Alice followed the drag marks. The snow was heavy in places, the wind forming tall drifts at the foot of each building. Mike had been taken west, the buildings changing from broken homes to patched-up squatter units ideal for ambush. Tribeca had been one of the last neighborhoods to empty out, but once the Ones fled to the towers, the void left behind sucked in the homeless. New York had thirty million unemployed existing with no social services. Every day tens of thousands lost their homes and found themselves out on the streets with no way back. Fractured windows peeked through corrugated sheeting, once-polished doors stood nailed shut. Fires glimmered inside the ruined structures, the crackle of burning wood, the stink of molten plastic strong in the air. The houses were being torched room by room, anything to hold off the lethal chill.