"Oh, No!" I gasped as I
surveyed the disaster before me.
Never in my 46 years of life had I seen
anything like it. How anyone
could have survived I did not know.
I could only hope that somewhere
amid the overwhelming destruction I would
find my 15-year-old son.
Only the slim hope of finding Sam kept
me from turning and
fleeing the scene. I took a deep
breath and proceeded.
Walking was virtually impossible with so
many things strewn
across my path. I moved ahead
slowly.
"Sam! Sam!" I whispered
in the dark.. I tripped and
almost fell several times. I heard
someone, or something, move. At
least I thought I did. Perhaps, I
was just hoping I did. I shook
my head and felt my gut tighten.
I 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
my hand. I jerked it
away. In desperation, I took another
step then cried out, "Sam!"
From a nearby pile of unidentified material,
I heard my son.
"Yes, Dad," he said, in a voice so weak
I could hardly hear.
