Tom could only hope that somewhere amid the overwhelming destruction he would find his 16-year-old son
Only the slim hope of finding Alex kept him from turning and fleeing the scene
He took a deep breath and proceeded.
Walking was virtually impossible with so many things strewn across his path
He moved ahead slowly.
“Alex! Alex!” he whispered to himself
He tripped and almost fell several times
He heard someone, or something, move
At least he thought he did
Perhaps, he was just hoping he did
He shook his head and felt his gut tighten.
He couldn't understand how this could have happened
There was some light but not enough to see very much
Something cold and wet brushed against his hand
He jerked it away.
In desperation, he took another step then cried out, “Alex!”
From a nearby pile of unidentified material, he heard his son
“Yes, Dad,” he said, in a voice so weak it could hardly be heard.
“It's time to get up and get ready for school,” Tom sighed, “And, for goodness sake, clean up this room!”