“Jenny, that’s sick.”
“Have I told you I like it when you say my name? It sounds like music to me.”
“Music to your ears, huh?” Eric said, blushing as much from repulsion as flattery. Oh geez, he said to himself. Did I just flirt with Jenny Anderson?
“It’s summer time, Eric,” Jenny finally continued. “School got out two months ago. You don’t have classes. I don’t have classes. Why don’t you just say what you mean?”
“I mean I’m busy. During school I have homework. During summer I have work. I have a mother that needs my help. I have responsibilities. Things that I can’t just not do. I don’t have time for dates, Jenny. I’m not trying to be mean. I just don’t have time.”
“Don’t have time for me, you mean.”
Exactly! Now you get it! Ding! We have a bingo! Tell her what she’s won, Bob!
Eric let go a frustrated sigh. “Jenny, I…”
“No, don’t worry. I get it Eric.”
Turning away, Eric grunted, gritted his teeth and growled a breathy growl.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Jenny.”
She chuckled, a half-hearted effort.
“You should be so lucky,” she whispered.
***
It was a bit of a walk from Junior Miss to the front Courtesy Desk.
Cecil’s slow gait was more out of consideration for the already restless infant than from the debilitating effects time usually tolled upon a person of Cecil’s years.
The baby cooed several times and finally wormed its head out of the blanket. Though covered in a strange black mask-like cloth, Cecil had little problem denoting the child’s Arabic features, which included thick, black eyebrows, dark skin—olive toned but with a reddish quality that appeared almost Native American rather than Arabic—and eyes that shined black as if two stones of pure onyx had been set into his eye sockets.
“Let’s get you out of that mask, young fella. Bit hot to be wearin’ that,” Cecil said, lowering the carrier’s handle for easier access to the poor infant. The handle clicked as it lifted over the head of its small occupant. As he removed the blanket, the clicking continued, louder.
A small red digital read-out displayed the number thirty-three then another click and the number changed to thirty-two.
“A bomb!” Cecil screamed. The thought registering only after he’d spoken the words.
Click.Thirty-one.
Abandoning the buggy, running with all his strength, Cecil reached the courtesy desk, out of breath. Without waiting, without explanation,
Cecil grabbed the courtesy phone and dialed the intercom system.
Click.Twenty-eight.
“Everybody out! Out of the store now! Find the closest exit. Run!”
Click. Twenty-five.
“This is an emergency! Get out now!” Cecil continued, gasping for air. He felt his chest tighten.
Click.Twenty-three.
Cecil’s mind conjured an image of the tiny infant strapped helplessly to a bomb. In less than 30 seconds, his brief life would be over and there wasn’t a thing Cecil could do about it.
He sighed.
His legs felt like jello.
***
“Jenny, look…” Eric wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He wasn’t interested but he had to admit that his circle of friends wasn’t much more than a dot these days. People weren’t exactly beating down his door with social invitations.
“Get out!” The voice over the intercom was urgent, scared. Eric looked at Jenny, not sure what to do.
“What the heck?” Jenny asked.
“Should we go?” Eric asked. “Could be a prank.”
“Back door,” Jenny said. “If it’s a prank, maybe we won’t be the only idiots.”
He saw no reason to argue with her logic.
Running toward the delivery area, Eric seized Jenny by the hand, pulling her urgently to safety.
“Oh, now you get chivalrous!”
“Shut up and run!”
Eric didn’t recognize the older man running ahead of them, toward the back door, but then there were a select few people on the job he could have picked out of a crowd of two.
They all made it to the back door, just as Aaron Burns rounded the corner, bursting out of Sporting Goods, carrying a rifle and box of shells.
“Let’s go!” Aaron shouted.
“After you, Rambo!” Jenny smirked, appearing almost to enjoy the excitement.
The door flew open, caught by a gust of wind. Eric, Jenny, Aaron and the unknown man fled quickly toward the safest place they could think of, the dumpsters near the back chain link fence. They were half way there when a loud popping sent Eric sailing to the ground. The pop was followed instantly by thunder and lightning light flashes that were anything but the product of Mother Nature.
He felt his body sliding across razor-sharp concrete and knew instantly that his wrist had snapped. A thunderous whooshing noise echoed across his skull. Something like the crack of lightning broke through the drumming, calling out its own ominous warning.
Something hit him in the back of the head, shooting agonizing pulsations into his eye sockets. Eric could hear screaming. It took a second to realize it was his own voice he was hearing cry out in bitter agony.
Did he feel pain? He couldn’t be sure.
What was that?
Where’s Jenny?
Where are my legs?
***
The room began to swim violently. Cecil felt his chest tighten. His
breathing was more labored by the second. He hadn’t felt himself
collapse so he was a little confused when he felt Susan Jenkins and Bill Zimmer pick him up as they each bolted for the front door.
Click.Ten.
Susan was quite the athletic young, black gal but the speed of slightly overweight Bill Zimmer amazed Cecil. Even in his confused state, Cecil fought hard to help their forward motion, not sure if his efforts were more of a hindrance than a help.
Click.Seven.
Oh God! Save us!
