Even though I heard the words he spoke, they made absolutely no sense to me. What did he mean when he said the ramp was gone? It had been there just twenty minutes ago. Deciding that the good officer must be crazy, I broke away from him and proceeded onward in my quest to pry the door open, grabbing the piece of scaffolding from its concrete tomb.
“No!” he screamed at me again, lunging to restrain me.
I’d had enough. As much as I didn’t want to do it, I felt like I had no other option but to disable the officer, as reasoning with him was clearly not going to work. Raising my arm, I forcibly swung it back, striking him in the chest. The force of my elbow to his rib cage caused him to release his grip on me enough to where I was able to break away. Once free, I whirled around, swiftly kicking him in the legs as hard as I could in the hope that it would incapacitate him long enough for me to pry the door open.
Fetching the metallic bar from the rubble, I jammed it between the seal and the frame of the doorway, pushing it with all my strength. At first, it put up an admirable fight, but after several solid jabs it finally conceded defeat, slowly squeaking open. Smoke—thicker and black in color—poured into the store from the outside, sending me into another coughing fit. Holding my breath, I gave the bar a few more solid pushes until enough room opened up for me to squeeze my entire body through the door. Through the clouds of smoke, I took off down the crumpled concrete. In the suffocating fog, snowflakes stabbed my face like tiny daggers, grinding salt in my wounds.
My eyes worked to focus in the direction I’d left my parents’ vehicle. I walked carefully down the pavement, looking for the familiar sight of the garage. I should have been there by now; this walk was taking entirely too long. The smoky haze slowly became less and less dense the further out I walked until a wayward gust of wind blew past me, punching a hole into the unknown. What it revealed was a scene I hadn’t expected.
Instead of the familiar ramp, I found myself standing on the edge of a ledge with the rest of the city spread out before me. Sirens surrounded me. I shielded my ears with my bloodied hands. A strange sound approaching from above drew my attention to the helicopter that was circling the mall. The hurricane-force wind it generated pushed my broken body in all directions. Did I take a wrong turn? Was I that disoriented?
No, I wasn’t. This was where I’d left my parents and Jacob. They had been right here waiting for me. A thought occurred to me then; a thought that rendered my delicate stomach as fragile as an egg shell. Taking in a deep breath, I staggered to the edge of the cliff peering over the edge to see what I had feared and somehow already knew would be there.
“No! God, no,” an involuntary scream escaped my lips.
Atop the ledge overlooking their fate, I dropped to my knees and sobbed. In anguish, I repeatedly punched the pavement, only stopping after my hand hung limp from my wrist. The physical pain from breaking my hand, however, was not something I remember feeling. My body was already too numb from the emotional shock. Over the edge of the newly-formed cliff, my family’s fate had been revealed to me. Strewn in a mass of broken pavement were pieces of steel in every shape, size and color. Attached to these pieces of steel were tires, antennas, and license plates. My father, mother and brother were somewhere down there at the bottom of that ledge. The parking ramp had been the epicenter of the blasts. On the pavement I laid immobile and unfeeling. I was wet, cold, broken, and I didn’t care about anything anymore.
From what I was later told by both my doctors and from watching reports on the news, I remained on the ledge for about an hour before firefighters were able to remove me from my sepulcher. My motionless body was on the national news, serving as the perfect illustration for the devastation that had transpired that day.
One of the firefighters who rescued me from the ledge carried me to an ambulance where EMTs stripped the soggy clothing from my body. I must have been shaking pretty badly as they enveloped me in blankets almost instantaneously. After I was secured, the ambulance raced to what I assumed would be Hope Memorial Hospital.
“Poor thing,” a pretty, young EMT stated while attaching various tubes to my body.
I heard the other EMT, a man who’d obviously been the more seasoned veteran of the two—with salt and pepper hair and a stare devoid of all emotion—speak as he radioed ahead to the hospital. “Teenage female with probable hypothermia, smoke inhalation and a possible broken right hand…possible bilateral rib fractures and multiple contusions. Estimated time of arrival is eight minutes.”
