Project Vigilante

Prologue (cont.)

“Someone please help my husband!”

            The woman shrieked in anguish as she crawled toward the man lying next to her. Her face was covered in dust, with tear tracks running down her cheeks. She was still wearing the cocktail dress she had on during dessert and her hair was still tied in an elaborate bouffant, but the rest of her body was disheveled and shaken. Helplessly on the floor, she called out her husband’s name and begged anyone passing by to save him. Beside her was her husband, who was clearly and undoubtedly dead. The explosion had blown off two-thirds of his face. Even if he was still alive for some miraculous reason, injury this severe would’ve been unsalvageable.

            Faint sirens traveled from a distance. Survivors began to push themselves off of the floor, but many soon realized their wounds were deeper than they appear. A man stared in horror at his right leg that was almost completely severed from knee down, and a waiter, still holding the food tray, fruitlessly tried to stop blood from spraying out of his a gash from his neck. Crying voices merged into one, dead bodies spread across the floor. The woman crying for her husband was among the lucky few who escaped unharmed. No one seemed to have recognized her.

            The bystanders were now trying to get inside and help anyway they could. The explosion had taken off a side of the wall to the restaurant, and the two story floor building was dangerously tumbling and on the brink of collapsing. A teenage looking kid jumped inside, followed by three of his friends. The looks on their faces were no less than that of aghast. They quickly exchanged a glimpse and spread up.

            The kid spotted the woman on the floor and approached her.

“Ma’am? Do you need a hand? I’m gonna help you up.”

            The woman, slightly dazed from crying, glanced up. The kid looked about junior high, no older than 16. The heat from the blaze was quickly taken a toll on him, she can see the sweat drops on his forehead. She held out a tremoring hand, and he pulled her up. Somewhere in the kitchen was a loud bang, the woman screamed in fright. The kid put her arms over his shoulder and headed for the door.

            “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m getting you out of here. We’re all going to be fine.”

            “Johnny!”

            The kid turned and saw his friend calling out from across the room. He appeared to be slightly older, kneeling beside a victim lying on the floor who had visible burn marks all over her body. The kid quickly gave his friend a nod and turned to the woman.

            “Ma’am? I’m going to be just a second. Okay? You stay here and wait for the ambulance.”

            With that he gently helped the woman down and ran for his friend. The woman, still semiconscious, leaned back against a table still standing. The sound of siren was getting closer, and the buzzing sound from the explosion still echoes in her ears. Without a warning, she felt a sharp pain and looked down. To her horrid, she saw her own burned skin through her cocktail dress, or what was left of it anyway. She was in so much shock earlier that she wasn’t even aware that both of her legs were in the direct blast zone from the explosion. The flesh on her leg was seared to the bone, completely melted away. Along with it was a strong, acrid smell that made her almost gag. Tears poured out of her eyes, as she couldn’t take in what she saw. Suddenly she found herself feeling nauseated and running out of breath. The excruciating pain that she had subconsciously blocked from her nerve was now catching up.

            The ambulance had finally arrived, along with two breathy fire trucks. As the paramedics rushed into the scene, the woman let out a desperate cry. Soon she was carried away on a stretcher, with an oxygen mask placed on her face. She turned her head aside and wanted to tell the paramedics to tend her husband, but somehow, deep down, despite her most fervent denial, she knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. The man whom she had shared half her life with was no more.