What the hell is going on?
I am losing consciousness. I can barely keep still. My legs are fighting to kick his weight off me, but he is motionless. Tears stream from my eyes, soaking his shirt. Suddenly, he falls to the side.
Something burns.
Something burns.
It smells like skin, like meat roasting on a stake.
Strong hands are pulling me up. I have no time to look up at whoever it is that saves me, but I catch a familiar scent of mint—of earth.
My head falls to the side, and I gaze towards the place where the Mano Cuisine once stood.Something burns; my entire world has been burnt to ashes.
Carl
There are many things I wish to fucking say to her as I hold her in my arms, but I know nothing will make up for the disaster she has just witnessed. Her head is dangling freely in the air as the rest of her body surrenders to my hold.
I doubt she is even breathing. She was close to the staff home when the fire consumed the building.
My feet lead me faster to the car. I have to make sure she is safe before heading into the fucking restaurant.
Shit. I can't even see an opening. Everything is ablaze, and it's hard to tell which way leads to the front door. I see bodies lying everywhere, writhing as they try to escape the fire.
It's a horrible sight, but I can't save them all.
"Somebody callthe fucking fire department!" a man yells, rushing to the scene, doing the best he can to help the people who made it out of the building. They all seem to be in a very bad state. Nothing can be done now. It's too late.
I called the fire department even before I arrived on the scene, right after I heard the explosion and saw the plume of smoke. As I was driving closer, I caught sight of the lady's hair peeking out from under the body of a large man, and I just had to stop. After such a long time, I felt afraid to lose someone.
If I hadn't been delayed by Gregory before leaving home, I could have been blown into bits like the rest.
Two fucking explosions.
It has to be a bomb. And if there is a bomb, the fucking bomber could still be lurking around somewhere. My eyes scan the area quickly, searching for any signs of unease from a spectator.
Nothing.
I don't have the eyes of an investigator. I can only do the critical thinking after all the noise subsides.
I fucking hate people who are delighted to witness a disaster. They stay locked up in their rooms, waiting for the slightest shift in their day, thenboom—they run to the scene, angling their cameras at the victims to boost their social media presence.
People are fucking dead. There could have been fucking 50 people in there before the explosion happened. I dread the number; I dread the count. I am striving to stay sane before the fire service gets here.
I hear their sirens.Right on time.
With great care, I drop the lady into the comfort of my car. I want to dash into the chaos now that I am sure she is safe, but a look at her face, and I realize that she is now unconscious.
She fainted in my arms, and I didn't even notice, my mind must be a fucking mess.
I try not to panic. I feel her wrist, and her pulse shows signs of life. My fingers dart to her nose, and I check her breathing. It's shallow, it's slow, but it's there.
I always knew she would be a fighter.
I will forever be grateful to the man who has risked his life to save her. I have to head back to him and administer as much aid as I can.
I know the drill. After all, many of my years were spent with first aid boxes. There always seemed to be open wounds to disinfect,painkillers to administer, blood to wipe off— the scene of injured men lying around isn't new to me, but never have I witnessed such a massive explosion in such a peaceful town. It has to be the Mano.
Our family is highly respected, no matter the decline our businesses has taken. I wonder who would dare do such a thing, knowing that my siblings and I are predators loitering and waiting for a reason to bare our fangs.