“Oh, No!” he gasped as he surveyed the disaster before him. Never in his 40 years of like had he seen anything like it. How anyone could have survived he did not know.
He could only hope that somewhere amid the overwhelming destruciton he would find his 16-year-old son. Only the slim hope of finding Danny kept him from turning and fleeing the scene. He took a deep breath and preceded.
Walking was virtually impossible with so many things strewn across his path. He moved ahead slowly.
“Danny, Danny!” he whispered to himself. He tripped oand 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 cired out, “Danny!”
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,” the man sighed, “and for Christ sake clean up this room.”