“Mom would be so proud of you today. You know that, right?”
Amanda froze. Beaming at her from the doorway where he stood, her dad appeared misty-eyed. She quickly turned away. Of course references to her mom would happen today. It was her college graduation—a milestone event. Today should be celebratory. But it wasn’t. Her mom could never be here. She was dead.
Ignoring her dad’s comments, she glanced around her empty dorm room. “I should check again to see if I packed everything.”
Chiara, her younger sister, burst out laughing. “Amanda, you checked the room three times. What you need to do is let me fix your hair.” Pulling a brush from her purse, Chiara stood behind her and began gathering the mass of black curls. “Think about how few people get to graduate from an Academy! You’re the first one in our whole family!” Chiara finished braiding. “You should look beautiful.”
“Well, I think Amanda always looks beautiful.” Their dad laid his strong, rough hands on a shoulder of each girl, looking from daughter to daughter with affection in his blue eyes. “Oh, I knew I’d almost forget. I got a little something for you … just a sec.” He fumbled in his coat pocket for a moment and pulled out a white corsage. “Go ahead and turn around. I’ll pin it on your robe, okay?”
Stifling a sigh, but not wanting to hurt his feelings, Amanda obeyed.
“That did the trick!” Her dad nodded.
Chiara tilted her head to the side. “And, you know, the corsage really distracts from the fact that you didn’t iron your robe.”
Outside the chapel bells began to toll.
“Gosh, we better get moving.” Her dad ushered them toward the door. “Remember to smile when you walk across the stage!”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “I’ll smile when this is over.”
Her dad and Chiara went in search of their seats; Amanda joined the long procession line. It was a perfect May morning: the sun shone in a cobalt-blue sky. There couldn’t have been more ideal conditions for an outdoor graduation ceremony. The various schools processed in, heralded regally by bagpipers. Amanda sat on the outer fringe of the graduates. Through the rows and rows of students ahead of her, she could just barely make out the stage. She spotted her dad and Chiara in the crowd behind her, beaming and waving.
The procession thus completed and the national anthem sung, everyone sat down. The first speaker was a biology professor who began by offering typical clichés and generic life tips. Amanda ignored him and started making a mental list of what art supplies she would need to pack for the Graduate Academy of Fine Art.
The crowd around her applauded politely, signaling that the professor’s droning was done at last. She awoke from her stupor and sat up a little straighter in her metal folding chair. She didn’t know how many speakers they had on tap, but at least they were one closer to diplomas being handed out—and then she could clear out of here.
At the podium, the Academy president cleared his throat and, in his monotone voice, announced, “I now have the privilege of calling forward the Most Reverend Bishop Stephen Fisher.”
Amanda heaved a quiet sigh. Her dad would be sitting on the edge of his seat now; she slumped in hers and gritted her teeth. She had chosen the Academy for its art program, not its religious affiliation. Considering her strong aversion to the latter, it was a testament to the quality of the art professors that she’d even enrolled here in the first place.
The bishop walked across the stage, the sun playing upon the gold cross that hung against his black robe. That gold could probably feed a lot of the Unfit. The church was always giving handouts to the starving masses; it seemed surprising they had any wealth left for their leaders.
His hands now grasping the edges of the podium, the bishop looked out into the crowd, his expression somber, lines of age marking his face. His voice, powerful in its force and passionate in its emphasis, reverberated and boomed through the microphone. “Graduates of Valor Academy, I come before you this morning with no professional or academic advice to offer. Instead, I bring you a grim admonition. The time has come for you to make a choice. I don’t refer to choosing a Graduate Academy or professional future. No, I am referring to your freedom.”
