.  He started off into the park and thought “I won't be here again after tonight anyway.”  Looking up into the cloudy sky, he limped down a bike path.  Into the night air, he quietly muttered “Damn September eleventh.”

After a few moments he was deep in the park, looking for another place to spend the night.  He passed a planting of trees and heard a rustling within.  “Great.  I wonder whose place this is.”  The one night a year he couldn't stay in his neighborhood near the footprints of the World Trade Center, and he had already escaped having his adam's apple picked, now he had to deal with a mugger who didn't realize that even though he looked like a rich white boy, he wasn't one anymore.  Hadn't been one for nearly three months now.

He started to back away from the bushes “I don't know who you are, but I'm really not worth it.  All the rich white boys are in bed.  I'm just an idiot half-bum who doesn't want any trouble, so I'll just be moving along.”

Then the bushes growled.  Mark didn't have much experience with dogs, but he knew that that growl wasn't of the 'come closer and pet me' variety.

Taking another step back, he ran into a tree.  A squishy, warm, also growling tree.  Really hoping that the hot breath on the back of his neck was actually a cold wind and he was imagining everything, including the past three months, he slowly turned around.  He was face to face with a chest that was hairy in a way that made Grizzly Adams look like Ed Asner.  

Slowly turning his eyes upward, he found the face.  It kind of looked like a dog, though it looked more like pictures of Egyptian jackal gods.  Only hairier.  And with much bigger teeth.  Teeth in a mouth that was opening, slathering drool, and descending quickly toward his face.

He had enough time to bring his arm upward across the mouth's path..  Luckily, it was enough to stop the mouth from closing on his face.  Unluckily, the mouth settled for sloppy seconds and clamped down on his forearm instead.  

Mark had broken bones before.  Being a hockey player, it almost was a given.  So he wasn't surprised to feel both bones in his arms knock akimbo.  It was one of the few things that didn't surprise him about the last 60 seconds.  The other one was to hear the growling from the bushes behind him growing closer.

He  turned and tried to run away, but was dismayed to find that the creature was firmly clamped on his arm.  Across the bike path, the other creature was approaching and eyeing his neck for a second bite.  

Between the two of them, he barely heard the knife whistle through the air.  For that matter, neither did either of the dog-things, which was evident when the one from the bushes opened its eyes in surprise as the projectile buried itself in its neck.  The dog-thing slumped to the ground and Mark could hear the knife sizzling in the wound.

The creature clamped to his arm swung its head around.  Thankfully, Mark's body flipped around with his arm, and both were still connected when he landed in a heap on the side of the path.  

Mark looked up in the direction the knife had come from Bathed in moonlight at the top of a small rise stood a man.  One of his hands was buried in his trench coat.  The dog-thing also faced the man on the top of the hill.  As the thing hunched down and began to charge, the man pulled his hand out of the coat.  Two more knives glinted as he flipped them up between his fingers and let them fly toward the creature.  One buried itself in the creature's shoulder and the other barely grazed over its back.

The man in the coat decided that the creature had drawn too close to be a threat capable of being handled by mere throwing knives.  He reached behind his back and pulled out a long stick.  With a twist of the wrist and one fluid motion the stick separated into two swords with long handles.  He calmly sidestepped the creature's charge and buried the sword in his left hand into the creature's belly.  As the creature wheeled around, he whipped out with his right hand and used the other sword to split the creature's throat in half.  As hot blood sprayed over the man's face, he reached out with his left hand and pulled the sword from the creature's side.

He slid the blades together and returned the knife to his back.  With his other hand he pulled a gun from his belt.  One shot reverberated through the creature's skull and it fell down limp.  The man smirked at Mark as he walked forward.  He had long black hair that was tucked beneath the trench coat, and a hard face that reminded him of the vets that lived near the Towers with him.  He couldn't make out much more through the blood.  Inside the coat Mark saw another gun tucked to his hip and a whole sheet of knives in various pockets along the left side.  Since the man had gone in to his coat earlier with his left hand, he guessed that the right side held the same.  The man rose the gun in his hand and pointed it at the skull of the other creature.  One shot made certain it was dead.

Mark felt the edges of his vision start to blacken from the loss of blood.  His equilibrium shifted as his inner ear stopped receiving the blood it normally did, and he felt himself begin to fall over.  The man pulled his knives from the bodies as Mark hit the ground.  The last thing Mark heard was the man sighing.