The woman EMT whose last name was “Topper”—or so I gathered from the badge dangling around her neck—soothingly caressed my cheeks. She then began humming a familiar tune I recognized from my youth, and the volumes of lullabies my mother used to sing to me at night. This instant memory of my mother sent a new wave of pain coursing through my body, forcing a small tear from the corner of my eye.
“She looks catatonic,” she said. A worried tone flowed from her voice.
“They’ll do an MRI at Hope Memorial,” the elder EMT replied un-phased. “She’s probably just in shock. There’s no telling what she’s witnessed today.” Topper winced, continuing to stroke my cheek.
The last thing I remember that day was the ambulance pulling up in front of Hope Memorial; the hospital that’d become like a second home to me through the years. My stretcher was unloaded to a throng of trauma-hungry physicians. It was a sight that would have made George proud. A handful of residents gathered around me, some of whom I recognized through my frequent meanderings in the halls, and rushed me through the doors of the Emergency Room.
“Oh, my gosh. Is that Dr. Stevens’ daughter?” one of the doctors asked.
“All pretty girls look the same to you, Scott,” another retorted.
It was then that my memory cut off.
****
The rain and sleet came splattering down against the umbrella I clutched in my good hand; one lone umbrella in the sea of black umbrellas gathered together in a tight circle. In the middle of the circle stood three oak coffins, each covered with a bouquet of roses, my mother’s favorite flower. Standing next to me, Lucy was nearly as devastated as I was. Wanting to comfort me but not exactly sure how to do it, she simply didn’t understand just how much her mere presence meant to me.
Everything went by in one big blur that day. I’m not sure whether I could recite a single word of Reverend Logan’s eulogy or any of the heart wrenching memorials given by my father’s colleagues. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t even remember the names of most of the people who attended the funeral. I couldn’t describe the faces of the individuals who embraced me while passing along their condolences. All I could focus on were the three oak caskets sitting side by side being pelted by balls of sleet.
Why had I been spared? What made me so special? These were the questions I yearned to have answered, but of which I knew answers did not exist. My father had done so much in the advancement of pediatric medicine and had so much more yet to offer. Why him and not me? None of this made sense; none of this was fair. I watched as the caskets were lowered into their final resting places while the crowd dispersed to their vehicles. With Lucy still loyally at my side, I continued watching them until they were no longer visible—half tempted to ask for a hole to be dug for me, too.
“Celaine,” a voice behind me said soothingly, “are you ready?”
I turned to see my Aunt Tasha looking at me sheepishly. “Yeah,” I replied.
“Okay. Wait here and I’ll pull the car around.”
Carol’s sister, Aunt Tasha, must have drawn the short straw as it was she who would be my guardian for the next year. This meant a move halfway across the country, but I really didn’t care. There was nothing left for me here anymore. Lucy was devastated, but I reminded her that the year would go by fast and there was always the Internet. That had seemed to appease her for the time being.
“You’re like a sister to me, you know,” Lucy murmured almost incoherently through her tears.<
br />
“Don’t…don’t get all emotional on me right now, Luce.” Breaking my gaze away from the coffins, I turned to face Lucy, wrapping my arms around her. And as much as I tried to fight it, I just wasn’t strong enough to keep the tears away.
“Now look who’s getting emotional.”
I gave Lucy a small smile, releasing her from my grip. “You’ll always be my sister, too.” With the sleeve of my overcoat, I wiped the tears from my eyes. “I’ll be back, Luce. I promise.”
“You’d better be.” She looked over my shoulder just as my aunt pulled the car off to the side of the path behind us.
“Well, I guess this is goodbye, then?” she sighed.
“Only for now.”
