Dena jerked. Her arms flew up, as if making a supplication. Then she collapsed on the ground. The crack and spit persisted. It was coming from above and to the side of the stage. Sweeping from the stage out to the crowd. Protestors in the front rows fell like dominoes. As the crowd began to realize what was happening, shrieks and cries erupted, and people in the front massed and swarmed those farther back in a panicked effort to escape. Protestors climbed or stomped over others, and the screams of people mowed down by their neighbors intensified. Thousands of confused, frightened people rushed the park’s exits, scattering like cockroaches exposed to unexpected light.
Ruth was staring at the horrific scene when someone or something tackled her from the rear. Her feet went numb, she lost her balance, and she dropped. A tremendous weight pressed down on her. Pain so sharp she couldn’t inhale. She was on her stomach, and she tried to roll over so the weight would fall off, but when she tried to move, nothing happened. She wanted to let the weight know she couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t form the words. The edges of her vision grew dark. Just before she lost consciousness, she heard sirens.