The End of Her World

Chapter Two

Forty minutes later, Jason was carrying four shopping bags at the top of the mall, his arms were aching and they were seven stories high, while Katrina had five bags weighing her arms down. Sarah bounced around their feet like an exercise ball. While his children were nondescript, Jason was an imposing figure in the hallways. He was tall and lean, and his eyes were dark and guarded, from his span in the Army in Iraq. He had received an honorable discharge after being severely ill and injured after a chemical attack.

"I want ice cream!" she squeaked. Jason shook his head, but he felt a smile coming on as Katrina laughed beside him.

“Remember girls, if you get lost, just walk home. We’re only three blocks away. If you ever get lost, just go home.”

Katrina opened her mouth to speak, just as an enormous rumble shook the whole building. The mall fell silent, save the tinkling of the glass displays. Jason's soldier sense buzzed at the base of his skull. Something deeply wrong. People were about to die. He had had this feeling in Iraq, before his convoy hit a roadside IED and was hit by rocket propelled grenades.

Then there was a deep roar and a white flash brighter than the sun caused the shop windows to explode outward in a ringing, musical cacophony. Pain exploded in Jason's upper body sending it through every nerve, every fiber, and every muscle of his body. He caught a glimpse of Katrina throwing herself over Sarah. Fire seared through his shirt and he threw himself over Katrina as his skin shriveled from the heat.

A violent magnetic wind roared the mangled halls, spurring the flames toward them A second blast went off, and Jason was lifted off his feet, torn away from Katrina and Sarah. He flew, away from the fire and debris, but the flames still chased after him with bright hungry tongues. Through his fuzzy, shell shocked brain, he thought maybe a wall would stop him, but he kept going, going out into oblivion and darkness. Open space. Blackness consumed him.

The first sensation that awoke Jason was the pressure and then the agony. Slowly he cracked open his eyes, painfully aware of the tedious throbbing of all of his skin and legs. He twisted his head, struggling to comprehend what had happened. A bomb! He remembered the roadside bombs and realized that was why his soldier sense had been buzzing. He reached through his pain fuzzy mind for any details. The fire still smoldered outside; he could hear it crackling through the cobwebs in his head.

Jason's head hit the ground and he gave up to the pain and plunged into unconsciousness.

Blackness pressed down all around Jason. He screamed, a hoarse throated howl. Pain shot through his left leg. He was trapped in his debris. Dried blood cracked on the side of his head. The cobwebs were nonexistent in his head, now only simple strands. Jason screamed, and kept screaming. He lashed out with his left arm; his right one was pinned under a spiky piece of metal. A terrible, primal fear awoke in Jason, harking back to the days when humans lived in caves: the fear of being trapped.

Then, out of the blue, everything seemed to stop. Where was Sarah? Where was Katrina? They were gone. "No!" bellowed Jason. He choked on the thick air, but he couldn't have cared less. He had failed, failed his responsibilities as a father to protect both of them. Silver tears began to trickle down his face. He was going to die and Katrina and Sarah were gone.

Suddenly, there was a mighty groan, and the debris covering him up was ripped away and the dimness of evening enveloped him. Jason gulped in huge breaths of fresh air until it felt like swallowing thistles. A strong hand latched onto his arm.

"Hang in there, my friend," a voice murmured in his ear. Another gentle hand descended and with a gentle touch, wiped the soot away from Jason's face.

A scream tore from his lips unheeded, as the hand touched his head. A terrible grating noise, the sound of metal, and, suddenly, the pressure on his legs was relieved. Jason squeezed his eyes shut as he was rolled over by his rescuer. "Come on, now, open your eyes,"

Jason blinked, and for a second he was disoriented by the light. The paramedic that stood over him was a woman. She was ruggedly pretty, with a compact, lean, runner's body and one of those female soldier faces. Her eyes were shimmering gray, like the running water of a silver stream and her brown hair stuck up in unruly spikes. "I'm going to give some painkiller," she told him confidentially. "Then I'm going to tape plasma to your arm. You lost quite a lot of blood. We're going to get you outta here."

"No!" cried Jason, fear pulsing through his bones. "My daughters are back there, and they're trapped and injured!"

The paramedic's eyes widened. "Okay, I'll get some people to look for them. You can help. But, buddy, you're pretty badly hurt. I think your leg is broken, your ribs are bruised and your arms injured too."

Coldness bloomed in Jason's heart, sending shivers down his spine. "My name is Jason, not buddy. And let me up!"

"Okay, okay, Jason," the paramedic put her hands on his chest in a way that was both conciliatory and defensive. Her fingers flew around his arm as she injected a painkiller.

"Help. Me. Up!" snarled Jason. With a terrible wrench, ignoring the pain in his leg and arm, he hauled himself up Anger fueled his body, hot energy that wiped out all other emotion, save grief. He snatched a pair of crutches from the wall of the ambulance, discarding one and bracing the other one under his good arm. He winced as he took his first step. Agony burned like hot fire through every one of his veins.

"Help me look for my daughters!" he bellowed. A few burly men, all dressed in paramedic uniform consisting of black, orange and yellow rushed over.

"Which level were they on when the bomb detonated?" questioned a large man with dark skin.

"Seventh!" gasped Jason. His heart hammered like a velvet hammer.

A sad look crept over the man's face like an unwelcome cloud on a sunny day. "Sir, you were the sole survivor of the seventh floor."

An immediate and huge fear ballooned inside of Jason's insides. "N-no, you must be mistaken-'' Suddenly, through the curtain of smog and smoke, a hazy gray figure, seemingly made out of what looked like television static appeared. The odd figure knelt down and picked up a body.

"Who's that?" shouted Jason, pointing in the direction of the strange figure.

The paramedics whipped around, scanning the area with practiced glances before turning back to Jason with their brows wrinkled in confusion. "There's no one there, sir."

A scream rent to air, so real and full of pain sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter. And Jason screamed out in fear. The voice was Sarah's and it came directly from the gray figure's arms.