"It was from the orphanage." A policeman told him in broken English.
"Fucking machines, it was from the orphanage." The officer's hand
gripped his sidearm with whitening knuckles.
"Machines?" Crow asked. "Orphanage?"
"The bus was from the orphanage. The machines are revolting." The officer focused on Crow as if noticing him for the first time. "Get out of here tourist. There are bombs all over the city. Go back to your hotel or get to the airport."
Crow heard more noise in the distance, what sounded like gunfire in clattering bursts. His ears swore there were more explosions, but his imagination may have taken over. It seemed that the officer was right, that he should make his way somewhere safe like St. Basil's. The church would know what to do with a little baby. He bundled the baby as well as he could inside his tuxedo, not much of a shield from the elements, but better than dieing of frostbite. The wetness had already started to freeze into the fabric, so Crow moved as quickly as possible, trudging towards the tall domes on the other side of the square.
Crow watched the main dome of St. Basil's crack for an immeasurable split second before the sound of the blast ripped through his body, snapping his ear drums just short of the bursting point. The pressure of the shock wave tumbled Crow's body into the air and against a row of benches, his back screaming in pain. His eyes focused again on the crater that had been St. Basil's at the last blink of his eyes. Nothing remained of the storied domes and tapered lines that had survived a dozen wars and occupations over the centuries. Smoke billowed in a growing column around the fading fireball, mounting in a helix into a cloud blossoming outwards two hundred feet above the square. Crow had seen pictures of mushroom clouds, but had never imagined that he would see a real one.
People lay collapsed around the square, spilled like dominos away from the blast. An eerie silence covered the survivors and for a moment Crow thought that he was deaf, but then the first screams began. Handfuls of people rushed at the devastation and were pulled down by friends and strangers or driven back by the heat. Oh god, they know people who were inside. Crow thought. His mind snapped out of the shock, the first rational thought washing over him.
"Trinan!" Crow screamed. "David!" Crow scrambled up, abused body ignored by need. Crow ran, stumbling through snow and then slipping through the slush of melt caused by the explosion's heat. A stranger grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back, wrestling Crow to the ground when he continued to fight his way forward. Crow felt the rush of wetness through his tuxedo and the random thought of losing his deposit on the rental crossed his mind, hardly standing out from the cacophony of other insanity. A gruff voice tinged with cigarettes and age rumbled into his ear.
"It's gone, son. There's nothing left." The stranger said. "Take care of the kid you've still got."
Crow looked down and remembered the baby in his arms, forgotten for the moments of shock. Crow pushed the stranger away gently, and crawled a yard or two before collapsing back onto his knees, staring at the ruinous inferno, flames stroking the air since there was not even any wreckage to consume. He sobbed in utter despair, whispering the names of his wife and son, hoping beyond hope that they had somehow survived, that they had slipped out right behind him for fresh air or shopping or anything at all.
"Machines?" Crow asked. "Orphanage?"
"The bus was from the orphanage. The machines are revolting." The officer focused on Crow as if noticing him for the first time. "Get out of here tourist. There are bombs all over the city. Go back to your hotel or get to the airport."
Crow heard more noise in the distance, what sounded like gunfire in clattering bursts. His ears swore there were more explosions, but his imagination may have taken over. It seemed that the officer was right, that he should make his way somewhere safe like St. Basil's. The church would know what to do with a little baby. He bundled the baby as well as he could inside his tuxedo, not much of a shield from the elements, but better than dieing of frostbite. The wetness had already started to freeze into the fabric, so Crow moved as quickly as possible, trudging towards the tall domes on the other side of the square.
Crow watched the main dome of St. Basil's crack for an immeasurable split second before the sound of the blast ripped through his body, snapping his ear drums just short of the bursting point. The pressure of the shock wave tumbled Crow's body into the air and against a row of benches, his back screaming in pain. His eyes focused again on the crater that had been St. Basil's at the last blink of his eyes. Nothing remained of the storied domes and tapered lines that had survived a dozen wars and occupations over the centuries. Smoke billowed in a growing column around the fading fireball, mounting in a helix into a cloud blossoming outwards two hundred feet above the square. Crow had seen pictures of mushroom clouds, but had never imagined that he would see a real one.
People lay collapsed around the square, spilled like dominos away from the blast. An eerie silence covered the survivors and for a moment Crow thought that he was deaf, but then the first screams began. Handfuls of people rushed at the devastation and were pulled down by friends and strangers or driven back by the heat. Oh god, they know people who were inside. Crow thought. His mind snapped out of the shock, the first rational thought washing over him.
"Trinan!" Crow screamed. "David!" Crow scrambled up, abused body ignored by need. Crow ran, stumbling through snow and then slipping through the slush of melt caused by the explosion's heat. A stranger grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back, wrestling Crow to the ground when he continued to fight his way forward. Crow felt the rush of wetness through his tuxedo and the random thought of losing his deposit on the rental crossed his mind, hardly standing out from the cacophony of other insanity. A gruff voice tinged with cigarettes and age rumbled into his ear.
"It's gone, son. There's nothing left." The stranger said. "Take care of the kid you've still got."
Crow looked down and remembered the baby in his arms, forgotten for the moments of shock. Crow pushed the stranger away gently, and crawled a yard or two before collapsing back onto his knees, staring at the ruinous inferno, flames stroking the air since there was not even any wreckage to consume. He sobbed in utter despair, whispering the names of his wife and son, hoping beyond hope that they had somehow survived, that they had slipped out right behind him for fresh air or shopping or anything at all.
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