Under a Broken Sun Read Online Free

Without thinking about it, I had dug my fingernails deep across my arm.  Just like Marilyn.  I could feel the tension releasing.  Able to focus.
    The noise settled and people fell closer to some level of organization.  I helped some guy limp off to a wall where he could prop himself up.  Another woman asked me to hold a bandage while she wrapped cloth around her knee.  The cops did their best to direct the human traffic, but you could sense an underlying panic building the longer every electronic device remained dead.  Everyone knew it.  Something should work.  Even a fucking flashlight.  Or one of those radios you hand crank.  Something.
    A cop shouted, "Can I have your attention please?"  Everyone jumped and turned in the direction of the cop standing on chairs in front of a gate.  “Ladies and gentlemen, please give me your attention.”  Things quieted down except for the hysterical few who couldn’t hold it in.  “There are several police officers on the scene here as well as EMT’s and trained doctors and nurses.  Please remain calm.  We will be setting up a triage area to move the wounded to.  If you’re not injured, please report to me so that we can put you to work.  We will definitely need your help.  If you are wounded, please stay where you are, don’t try to move.  You may only cause more harm to yourself.”
    “What the hell happened?” Someone shouted.  "Where are the ambulances, or firemen?"
    “We’re not sure,” the cop offered.  “All we know is that all power, communications, and electronics are out.”  The crowd grew restless: “what?”, “terrorists?”, “it’s a nuclear bomb”.
    The cop raised his hands to quiet everyone down.  “We’re working the situation and hope to have an answer soon.  Please remain calm and stay where you are.”  He paused, looking down at a piece of paper.  “Would the following individual please report to me: Mr. Adam Dawson.” 
    What the fuck do they want with me?   I looked around.  I didn’t have much time to make a decision.  People shuffled around me moving bodies, parts of bodies, or wounded.  Humans acting on their basic need for organization and structure.  Was anyone looking at me?
    Everyone is . 
    My carry-on.  The cop calling my name.  They can't know it's me.
    They can, and they do.
    “Let’s go,” someone said behind me.  I turned.  It was Marilyn, her eyes still red and swollen.  “Now,” she whispered.  “They think you did it.  Or know something.  They asked me about you.  Move!  Now!”
    I didn’t have to be told twice.
     
    I’ve had enough run-ins with the boys in blue to know how they think: solve the case first, worry about proof after.  After my DUI (my only DUI, thank you), they worked their ass off to make me seem like an asshole, even though it was my first offense.  They’ve got a job to do, I guess, and they’ll do it no matter who they crush.
    Marilyn led me by the hand as we walked at a quick pace out of the terminal wreckage.  She seemed much more in control, even calm.  Then I saw why; her arm was a mess.  Small streaks of blood ran down from thin lines of red up her left arm, I counted about six of them.  She’d been busy.
    “What did they say?” I asked her.
    “After you left, I saw the cops talking to each other.  They pulled me aside and asked if I knew an Adam Dawson.  I said no.  They wrote down everything.”
    “Hill,” I said. We passed a dark McDonald’s with a handful of very confused workers.  “He must’ve told them it was my fault.”
    “Who?” 
    “Never mind.  I should go to the cops."
    Marilyn stopped me and turned towards me.  “No way.  Look, everyone thinks we’ve been hit by terrorists.  They’re sure they flew into the other plane on purpose.”
    “Yeah but that’s not true-“I protested.
    “It doesn’t matter,” she went on.  “They believe what they want to believe and the police want to show authority.  If