And then, he remembered falling, and falling, and falling. Somewhere there was a voice: "Where are they? They've disappeared for good."
And then, for long seconds, nothing.
He woke up with a headache, but it wasn't too bad. Surprisingly, not much time had passed; he got up and dusted off his trousers, looking around at the battlefield. Wounded and groaning cops were all over. The room was a shambles; the walking wounded—which comprised the rest of the force—were stumbling around in a slow, hopeless sort of fashion.
Lynch was standing next to him. "Malone," he said, "I'm sorry. I hit you, didn't I?"
"Uh-huh," Malone said. "You seemed to be hitting everybody."
"I was trying for the kids," Lynch said.
"So was I," Malone said. "I got the cuffs on one and yanked him along—but he disappeared and left me with the cuffs."
"Great," Lynch said. "Hell of a raid."
"Very jolly," Malone agreed. "Fun and games were had by all."