There was nothing but darkness. And silence.
Thousands of rounds of unrelenting carnage had reduced everything in its path to rubble, including large sections of wall, now lying in ruins along with much of the arched roof they had supported, causing portions of the flooring to buckle and collapse into the basement. Burying everyone in a cascade of wood, metal, and glass.
There was no sound except the ringing still in their ears. Gradually fading as though time had stopped—until someone sputtered and coughed.
It was Reiff, as he managed to slowly push a large chunk of wood off onto its side and snake out from under it.
He stood and tried to orient himself in the darkness before hearing something else move nearby.
“Can anyone hear me?” he called.
There was another cough. Female. Rachel. Groaning in pain. “Help. Me.”
Reiff tried to move toward her but was stopped by a pile of something unseen. Causing him to feel his way around it until he found Rachel’s hand. Next to her, Yamada cried out, muffled beneath debris.
“Oh my God. Help!”
Behind Reiff, the door to the small clinic was pulled inward, and one of the doctors rushed out, illuminated by red emergency lighting behind him. Inside, everything was on the floor, but the walls appeared intact—protected by the room’s concrete construction.
The doctor stared at Reiff, who must have looked like hell. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he took stock of the rubble in front of him. The remains of what appeared to be an antique desk. He pulled it off and grabbed Rachel’s arm. Joined by the doctor, who began moving debris off Yamada.
“What the hell was that?” cried Yamada.
“An attack.”
Reiff pulled the rest of the pieces off Rachel and had begun pulling her to her feet when she cried out. “Ow! Wait!” She tried to rise, but grabbed her left arm and shrank back to her knees. “My shoulder.”
“How bad is it?”
“I don’t know. I can’t move it.”
Together, Reiff and the doctor got her up, careful to avoid her arm. Once she was on her feet, they turned to Yamada, whose face was contorted in pain. “I think my leg is broken.”
They moved quickly, digging him free, and then Reiff turned to the stairs. The stairwell was completely filled in.
He motioned for the doctor’s help and clawed rapidly at the pile. The two of them moved as fast as they could to uncover the first step, then the next, and the next, until they spotted one of Waterman’s boots.
They moved faster. “Devin! Can you hear me?”
There was no answer.
Reiff pulled off part of the door of a small antique Coke machine, throwing it aside and exposing the older man’s waist and chest. “Devin!”
Together he and the doctor lifted another large section of splintered wood, and suddenly they saw Waterman’s head and face. Bloodied on one side with eyes staring up. Motionless.
After several long seconds, the eyes blinked. Then looked directly at Reiff.
“What the hell did you do to these people?”
It took nearly thirty minutes to free Waterman and finish clearing what was left of the narrow stairwell. Several wooden steps were gone, and only pieces of the original doorway were left standing. The door itself looked like Swiss cheese, twisted and mangled, hanging precariously by a single remaining hinge. Their only exit, blocked by something on the other side.
It was then that a voice could be heard from above. “Devin! You down there?”
Waterman limped to one of the holes above him and peered up through the smoke and dust, searching. “Wayne, over here!”
Part of his friend’s face appeared. “Good God! Are you okay?”
“More or less.”
Wayne looked up and surveyed the damage around him before peering back down. “Who in the hell did you piss off?”
Without waiting for a response, Wayne disappeared. He could be heard climbing over and through the wreckage before he returned a few minutes later. His face was forlorn. “Victoria’s dead.”
The old woman. Waterman’s expression fell, and he nodded.
“Give me a few minutes to try to move some things.”
Reiff struggled up the damaged stairs and banged against the remnants of the door to give Wayne an idea of where to start. At the bottom, one of the doctors was helping Rachel get her bandaged arm into a sling, adjusting the strap up and around her neck.
Why had their attackers fled? Why didn’t they stay to make sure the job was done? Reiff had no idea, and frankly, he didn’t care. All that mattered at the moment was that both doctors were unhurt, as well as Masten. And they all had to leave as quickly as possible.