The bishop paused and leaned forward, then continued, his words still commanding. “In this time of unprecedented, so-called liberty in our nation—when so little is restricted or outlawed or punished—you have a choice: What will you do with this freedom? How will you charter your course in a world with no boundaries? Will you seek a ‘freedom from’ or a ‘freedom for’? Why have you been given this free—”
It happened in an instant. An ear-splitting, deafening sound of destruction silenced every other noise. A thunderous explosion came from the stage, obliterating everyone and everything in its immediate environs, and then cascaded outward into the defenseless crowd.
The ground beneath Amanda shook from the force. Her body was ripped from the chair, and she crashed into the ground a few feet away. Everything moved rapidly, like a movie on fast-forward, and she struggled to maintain consciousness. Dense, black smoke filled the air. Past that, massive flames reached into the sky. The fireball roared, and tiny bits of shrapnel slashed through the air, only halting when meeting the defenseless flesh of the victims.
Then came the terrified, panicked screams—a high-pitched, spontaneous chorus of shock and pain … a melody of death.
The spot where the bishop had been mere seconds ago was now vacant, save for the consuming fire. The rows of graduates closest to the stage were also gone, their fragile bodies no match for the explosive shock wave.
Gasping, coughing, and wheezing, Amanda struggled to get up. She had to get out of here, as fast as—No! She had to find her dad and Chiara. They were behind her, somewhere in the frenzy. She started to sit up, but a fellow graduate, his arm pouring blood, plowed through the chairs and trampled her right leg. Amanda fell back to the ground, stifling a cry and clutching her leg. The heat of the flames drew ever closer, and she screamed as her heart raced and chest clenched, her voice joining countless others.
Another person raced by her, this time shoving chairs out of his way. Amanda ducked, covering her head with her arms. Several metal chairs crashed on top of her. Dozens of students emerged from the thick black smoke, racing toward her, entirely blind and indifferent to her in their panic. She stared up at them, paralyzed with fear and horror. If she didn’t die from the blazing fire, she might still get trampled to death.
“Stop!” Amanda yelled. She tried to scramble out of the way, but her movements were clumsy and she fumbled to even stand, pain running up and down her body.
At that moment, two strong hands seized her, pulled her up from the ground, and supported her. Amanda found herself half-stumbling, half-walking. Dazed and wincing, she turned and looked at her unexpected rescuer.
He stared back, the lightest of blue eyes watching her. “Follow me.”
She asked no questions, but let him guide her away from the wreckage. He must have been one of the graduates too. He wore neatly pressed khakis and a crisp white dress shirt with a navy-blue tie. It was distracting to think about him—a good distraction. In fact, there was something about him, something very familiar. She must have taken a class with him. Maybe freshman year?
They kept walking, farther and farther away from the main quad, the sound of sirens now wailing all around them. Her companion strode with determination, as though he had a set destination in mind.
At last, the crowd thinned, and they stopped outside one of the administrative buildings on the fringe of campus.
The other graduate gestured for her to have a seat on the steps. “You will be safe here.”
Amanda swallowed hard. She looked down at her hands: they were shaking. “Wh-What just happened?”
“Evil.”
“Amanda! Amanda!”
She jumped up at the sound of her name: it was her dad calling. Forgetting any pain, she hobbled toward him, falling into his arms. Chiara walked just behind him, and she rushed forward, grabbing Amanda and sobbing.
“Oh, thank God!” Her dad’s voice trembled as he clutched her.
Amanda stiffened in his arms. Thank God? Where was God in all of this?
Her dad stepped back a moment, looking Amanda up and down. “Are you hurt at all?”
“No … I don’t think so. Nothing really serious at least. What about you and Chiara?”
Chiara took a breath between her cries and tried to get the words out. “We were … far enough away … but we saw everything. The bomb exploding, the fire, the …”
Amanda could finish the sentence: the victims.
“Let’s get out of here.” Their dad put his arms around both of them. “I’m sure the Justice and Protection Division will be here soon.” His face hardened with a look of disdain. “Unless they’ve already executed their justice.”
Wanting to thank the other graduate for saving her life, Amanda turned around, but he was nowhere to be seen.