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It was over.
The victory belonged to human kind.
But what had been the prize they had had to pay for it?
New York City no longer existed. Manhattan was completely obliterated, just like Queens, the Bronx and Brooklyn. Long Island had come off rather okay, with only one third of the buildings leveled and the remaining ones just badly blackened and burned. But still, millions of people had died and the survivors now sought for their belongings, their friends and family between the ruins.
The white, converted hearse stopped far outside the city, which they should have been able to see as a far away skyline already. But there was no skyline left. All skyscrapers had been destroyed. Four men and one woman got out of the car, staring at the picture of utter destruction, which had haunted them along their way home. Not far from them, but still miles away, rose the gigantic bulk of an alien ship, which had been shot down by human kind. The wreck was immense, even from this distance, and now and then something exploded or burst into flames along the high wall of metal.
Winston Zeddemore said a short prayer, his dark face ashen. Ray Stantz, who was standing at his side, held an expression of utter shock, his face chalk white and his eyes too large. Egon Spengler had his arm around a slight, red-haired woman, who was sobbing softly, searching for comfort in his embrace; a comfort he couldn't give her. He felt completely beyond this. Peter Venkman appeared like a statue, carved out of stone, his face a mask. Horror and pain flickered through his eyes, the same the others felt as well.
They had heard about the invasion in the small recreation area, had seen the newscasts and had followed the wave of destruction those alien ships had unleashed, but neither of them had imagined this. Nothing could prepare you for it, no story, no newscast.
"What now?" Janine asked, her voice laced with tears. "What are we gonna do now?"
None had an answer. No one knew. Everything had been destroyed, their home, the fire house, maybe even the containment unit. The trapped ghosts might be free again, roaming the streets. But all of this was no longer important. The freed ghosts might soon prove to be their smallest problem. Human kind had another, much more important problem now: survival.
Everything had happened so fast and now they stood in front of what was left, a ruin, and the beginning of a fight for survival.

Today was the fourth of July.