The boy raced downstairs, taking the steps two at a time and barging past the few people who were hurrying to take shelter.

Earthquakes were frequent in this city; everyone quickly learned to shelter under doorways and cover their heads in case of falling objects, if the quake was as big as this. There was no reason for them to run downstairs - in fact, it would be more dangerous. But the boy wasn't concerned about his own safety right now. This was a rare chance for some action, and he was determined to make the most of it.

The only problem was that he had to work with this woman.

The ground was still swaying dizzyingly, but it was dying down, each aftershock smaller than the last. The two volunteers headed outside the building, where an old-fashioned car was waiting on the path. They drove out onto the street and began to accelerate. There was no need to worry about traffic; the roads were always deserted here. The woman steered. The boy leaned back and felt the wind blowing through his hair, hoping the silence would last as long as possible.

Central Station was a low building whose lights, large doors and glass facade stood out from the dark blocks around it. As soon as they came to a halt, the boy jumped out and ran inside. The woman made herself comfortable and waited. She was looking forward to seeing who exactly came back out.