An explosion. A large explosion at that. It sounded close, about a mile away. He looked out the window of the car.
Smoke billowed through the sky from the north of them. He tensed up for a moment, thinking of the power plant.
A sigh of relief. The power plant was to the south. So what was north? The camp?
He gulped down air in haste. He had to go see. He turned to Alisa. "I'm going to go and check that out. You coming?"
She sat up. "Sure. I've nothing better to do."
Thus began their journey. They were both silent the entire way, though they walked hand-in-hand at a fast pace. Both had the same dilemma. If the camp had been destroyed, did they really want to know? Had everyone been inside?
Simultaneously, they pushed those thoughts from their minds. They simply had to see it.
The scene that lay before them was horrid. The explosion had indeed occured at the camp. He could see no one else standing around the rubble and while it relieved him not to see dead bodies and such, it plagued him as to why no one else was there.
He called out questions, not sure if he wanted answers. "Anybody here? Can you hear me? Hello?"
No answers. He started to run around the collapsed building searching for any signs of life. He heard Alisa calling to him, but didn't allow her words to take hold in his mind.
He was halfway around the building. He carefully searched through the crumbled rock, noting places not to step. There. He saw something flesh-toned.
He ran to it. It was a hand. That he could see from seven feet away. He was careful not to go any closer than that without knowing exactly what he was stepping on.
He cleared an area in front of his feet. A little closer. He tossed the rocks behind him. Closer... A little closer. He came to the hand.
He carefully dug it out. It was male. There was no mistaking that. Unless Linda Tripp had somehow made it into the camp. He shuddered thinking of how "she" would sing.
He was down to a shoulder. The shirt was dark blue, torn and soaked with blood.
A few more pieces of rock. The face of the victim was revealed. He gasped. He fought an inner struggle and dug on.
All the stone was gone from the man's body, except for the stone in his heart. The man who lay at Taylor's feet was none other than a man he had grown to despise, Kitler.
Why had he dug up his body? He could have left him there after seeing his face. Not could have, should have. Even now, he could, probably even should, kick the man who had made part of his life miserable. But he couldn't.
He turned away from the bloody body. He walked away. He didn't want to be here. Not here. Not now. Strange how that happened a lot lately.
Alisa held out her arms to him. He buried his face in her shoulder. A tear or two fell. Where was everybody?
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