The tires of the ambulance shrieked over the deafening siren as the driver made a hard left at the intersection. A small canal in the center of the street opened as the vehicles in front of them parted. John laid on the horn, making their presence known to any who couldn't see them. Patrick sat in the passenger seat with one foot up on the dash and both hands gripping anything he could.
"You think it was terrorists?" Patrick asked.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" John replied before laying on the horn again. "Get outta the fucking way!"
"You know, I never thought we'd have a terrorist attack," Patrick said. "I mean, not with him around, you know?"
"Just shut up with the terrorist shit," John said. "We don't know what it is, or why. All we know is that there's been an explosion. Just because something blew up doesn’t mean it was terrorists."
"You know he saved me once..." Patrick said.
"Yeah, you told me. Whoop-de-do," John replied, before yanking the steering wheel to the left.
The ambulance lurched, bumping over a curb. John rode with two tires on the sidewalk for almost a block before pulling back into traffic. Just as they passed under a green light, two cop cars joined them. John flashed one of the officers a nod and punched it.
"We're getting close," he told Patrick.
"GPS says less than one minute,” Patrick replied. "We should be able to...Jesus."
A tall black column of smoke poured into the sky, rising up from a behind a building. They slowed down and drove through a police barricade. A black cop with white gloves waved them in while doing his best to divert traffic from the scene.
"Goddamn rubberneckers," Patrick said.
"Tell me about it," John replied. "You think your boss breathing down your neck is bad? These fucks come with camera phones and unlimited data."
As they came around the corner, both their eyes went wide. A pillar of orange flame roared from the crater, searing the air above. The street and part of a service station had sunk almost ten feet into the ground. The asphalt around the blaze had liquefied, turning into a black tar.
Bodies were scattered around the broken asphalt. Most were intact, but the remains of some were strewn about, leaving solid red chunks staining the cracked blacktop. Injured people ran frantically about, confused and disoriented while the understaffed police tried their best to corral them away from the disaster.
"Let's go," John said, parking the ambulance.
He opened his door and hopped out. He grabbed his equipment and rushed over to the nearest person he could find. It was a young girl, stumbling around like she was lost. He shined his pen light in her eyes to check her pupils. They were unresponsive. He turned back to find Patrick, but he was still in the passenger seat, stunned by the carnage before them.
John ran back to his door, which still hung open and said, "Don't freeze up on me now! I need you!"
"Right," Patrick muttered. "Right, right, right!"
His white-knuckled hand clenched the door handle, but he still didn't open it. Instead, he watched that little girl, looking around for her mother as blood ran down the side of her face.
"Ok!" he said, and shot into action. Before he realized what he was doing, Patrick already had his things and was examining a woman who had deep burns on her face and neck.
"We’re going to need some help here!" Patrick said.
"It's already been radioed in!" John replied.
The woman in front of Patrick snapped out of her stupor, and went livid as he tried to bandage her up. She fought and kicked at him as he tried his best to hold her down. She cried out, and stretched out her arms.
"My baby girl!" she screamed.
It was then that he saw what she was freaking out about. A small girl, lying in the crater was looking up at them, crying out. Her dark matted hair clung to her horrified face as soot discolored her skin. She was within feet of the powerful blaze and no one could reach her.
The ruptured gas line hiccupped, sending a rolling fireball over the little girl’s head. She screamed out in fear and reached for her impotent mother. The woman started to rush in when John grabbed her.
“No!" he screamed, fighting her. Soot streaked down with her tears, cutting muddy lines down her cheeks.
The roaring flame sputtered and stopped, leaving everyone lost in the wake of silence. The panic and fear it had caused was so much that its absence seemed to confuse everyone further until the woman broke free and ran to her terrified child. As her arms went around the girl’s neck, everyone sprung back from their doe eyed stupor. John and Patrick rushed towards her with a blanket and took her from her mother’s arms. They carried her off towards the ambulance with the relieved mother following behind. At that moment more ambulances showed up, and the place was filled with firemen and EMT’s, all rushing off to do their jobs.
"We got the gas off," said a city worker, tilting his yellow hard hat to wipe his sweaty brow. He was a round man with thin arms and legs. His deep eyes rested beneath two bushy eyebrows and his upper lip was hidden by a thick brown mustache.
"Good work!" John said, administering aid to the young girl.
"We’re extremely lucky this pipe didn't fly out of the ground. I've seen a giant one whip around. Took out half a block," he said.
"Okay, sweetheart," John said, cleaning a few cuts as she breathed through an oxygen mask. "We’re gonna have to take you to the hospital for further examination, but we are going to have to take a few others with us, okay?"
The girl nodded and he patted her on the head. Turning away from her, he got a clear view of the destruction around. The bubbling tar mixed with the blood, sizzling and popping. He wiped his brow and turned back to the girl who was now pulling on his lapels.
"It's okay sweetheart,” he said with a faint smile. “I've gotta go help some of the other people real quick and we'll be off, okay?"
Once again she nodded, and he got up. Just as he was getting ready to walk away, a shadow passed overhead. He looked up, and saw the silhouette of a man in the sky.
"Great," John said, rolling his eyes.
"Holy shit," Patrick said over John's shoulder. "It’s him!"
"Yep, just in time for the news cameras," John said.
"C’mon, don't be such a cynic," Patrick said as the man touched down with ease.
Alpha surveyed the area, turning in a complete circle as he examined the destruction. He was adorned in his typical skin tight costume of red and white. Gaudy to most, but iconic all the same. The hero’s somber, tightened lips annoyed John.
"What happened here?" Alpha asked, just as the camera crew for channel five showed up.
"And you called me a cynic," John said, getting back to work.
"Cut ‘em some slack," Patrick said. "He can't be everywhere all the time."
"He always finds time for red carpets and microphones," John said, eyeballing the stout man as he talked with the police. "Come on, let's get back to work. He can handle the camera crews on his own.”
