Episode 14 – The Station: When There Is No Law
In another part of the city, the police station no longer functioned as a station.
It was just a building with cracked walls, flickering lights, and people coming and going without order, hierarchy, or questions.
The uniforms were dirty, the faces tense, the voices muted.
No one gave orders.
No one received them.
Everything was chaos, but a chaos that no longer surprised anyone.
Officer Díaz understood it before most.
There were no judges.
No prosecutors.
No calls to answer.
Half the staff had abandoned their shifts to search for their families.
The other half was outside, trying to help the injured, directing nonexistent traffic, putting out small fires that grew too quickly.
Law had become irrelevant, as if it had never existed.
Díaz looked at the two cells.
The Priest sat on the metal bench, back hunched, Bible closed in his hands.
He didn't mutter.
He didn't shout.
He just breathed, as if each inhalation cost him more than the last.
His eyes were empty, as if he had already prayed for everything and there was nothing left to say.
The vagabond stood leaning against the bars, watching the hallway with an uncomfortable calm.
He asked for nothing.
He questioned nothing.
He simply watched, like someone who had already accepted the end of things, who expected nothing from anyone.
Díaz sighed.
The charges were absurd now.
Minor infractions.
Nothing violent.
Nothing justifying keeping them locked up while the world collapsed outside.
She took the keys from the console, opened the first cell.
—Go —she said without ceremony. —This no longer makes sense.
The Priest raised his gaze, surprised.
—Just like that? —he asked, his voice broken, as if he couldn't believe it would end so simply.
—Just like that —Díaz replied. —Find a safe place.
She opened the second cell.
The vagabond walked out without a word.
They crossed the hallway and pushed open the front door.
And then they saw it.
The street looked like a battlefield.
Wrecked cars.
Glass everywhere.
Bodies covered with jackets, blankets, cardboard.
People walking aimlessly.
Others begging for help with broken voices.
The Priest froze, eyes wide, as if he couldn't process what lay before him.
—My God… —he whispered.
The vagabond said nothing.
He started walking.
He didn't help.
He didn't intervene.
He watched people fall, others scream, some no longer move.
There were injured everywhere.
And he passed among them as if they didn't exist.
Until it happened.
A loud crash.
Metal against metal.
A scream.
A car lost control, crashed into another, and ended up blocking the street.
The engine burst into flames almost immediately.
Flames shot from the hood.
Inside, a woman screamed desperately.
In the back seat, a child cried.
—Help! Please! —the woman shouted— We can't get out!
The vagabond stopped.
He looked at the car.
And ran.
He punched the driver's window with his fists.
Nothing.
He hit it again.
Nothing.
He used his elbow.
Once.
Twice.
The rear window shattered.
He reached in, opened the door from inside, and pulled out the child first.
She was small, about six or seven years old, trembling, covered in smoke and ash.
He put her on the ground and went back for the woman.
Flames had already reached the interior.
The heat was unbearable.
The woman's legs were burned.
She couldn't move.
The vagabond dragged her, fighting against the fire, against time, against the fear he didn't seem to feel.
When he managed to pull her out, the car exploded in a short, violent burst of flames.
At that moment, Officer Díaz appeared.
She had seen everything.
She called for backup on the radio.
Other officers arrived running.
They carried the woman and the child back to the station for first aid.
Díaz stood looking at the vagabond.
His elbow was open.
Bleeding.
His skin burned.
—I'm sorry —she said sincerely. —I didn't take the time to listen to you before. To know you.
She paused.
—You were brave.
He looked at her expressionless.
—It's okay —he replied. —It was the first.
He started walking.
—Wait —Díaz said. —You have to stay. You're injured.
—No —he said. —I have to go. Home. Clean up. Buy water.
—Where are you going? —she asked.
—Under the bridge —he answered. —Aren't you going to arrest me now?
Díaz shook her head.
—No —she said. —Not anymore.
She looked at his arm again.
—Let me treat that.
—No —he repeated.
She sighed.
—For God's sake…
He looked her straight in the eyes.
—Which God? —he asked. —Didn't you hear them? They said there is none. That they created us.
Díaz didn't answer.
She just lowered her gaze for a second.
Then she looked up.
—Come with me —she said. —I have water. Food. A bathroom. And a roof. I don't think the bridge is safe now.
The vagabond hesitated.
At that moment, the Priest approached.
—Well —he said. —If he goes… I will too.
Díaz looked at both of them.
—I didn't invite both of you —she said, tired.
But it didn't matter anymore.
—Let's go —she said finally. —Before this gets worse.
She entered the station, went to look for Blue, who was now calmer, and when she came out, the dog approached the vagabond, wagging his tail.
The vagabond smiled slightly.
—What's your name? —Díaz asked as they walked to the parking lot.
—Eric Acuña —he replied.
Díaz nodded.
Her car was intact.
They got in, all three of them.
The city kept burning behind them.
And for the first time since the sky spoke, they weren't alone.