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Wednesday, November 23, 2011

From "Drop By Drop: A Thriller" by Keith Raffel

Sam Rockman, a Stanford professor, is dropping his wife Rachel off at San Francisco International Airport:
I pulled Rachel's black Tumi case out of the trunk, extended the handle, and trotted into the terminal to check the gate for the flight to Boston. I arrived in front of the bank of terminals and turned around to look through the glass. Rachel waggled her fingers and blew me a kiss. I smiled, jerked a thumb at the video monitors, and turned around to find out her gate.

Then it hit me – an enormous whoosh and the sound of a dozen thunderclaps.

I was deaf. Couldn't hear anything.

I was blind. No, the air was filled with sooty black smoke.

I was on all fours. Sticky blood was smeared on the floor beneath me. I pushed down on my hands and heard the crunch of glass underneath them. Shards embedded themselves into my palms. The pain chased the grogginess away.

Rachel. I staggered up and crunched my way back toward her. Now I could see dim light through the smoke. The huge window I had just looked through had been blown out. Even as I stepped through the jagged opening, I could see an abandoned Accord in flames.

I started to scream.

"Rache, Rache." Where was she?

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