Giving me one last quick hug, Lucy, too, wiped a tear from her eye, and with a forced smile, waved to me before leaving to walk to her parents’ car. Aunt Tasha must have sensed that I wanted one final moment alone with my family. For not being good with such “delicate situations”, she was handling me like a professional. I stared at each individual resting place, the places that would eternally hold my father, mother and brother.
“I promise you that I will do whatever it takes to stop whoever did this to you. You will not have died without retribution…I…I promise you that I will do what I can to stop this from ever happening again. Never again will anyone be made to suffer like this. I promise you…I promise you…even if I have to give up my life to do it, I will stop them. I love you.”
My knees, having shaken all day, became too weak to support me. I dropped to the rain-soaked ground, sobbing in my good hand.
****
It was later determined that the bombings at The Lakes had been related to the overall string of attacks occurring along the East Coast. However, this bombing was different in that there were mass casualties; one hundred and four in all. There were also witnesses this time who described seeing a mysterious male figure in black. At least, some had thought him to be a man. Others swore this mysterious figure was more machine than human. Thus, the story of The Man in Black was born, inciting headlines on the front pages of every national newspaper. Who was this Man in Black? Why was he doing this? Was he human? One thing was evident; whoever was doing this was getting bolder.
After The Lakes bombing, panic spread across the country. People were afraid to leave their homes. They were afraid to live, afraid to die. Many residents of the larger cities began migrating to less populated parts of the country in an attempt to feel safe again. Rumors of a nationwide curfew, along with the institution of military enforcement in the major cities, spurred talk of the end of democracy. This talk was quickly pacified by President Brooks.
Chapter Five
The Dawn of Totalitarianism
Democracy is a very fragile thing. You have to take care of democracy. As soon as you stop being responsible to it and allow it to turn into scare tactics, it’s no longer democracy, is it? It’s something else. It may be an inch away from totalitarianism.
~Sam Shepard
President Brooks was many things. He was vivacious, outspoken, and—at the age of thirty-eight—he was also the youngest President ever to have been elected into office. While many had been put off by his youth, most were enthusiastic about the handsome, young senator and his uncanny ability at bringing unity to the Senate. Public outpouring of support for him was so momentous that, on the dawn of Election Day, the Presidency was all but handed to him. Consensus was that we were approaching the dawning of a new era and President Brooks was seen as the visionary who’d carry our country over the threshold.
Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened.
Our country’s new era dawned two years after the bombings at the The Lakes, as the fear of the unknown continued to encapsulate the nation. Several more attacks had taken place; some were the works of deranged copycats, but most were confirmed to have been perpetrated by The Man in Black.
After early opposition derailed President Brooks’ proposed curfew, another attack prompted him to again address the subject. Propelled both by fear and the reassurance that the eventual return to safety and security was nigh, it was soon decided that a curfew should be enacted; a curfew temporarily barring anyone from being out on the streets past ten o’clock at night other than for employment or emergency related purposes. With minimal opposition, the bill was passed by Congress and, as the new law dictated, a curfew would remain in effect until those responsible for the attacks were brought to justice.
However, when society allows one liberty to fall, the rest of the dominoes have a way of following suit.
Billed as another means of ensuring safety, travel restrictions were imposed soon after the institution of the curfew. Patrols were dispatched to all state lines, making interstate travel too much of a hassle for most families to attempt. Those who chose to travel by air were subjected to strip searches, body scans and the issuing of a Federal Aviation Administration-approved flight suit. Clothes were bagged, tagged and given back to travelers at their final destination.
President Brooks ushered in the dawning of a new era; the era of totalitarianism.
Chapter Six
The Aftermath
Through the windows of the vehicle, I could see their faces staring at me, pleading for me to free them. I had exactly ten seconds to save them….nine…eight. The department store door jammed, forcing me to scan the rubble for the familiar metal pole. Success. I grabbed the pole from the severed hand’s grasp, releasing each finger from its death grip around it. Time was running out…seven…six…five. Giving up on prying the door open, I threw my body against it, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The clock ticked away…four…three…two…I took off running towards them. I was going to make it this time. Finally, I was going to be able to save them.
