Page 99 of Sol
For a moment, I was back in Afghanistan, holding Degan. Holding his bloody body. Gettingsoaked.
A man stumbled by me holding a stained shirt to his face, and I smelled that awful scent of explosives andblood.
“Dani!” I started yelling. “Danika Anderson! Where areyou?”
Dozens of postcards covered in soot with pictures of the Alhambra lay scattered at my feet. Someone’s travel dreams burned to acrisp.
The smoke choked me, but I still keptgoing.
“Dani!”
People bumped into each other, shoving, prodding. I ran under the police tape. Someone yelled at me. I didn’t care if I was running into the line of fire. I didn’t care if I got hurt. My life was not worth living if she wasn’t safe. I needed to go get her. I passed women sitting on curbs, with ice to their bleeding heads. A man carried out on a stretcher. Then a child on astretcher.
Firemen applied water to a burning building one block from the movietheater.
Where wasshe?
Ambulances gathered, pushing their way through thecrowds.
Rolling outstretchers.
All my senses on alert. I was gonna find her. Or dietrying.
