Dave Golding thanked God he'd risked missing the start of Foreman's speech to pop some pills. If he hadn't been in the restroom when the bombs went off, he would surely be dead.
There was also the fact that the three Vicodin he had swallowed were all that prevented him from flipping out completely. Even so, they didn't stop him shaking as he stared around at the carnage. He was back with the senator, who was trying to comfort the old man whose wife had just died from her injuries. Todd's arm was in a really bad way. Dave had ripped up a T-shirt from his backpack and used it as a tourniquet, and had also improvised a sling. He then handed his friend a couple of Vicodin. Todd was so grateful and so distracted by pain, he didn't even ask where they came from.
'We can't stay here,' Kyle Foreman said.
'I'm not leaving her . . .' Marty Gardiner croaked.
'Mr Gardiner, I understand, but –'
'I can't.'
Foreman stood up. 'There could be more bombs,' he said quietly to Dave and Todd.
'We can't take the front,' Todd replied through clenched teeth. The Vicodin would barely scratch the surface of his pain, even when they kicked in.
'I realise that.'
'So . . . what?'
The senator did a 360-degree turn. Uniform devastation. Except . . . Looking closely, Foreman saw that the destruction wasn't actually uniform. The second blast had come from under the auditorium, but, he reasoned, the first bomb must have been hidden close to the reception desk. He could see this from the pattern of the debris – rubble, metal, plastic, body parts – which fanned out from there in all directions. But to the left of Reception and the gaping hole in the back wall, another concrete wall ran perpendicular into the Main Concourse. This had taken a hammering but hadn't collapsed, and behind it was a lobby and a set of elevators. He could see, just beyond them, an emergency exit sign.
Foreman knelt on one knee beside Marty. 'Mr Gardiner, I think you should come with us.'
The old man looked up for a moment, his eyes wet with tears. 'I'm not leaving her.'
'You can't stay here. The roof could come down. There could be another bomb.'
'I don't care.'
Foreman didn't know what to say.
'Forty-two years,' Marty murmured. He stroked his dead wife's hair. It was pure white, almost translucent. 'Not many marriages last a fraction as long. Certainly not in these godforsaken times. But this is my fault. I knew Nancy didn't really want to be here tonight. I railroaded her into the whole damn eco thing. I know it.'
Foreman touched Marty's arm. 'Mr Gardiner – may I call you Marty?'
The old man didn't take his eyes from Nancy's face.
'Marty, you can't blame yourself. You don't know for sure your wife thought that way.'
'Oh, I know. I knew, and I didn't say anything. I was too damn selfish. Too full of my own opinions. And now look what I've done.'
Foreman was trying to gather his thoughts. 'Okay, so let's say you're right. Why do you think she went along with it? Because she loved you, Marty.'
The old man broke down again, leaning in close to his wife's body. His shoulders shook as he sobbed.
'And you know what?' Foreman continued. 'She wouldn't have wanted you to stay here. Would she?'
Marty didn't reply. Foreman stood and walked over to the others, who were looking nervous and clearly wanted to move.
'I can't do any more,' he told them. 'Come on.'
They turned towards the back of the Main Concourse. Dave hitched his backpack and they started to weave a path through the rubble.
'Wait,' a small voice said.
They turned in unison to see Marty Gardiner in the same crouched position, with his wife's hand in both of his. He wasn't looking at the senator and the young men. It seemed like he couldn't break away from the woman he had spent most of his life with. 'You're right,' he added, still not looking up. 'You're right.'
He laid Nancy's hands across her chest, ran his fingers through her hair one last time, and eased himself up. And without looking back he picked his way over to the others.