But just as the scenario always seemed to unfold, when the final second faded away a dark figure appeared before me. My body became rooted to the ground in response to the apparition’s menacing countenance as though his very presence froze every thread of my being. Even though I couldn’t make out the specific features of this dark entity, his identity was no secret to me, and I knew what was coming next. The Man in Black threw his arms up into the air, summoning an enormous explosion, throwing me back into the store. In the glare of the explosion they were gone.
I shot up in bed, a cold sweat trickling down my face. Ten years had gone by, and still the vivid nightmares of that horrible day continued to plague me unrelentingly. My hand wiped the sweat from my forehead as I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. In my chest, my heart was beating uncontrollably, making breathing difficult. Taking in a deep breath, I guided my fingers along the contents atop my nightstand, stopping when they hit the hard plastic cover of my cell phone. It was three o’clock in the morning, but I knew he wouldn’t mind. He never minded. In the two years I’d known him, I’d only seen him upset a handful of times, all of which were work-related.
He picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey, you,” he answered groggily, further intensifying my guilt.
“How did you know it was me?”
“My other girlfriend already called me hours ago.” I could almost see the smirk forming on his face.
“Very funny,” I retorted.
“Did you have another nightmare?”
“Yeah, that makes four now in a week.” Tears began forming in the corners of my eyes. A single one emerged to run down my cheek. “Will this ever stop? Haven’t I been tortured enough already?” My quivering voice was bordering on a sob now.
“Shh…shh… it’s going to be all right, Celaine. I’m here for you. In time, the nightmares will fade away, leaving you and I to our life together and…”
“Stay with me tomorrow night,” I interrupted, more of a plea than a request.
“Hmmm… getting to hold an incredibly beautiful woman for a whole night… I don’t know. I’m really going to have to think about that. I mean, I do have a pretty busy schedule and all, but I’ll see if I can rearrange
some appointments and pencil you in.”
“Other than me, you’re the only person capable of mustering sarcasm this early in the morning.” My sobbing subsided. A half-smile returned to my face.
“That’s why we’re perfect for each other. We’re the soul mates of smart ass.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now get some sleep. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow. Loans to decline, lives to shatter, you know, fun stuff.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure what I would do without you.”
“Well, fortunately that’s something you’ll never have to worry about. See you tomorrow, beautiful.”
I hung up the phone, letting my long, tired legs stretch over the side of the bed. It’d be at least another hour before I would be able to fall back asleep again. Switching on my nightstand lamp, I walked down the hall of my apartment to my cold, uninviting bathroom. Its tile floor was like sheer ice underneath my feet, causing me to shudder. I reached for the plastic cup on the basin, turned on the faucet, and filled it with water. Not only did the nightmares affect me emotionally, but they also took a toll on me physically. My throat was dry and the same knee I’d smacked on the floor in the minutes preceding the explosion throbbed in eerie phantom-like pain. Some nights I swore there was still glass embedded underneath my skin; some nights it felt as though I’d lived through the devastation all over again.
As I so often did after my nightmares, I opened the drawer of my bedroom nightstand, taking out the worn photo album. The photo album had been one of a few possessions I salvaged from my parents’ home before moving to Iowa with Aunt Tasha. Its cloth cover was somewhat faded from years of wear and the pages were beginning to yellow. Turning them with care, I soon found what I was looking for: the last family photograph ever taken of us.
There I was in all my awkward teenaged glory, smack dab in the middle. We were all wearing our identical photograph attire: matching blue sweaters and khaki pants. It’d been Carol’s idea, of course. How I missed Carol. She was naturally gorgeous in this particular photograph with her hair, the color of toffee, pinned back. George looked so regal, so professional, and so proud. Then there was Jake. I often wondered what he would look like now as a young man. Would he be in medical school following in George’s footsteps? Married with children of his own? Anger overtook the sorrow as my feelings over the injustice of it all came flooding back.
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