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the reason we were called off traffic duty, where we’ve been all day. He was found in his apartment a coupleof hours ago. His body was just loaded onto an ambulance and taken to one of the morgues set up at a high school about seven blocks down the street here.”
    â€œA morgue?” Lionel said, his voice tight.
    â€œYeah. Sorry.”
    â€œHow did he die?”
    â€œI’m not at liberty to tell you that, son. You can take it up with the people at the morgue. I’m real sorry, but we’ve gotta go. You boys should be getting back home now. You’ve got somebody to go to?”
    â€œWe’ll be all right,” Lionel said. But he wasn’t all right, and he knew Ryan wasn’t either.
    Lionel realized that he and Ryan finally had something in common. Now they both had people they loved who were dead and gone, and not to heaven.
    Lionel thought he should identify his uncle’s body, but he didn’t want to see André that way. He didn’t really want to know how André killed himself either, if that was really the way he died. What difference did it make whether he had killed himself or was murdered? He was gone. There was no more hope for him. And Lionel had one more reason to grieve.
    Lionel and Ryan rode back to Ryan’s house in silence. The trip home took even longer than the trip to Chicago. Ryan seemed asstarved as Lionel felt, and they stuffed crackers in their mouths and washed them down with soft drinks before stretching out in the tent. It was well after midnight by now, and Lionel heard Ryan whimpering in the dark. He was crying himself to sleep.
    And Lionel did the same.

FOUR
Ordeal at O’Hare
    J UDD and Vicki reached the entrance road to O’Hare, just past Mannheim Road, late in the evening, about the time Lionel and Ryan were heading back to Mount Prospect from Chicago.
    Judd had never seen anything like this in his life. He and Vicki found themselves wandering, along with hundreds, maybe thousands of others, who were coming to or going from the giant airport for a variety of reasons. Many, it was clear, had come to O’Hare hoping to find a friend or loved one alive. The people coming the other way, those exiting the airport, had either been unable to get their cars out of the parking garage or unable to find a taxi or limo to get them home.
    It was hard for Judd to imagine how anyone could hope to get out of this place in a car. Traffic was jammed in and out of the place, and tempers ran short. All around them, Judd and Vicki could hear people shouting at each other. The occasional limo or cab would break from the pack and race along the grassy median and up onto Mannheim Road or another artery.
    As they got closer and closer to the massive parking garage, Judd struck up conversations with others who were on missions similar to his. “Doesn’t look like we’re gonna be getting our cars out of here tonight,” a middle-aged man groused to Judd.
    â€œNope,” Judd said. “But I have to try anyway.”
    â€œI see lots of activity up there, cranes, tow trucks, cops. I don’t know what they’re doing.”
    â€œI don’t either,” Judd said. “I parked at the end of one row, so maybe I’ll get lucky.”
    â€œDon’t count on it.”
    At the parking garage, cops with bullhorns were stationed at the entrance. Judd heard one explain the process. “You’re free to go sit in your car, if you wish,” the cop said. “But don’t start the engine until you see a clear pathway to the exit ramp. So far only those parked on levels one and two have even a chance of getting out into the traffic jamhere, and you can see you’re not going to get far anyway.”
    â€œI’m on level two,” Judd told Vicki. “Maybe they’ve cleared the way for me.”
    The cop told everyone the elevators were not running, the pay booths were wide open, and that any looters or