As they made it to the parking lot, Cecil was sure the time had run out. By his mental clock, any second could be their last.
Suddenly, in his mind, zero had come and gone but noth…
Before he could complete the thought, there it was a whooshing noise, followed instantly by an explosion. Fire and smoke were everywhere. The front windows were gone. Glass covered everyone that had made it outside. Flames leapt outward; some reached high into the heavens. As panic set in, Cecil’s confusion cleared somewhat. This was not a dream. This was not on TV. This was really happening.
Screams filled the air—car alarms triggered under massive sonic pressure.
A quick look toward the building and Cecil knew not everyone had made it out. A ball of human flame was visible near the exit bouncing to and fro, unable to stop the slow, torturous death overtaking him.
“How many more?” he wondered aloud. Tears filled his eyes as the weight of a very different confusion suddenly set in. “Who?” he whispered, turning toward a bloody Susan Jenkins, “Who would do something like this?”
“I don’t know, Baby,” she whispered. Her eyes locked on the flames eating away at the once imposing retail mega store. For the first time since exiting the store, Cecil felt the ground quivering beneath him, as the noise of the tortured calls filled his ears. To Cecil, it was as if the very Earth herself were suddenly rendered afraid by the unknown answer to the uncertain questions. There would be time later for hindsight to lend itself to pointless “What ifs?” For now, one question burned in Cecil’s mind. A question he was certain not even hindsight would be able to answer. Past all the how and who and “what the…?” there remained but one question. A question Cecil was sure would go eternally unanswered.
Why?
CHAPTER 3
From the Ashes
The transition from career cop to civilian was not going smoothly for Alex Mendez. Slowly, reluctantly, he’d accepted the
fate to which his life had been resigned, but acceptance was not so much a choice as it was merely a decision not to complain that he’d been robbed of his right to choose his own destiny.
Some say when God closes one door, He opens another. While Alex still felt as though he was looking for that open door he’d accepted, with a smile, the window of opportunity afforded him to spend time with Christina. She was five now, growing up before his very eyes. She was mere weeks away from Kindergarten, having spent the last several months—including the summer—in Pre-K. A decision based more on the desire that she share peer companionship than on her need for educational stimulation. Christina had been reading since age three. She could sort of write her name. Alex swore he could almost read her last attempt, even if the S and N were backwards. Wishful thinking, maybe. But in the past several months, the bittersweet duality of parenthood had struck Alex hard. On the one hand, he couldn’t wait for all the firsts—the first day of school, real school, her first homework. The first time the school nurse called to say she was sick.
The first time she would fall off the swing and hurt her knee. The first library book she brought home. The first school play, her first class trip, first party. For that matter, the first time he would drop her off for a full schedule of 8 to 3, instead of the half-days endured at the Pre-k level. All the firsts she would go through outside the watchful eyes of
Lisa and Alex. His little girl was becoming a big girl and that one simple fact only added to the stress of a boring police-less existence.
On the other hand, Alex couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the little baby who once bore the name Christina Mendez. At least, he rationalized, he had each morning from 7 to 11 to gaze longingly at her, amid all the game playing and cartoon watching, to try and figure out where the last five years went.
Alex thought of Lisa and their unborn child. He was sure it was going to be a boy. They’d agreed to hold off on knowing for sure. To let the gender of the new Mendez be a surprise, but Alex was certain.
Alex needed a son. And besides, Christina had already declared that she had named him so it had to be a boy. Of course, they were not going to really name the younger Mendez George, even if it did mean naming him after a former president—or as Christina put it, “the guy on Daddy’s paper money.”
They hadn’t discussed it, but Alex liked the idea of naming the new Mendez male Alex Jr. or perhaps naming him Theodore, after his own elder Mendez brother. But Alex knew there was going to be no arguing with Lisa if she had given any decision to whatever name she would like for a son. The one thing Alex was reasonably sure of was that both he and Lisa liked the idea of carrying on family names. Maybe a nice combination of his family and hers, Theodore Alex Andrew Mendez, a little pretentious, perhaps, but distinguished to be sure. And it allowed for naming the baby after Lisa’s father while still keeping a strong Mendez line going. And with a name like that, Alex, joked, he’d have to be strong if he were going to avoid getting pounded on by the other children on the school playground someday.
Switching on the TV, Alex sat back on the couch, closed his eyes and thought of Lisa. How lucky she was to still be on the streets fighting crime, putting bad guys away. Yes, he worried about her, but that was a spouse’s duty, regardless of their profession. You worried because you loved. And Alex loved Lisa like no other. He was envious of her. Glad that she was able to still fight crime, even if her current physical condition had temporarily resigned her to desk duty. But still, he wished for just one chance to be alongside her taking down bad guys.
“Just like the old days,” he chuckled to himself, before being slammed back to reality by the urgent voice of channel eight’s news reporter, Janice Larson. Behind her, fire raged and suddenly the words Alex did not want to believe flashed across the screen. Janice Larson confirmed that, indeed, she was standing in front of the burning remnants of the Longview Police Department “…where just moments ago, at least one armed gunman shot his way into the building, injuring several officers and civilians before blowing himself up…”
Alex’s eyes grew huge with fear. His heart jumped into his throat.
