The sun flashes off the dark water of the bay below us. Even though it’s still afternoon, the sky has a fiery tinge with dark tendrils reaching across it. In the distance, the fire on the south end of the peninsula billows smoke into the air.

It’s not quite the reddish glow of the Pit, but it reminds me of it. Instead of being suffocatingly red, though, our burning civilization is ironically beautiful. The sky is alive and in motion with the reflected colors of the fire in hues of maroon, orange, yellow, and red. There are plumes of dark smoke shifting through the air, but instead of blotting out the colors, the sky blends and absorbs it, darkening some while contrasting with others.

Here on the concrete island that was once part of the beautiful Bay Bridge, the excitement is palpable. It throbs from every direction in the crowd – and it is a crowd now – as people mill around on the broken connection between San Francisco and the East Bay.

Everyone is helping set something up. Shirtless gang members show off their tattooed muscles as they climb to the highest points on the suspension bridge. The different gang factions race to fasten an enormous set of speakers and spotlights. The winner of the race claims some victory over the others for a prize that Dee and Dum have made worthwhile.

An impromptu stage is being built while people practice their talent show performances all around it. Crates have been stacked and are being nailed together for a fast and sloppy set of stage stairs.

Men in gray camouflage walk past me with their rifles. They wear large headphones around their necks and night vision goggles on their heads. I have headphones around my neck as well, but not the goggles. And instead of a rifle, I carry a pair of knives. There are plenty of guns, but the bullets are reserved for the experts.

A couple of them wear elaborate tentlike camouflage with bits of random stuff attached to it that makes me think of swamp monsters.

‘What are they wearing?’ I ask.

‘Ghillie suits,’ says Dee-Dum, walking by, as if that explains everything.

‘Right, of course.’ I nod as if I have a clue what that means.

I look around to see if I can be useful and find that everybody has their task and is busy doing it. Dee is handling the details of the show while Dum is organizing the audience, which is practicing the escape drill. The Colonel and the other council member who I’m starting to think of as the logistics lady weave through the throng, directing projects and keeping people on task.

Doc is handling the makeshift med station, which people avoid unless they’ve really hurt themselves. I admit, even I’m a little impressed with Doc’s dedication to people, even if I’ll always think he’s a monster for the things he did.