Outside, you see the sun going down on the west. Only a couple hours of daylight more.

There are dead-dead corpses on the street, crashed cars, rubble, hastily made barricades. Piles of burned bodies still smolder, empty gun cartridges litter spots here and there, all signs speaking of fierce battle.

Monica is already rushing ahead some, impatient and reckless, worry for her husband cutting on her survival instincts.