stop. Stopping would’ve been like somebody blowing a huge whistle and telling us all to not run anymore because the race had decided to just end. No, what happened with us was so much more than just stopping. The runners that were way in front of us got to finish, hearing a commotion but not knowing what was going on. Runners behind us continued to run for a while until they were told they had to get to safety. But for us, the marathon simply descended into utter chaos and hell.”
Erin had already told him that she was seeing her counselor that day, and he was glad. Not foolish enough to think that he wouldn’t suffer some trauma from the day's events, the reality was that he was unconscious for most of it and his trauma was more physical. Erin, however, had not only taken the brunt of the explosion but had to deal with the aftermath.
Clicking the button on his PCA pump, he shifted again slightly and lifted his arm. “Lay with me.”
She opened her mouth, and he was sure she was going to argue. Instead, she nodded before leaning over to snag one of the blankets from her makeshift bed. Stretching out on her side next to him with her head on his shoulder and his arm curled around her, she dragged the blanket over both of them.
It was a tight fit, not at all like his large bed at home. But with her tucked against his side, it felt right. He had no idea how comfortable it was for her, but as her breathing deepened and she found sleep again, he smiled. Rolling his head to the side so his lips were pressed against her forehead, he kissed her lightly, mumbling against her skin. “I do love you, Erin. I promise we're going to get through this. Together.”
22
Marty Tucker’s Apartment
Marty had spent the rest of the day hiding in his apartment, glued to the TV, his stomach in knots as he listened to the newscasters.
“Cowards who attacked innocent runners…”
“Terrorists of the lowest form, not caring for human life or suffering…”
“What kind of person creates a propellant that fires nails at gunshot speed into innocent people?”
“There were children nearby, waiting to cheer on their parents or friends or maybe just to cheer on a runner in the marathon, excited for the event, and now are in the hospital, several that our station has found are fighting for their lives…”
“This was not an attack on our city, but on our citizens… on men and women who had done nothing other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time…”
There was no mention of Stepanov Warehouses. No mention of the sale of the warehouse and the loss of their jobs. No mention of all the former employees who had worked there and wanted the city council to take notice of their business practices. Nothing.
It was all about the human suffering of the people that were too close to the bombs. Image after image filled the screen, all of the injured people. The street camera view that kept playing over and over of both bombs detonating didn’t even include the angle that showed the words Stepanov on the side of the building.
Standing, he paced, unable to sit any longer. A knock on his door brought his feet to a halt, his heart pounding in his chest. Remembering he’d called his brother, he tiptoed to the peephole and let out a sigh of relief at seeing Bob standing there. Throwing open the door, he leaned his head out and checked the hall before grabbing his brother’s shirt and dragging him in. Slamming the door, he flipped the lock. He’d barely turned around before Bob’s excitement bubbled forth.
“Isn’t this great? We’re all over the news! It’s all about what we did—”
“Oh, is it?” he shouted, eyes wide, not caring about the shock of surprise on Bob’s face. “Is it? Have you seen one thing about the mayor making a bad deal with Stepanov Warehouses? Have you heard anyone say anything about how the city should pay for their mistakes? No? Because I sure as hell haven’t!”
“But—”
“But what, Bob? What?”
“But Pop was all excited at home. He wanted to know why you didn’t come over to celebrate. He’s been drinking ever since it happened—”
Throwing his hands up into the air, Marty rolled his eyes while shaking his head. “Oh, yeah, Bob. Dad drinking certainly says everything about celebrating, doesn’t it? Hell, when hasn’t