Code Blue was in effect that night. Philadelphia Police had orders to round up any homeless who didn't seek shelter. The shelters were stuffed with hordes of humanity, who found breathing in cramped quarters difficult. But it was better than freezing.
Icarus Williams stumbled down Spring Garden Street, and entered a restaurant at the corner with 22nd. He approached a table where a man and a woman were seated. The woman had a Russian accent.
"Spare some change?"
The wife reached into a small purse and handed Icarus two dollars. Icarus clasped the bills in his fist and feeling suddenly self-conscious, headed towards the exit. He heard the couple arguing.
" . . . into a restaurant without some vagrant . . ."
"Calm down, daragoy."
The frigid wind ambushed Icarus as he stepped outside. A trench coat and a wool cap were all the protection he had. Spiderman had stolen his gloves.
Turning the corner, Icarus spied two cops. One, a husky black man, shouted, "Hey, buddy!"
Then his eyes became red-hot coals, and smoke spewed from his nostrils. Icarus bolted across Spring Garden.
Icarus stopped at 22nd and the Parkway. Sweat froze on his skin. He shuffled zombie-like down 22nd, turning right onto Ludlow. He sat on the frozen sidewalk.
Footsteps approached. A figure towered over him.
"Come in from the cold."
"Don't want to go to no shelter," Icarus replied. "Brother ain't safe."
"This shelter's different."
Glancing up, Icarus half-expected to see Jesus. What he saw was a middle-aged man with a thick brown beard, and wearing a long black robe. A wooden cross hung from a string around his neck.
Dazed, Icarus followed him.
"Where we goin'?"
"Not far."
Code Blue was in effect that night. Philadelphia Police had orders to round up any homeless who didn't seek shelter. Mary Styles huddled in an alley. She was tired, starving, and freezing.
A silhouette seemed to materialize several feet away. The shadow came closer, becoming flesh and blood. A man about 45. Dressed in a thick overcoat, hat, and leather gloves. He walked with a gait.
"What do you want?" Mary asked.
"You to come in from the cold."
Reluctantly, Mary stood up and followed him to a nearby van. Six faces peered out at her from the vehicle. The driver smiled. This was no dream.
"Where we going?"
"A house of God," Deacon Williams replied.
© Allan M. Heller
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