Excerpt of Chain Reaction by Diane Fanning

Chapter One

Routine. Ordinary. Typical. Just what Bob and Elsie
Cornwall did every Sunday
morning. They pulled out their walking shoes, snapped the
leash on the harness
of their sable Sheltie, Herman, and went on their regular
walk. Two blocks east,
two blocks South, a circumnavigation of the high school,
then back the way they
came.

All was quiet and peaceful in the neighborhood as they
strolled through on the
way to the campus. Walking past the east side of the
building, approaching the
front of the school, they startled at an unexpected sound.
With a rumble, a
jacked-up, red pick-up truck tore away from the front,
spraying dirt and clumps
of grass.

Bob and Elsie stopped where they stood. Elsie wondered
that if they had been ten
feet further along, would the vehicle would have run them
down in its rush to
flee? Herman barked loud and high, frightened and
disturbed by the interruption
of the morning’s quiet peace.

Still parked by the entrance, a large flatbed with wooden
plank sides held
containers partially filled with bins of grass clippings
and leaves. On the
steps leading inside, a man in a red flannel shirt, blue
jeans and a ball cap
stood abruptly. In one hand, he held a big, browned
biscuit. A slice of ham
slid out of his partially eaten breakfast and fell on the
ground.

Blaring horns and squealing brakes drew their attention
back to the red truck
that had just run a stoplight as it pulled into the
highway. It all happened so
fast that Bob and Elsie didn’t have enough time to process
their surroundings
before the fury roared outward from inside of the school.

Bricks fell off the facade. The pillars at the entrance
crumpled, burying the
man on his lunch break. The shock knocked the two walkers
to the ground. Bob
dropped the leash as he fell and Herman ran off as fast as
he could, his tail
tucked between his legs.
For a moment neither Bob nor Elsie could hear as the
explosion reverberated in
their ears. They looked at each other and blinked, then
gingerly pushed up from
the ground. Elsie screamed for Herman but the sheltie was
focused on his escape
and could not hear the sound of her voice. He seemed to be
heading in the
direction of their home. She could only hope she’d find
him there later. She
rushed over to the rubble where the man had once stood.

Blood spattered over the busted bricks. The man’s legs,
pinned under the fallen
pillars, twisted at unnatural angles. His face was
battered and his eyes wide
open as they stared, visionless, into space. Elsie felt
her head spin and a
surge of bile rising in her throat. She threw her hand
over her mouth and
staggered away at a fast clip. She disgorged the contents
of her stomach on the
asphalt parking lot.

Bob rushed to her side and wrapped an arm around her as she
continued to heave
even after there was nothing left. “He’s dead?” Bob
whispered.

Elsie nodded her head. As a retired emergency room nurse,
she’d seen a lot of
gruesome injuries in the past but somehow, outside of the
hospital environment,
it felt more shocking and had a much greater emotional
impact. She could smell
the primitive scent of blood mingled with the construction
site scent of
concrete, mortar and brick dust. Her eyes stung from the
particles in the air.
The sounds around her echoed in her ears creating an
internal roar that seemed
louder than the blast itself.

In the apartment building across the exit road, windows
flew open, people ran
outside. Blocked from coming any closer by the tall chain
link fence that
separated the building from the school, they wrapped their
fingers through the
holes as they stared in disbelief. Approaching sirens
wailed, drowning out the
sound of shouted questions from the spectators. By the
time Elsie was erect
again, marked and unmarked vehicles were screeching to a
halt around her. An
ambulance pulled up to the front of the school. And EMT’s
quick stepped out of
it, carrying bags of equipment and supplies.

Police officers asked Bob and Elsie for their names and
then placed them in the
back of separate cars. Elsie objected loudly to being
parted from her husband.
A young, freckled officer apologized, telling her it was
necessary to keep them
from talking together until they had been interviewed
separately. Elsie knew it
was senseless to argue but she resented her isolation just
the same.

The wait felt interminable to Elsie. Her mind wandered to
worries about Herman,
making her oblivious to the approaching detective. She
shouted out involuntarily
when the front door of the vehicle jerked open and a woman
with a face that bore
subtle traces of old scars slid into the seat and leaned
back towards her.
Holding out her identification, she said, “I’m Lieutenant
Pierce, Mrs. Cornwall.
I need to ask you a few questions.”

Elsie nodded mutely. Lucinda blew out a frustrated puff
of air when Elsie said
that she had not noticed the license plate number of the
fleeing pick-up.

“Was there anyone else in the area?” Lucinda asked

“Herman,” Elsie said.

“Herman who? And where did he go?”

“I wish I knew. He’s our dog. He ran off. He was
frightened by the loud
noises.”

Lucinda blew out another puff of air.