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!”