His stomach prickled and he wretched once before gaining enough composure to grab the phone beside him.
Surely she was okay. She’d gotten out, right? Half listening, half catching a story of possible terrorism, bombs and gunfire, Alex fumbled to dial Lisa’s cell phone.
Janice Larson read preliminary figures that upwards of 100 may be dead; including what was believed to be a lone assassin. Scores were injured.
A hundred dead?There weren’t a hundred cops in the whole town
of Longview, were there?
Oh God! Lisa!
After the fourth ring, Lisa’s voicemail picked up. Alex knew Lisa had the habit of letting the phone go to voicemail unless a person called back a second time, but surely she would want him to know she was okay. Frustrated he hung up.
Directing his attention to the television, Alex watched for any sign of Lisa.
He saw Sgt. Tom Breckenridge being interviewed by Janice Larson.
“Come on, Tom!” he shouted at the TV. “How’s Lisa doing? Where’s Lisa?”
Behind them, several cops and rescue workers bandaged the injured, which included several civilians. Firefighters could be seen still frantically trying to gain control of the blaze. A postal employee’s truck was parked just at the edge of the camera’s view. The postal worker herself was bent down on the ground just behind her truck. She appeared to be administering CPR to someone. Alex couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, much less who it was. He found himself torn between the idea of pulling for the victim, in the event it was Lisa or simply hoping that it was not Lisa lying motionless, possibly burned, on the ground. Would it be worse if she was missing or if she…
He dared not finish his thought.
“I don’t know how many we have injured or dead,” Tom told Janice Larson. “We don’t have any reports right now. We have a lot of chaos. A lot to sort out.”
“Who’s in charge right now, Detective?”
“If you want me to be honest,” Tom Breckenridge said, nervously, “God’s in charge, young lady. Beyond that, we’re still working to restore order.”
“Where’s the Chief?” The reporter asked. “My sources tell me that Chief Bouknight was in the building when it went up. Can you confirm the Chief’s whereabouts at this time?”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, still looking nervous. Behind him two EMT’s pushing a gurney ran past, nearly knocking him over.
Regaining his balance, Tom cleared his throat. Intense shouting could be heard behind them. “I—Ma’am I’m sorry I don’t have any information for you at this time. I need to help my fellow officers. Please keep at a safe distance. Officer, escort Ms. Larson back a safe distance, please.” He motioned to a young uniformed officer who looked about as frightened and confused as would a kindergartener on his first day of school.
Just then, Alex’s phone rang.
“Hello?” God, please let it be Lisa.
“Alex?” It was Danny. Suddenly, Alex’s stomach burned with nervousness.
“Where is she?” Alex asked, nervous tears welling up in his eyes? “Danny, where’s Lisa?”
“We’re at the hospital Alex. I think you better get down here.”
“Danny?” Alex whispered, weakly. “Is my wife okay? Janice Larson said…”
“She’s alive, Alex,” Danny said, causing a wave of tempered relief to wash over him. Alex knew there was a “but” coming. “Alex, you really need to hurry.”
On the television, Alex watched as uniformed officers desperately tried to maintain order against a crowd of family and friends, worried loved ones, uncertain as to the fate of untold numbers.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Alex said, his voice shaking from the fearful tears he was crying. His mind wouldn’t stop watching the television. Despite the urgency eating at him, he remained focused for a few seconds on the scen
e unfolding at the Longview Police Department. The police officer in Alex screamed at the citizenry to get back. To maintain order. To let the uniforms do their job. But the husband in Alex screamed even louder. “Tell them something! Do something! Tellmesomething! Where’s my family?”
The hospital.
CHAPTER 4
Litany
Lisa surfaced from the frantic fog of a frenzied dream world into a quiet calm that was both soothing and unnerving. Soothing in that it lacked the brat-a-tat of automatic gunfire. Unnerving due to the cloudy reality that suggested she was in bed. What should have given her a sense of safety and security served nearly the opposite end.
“Danny!” she thought, her mind filling with bloody images that bore as much resemblance to fantasy as to the uncertain reality into which she’d emerged.
Pain in her legs provided a genuine sense of comfort, despite its unbearable intensity. Her back throbbed; her skin ached with even more intensity than her muscles. A Twilight Zone of emotions and sensations descended upon her at once, faster than she would have been able to process even absent the mental fog that accompanied them.
What should have hurt didn’t seem to. What should have comforted, unnerved. What should have brought relief was, at the very least, confusing. Images of the gunman blazed through the fog of drugs and pain fighting for supremacy. Somewhere deep inside her, buried, Fear found her. Her mind told her hand to grab for the fragile flesh wall that protected her unborn child. It took a couple seconds to realize her arms were not obeying her commands. A sharp pain cut through her right shoulder. Lisa felt like she’d been stabbed with a white-hot fireplace poker. She wanted to scream but lacked adequate mental faculty to command cooperation from her throat.
Blinking slightly, Lisa fought against bright lights that pierced her senses like laser beams. She felt like she’d unwillingly had her pupils dilated horrifically past the point of her body’s tolerance for pain.
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