Chapter Three

The cars were burning fiercely, the sound of flames, the moans of the injured and the dying, achingly loud through the town, shocked into silence by the violence of the explosion.

Michelle lurched to her feet, staggering as she tried to catch her balance. She felt something trickle down the side of her face, and brought her hand up to touch it. Her fingers came away crimson, stained with her own blood. She stared at them for a second, pain knifing through her, then raised her gaze to the street.

It was littered with bodies.

Memories of another explosion, of more bodies lying twisted and broken lanced through her, followed by another flash of pain. She pressed her hands against her ears, ignoring the blood seeping through her hair. Trying to blot out the screams.

She could still hear them. Their pleas for help, for mercy.

She kept her eyes on the burning cars, stumbling down the street, trying to ignore the pain stabbing through her body. Michelle gritted her teeth, forcing herself to take slow aching step after step. There could still be people alive in that mess.

The flames grew hotter, burning against her skin, the sound and smell dominating her senses. She realised she could hear sirens, growing louder as the vehicles raced closer to the scene.

And still the cars burned. Still people died.

Gathering her courage, Michelle took another step towards the wreckage. Wondering how she was going to open the door. How she was going to get any survivors out of there.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, please!"

She felt arms around her waist, dragging her away from the scene. The sudden violent motion caught her off balance and she stumbled, adding another twist of pain to her aching body.

"You'll have to stay back, ma'am." His eyes were still focused on the wreckage. "It's not safe."

She glanced at her rescuer, a young man in a sheriff's uniform. "There could still be people alive in there!"

A fire engine skidded to a halt, its crew leaping down to attack the smouldering ruin. They were soon sweating against the heat of the cars and the sun.

He kept a tight grip around her waist, as she struggled to free herself to help the fire crews. "There's nothin' alive in there ma'am. If the crash didn't get them, then the fuel tank goin' up did."

Her eyes slipped close as he spoke, his words seeming to weave and echo around her ears before she could make sense of them. "It wasn't a crash." Even her voice seemed faint.

"Ma'am? Ma'am are you okay? Did you see what happened?"

"I....I think...I hurt my head." She pressed her hands against her forehead. So hot. It was so hot." "I saw...the car explode."

He raised his voice. "Laura? Laura get over here!" He waited until another deputy ran over to them. "I have a witness here Laura. Will you take her to see Ben and make sure she gets some treatment for that cut, will ya? They might need to give her some fluids as well. She's a little woozy."

"Sure Peter." Michelle felt gloved hands take her elbow. "This way please, ma'am."

"Where are you taking me?" She didn't fight against the motion. She didn't have the strength left.

"Some place we can get you cleaned up. Then you can see the Sheriff."

He was almost shaking with excitement. "We've sent a message, haven't we?"

She lit a cigarette, guiding him away from the developing chaos, from the gathering crowds, concentrating on their escape. It would harm both their causes if they got arrested now.

At least he had the sense to keep his voice down. "How can they ignore us now?"

She looked around, making sure they were alone. "Because it might suit them to blame somebody else."

That took some of the wind from his sails, killed some of his enthusiasm. "Oh." He thought for a second. "How can we make sure that we get the credit for it?"

He still believed. Still believed in his cause.

"Another attack." She took a last drag from her cigarette and flicked the butt away. "We hit them while they're still hurt. Before they have the chance to heal. Before they have the chance to forget about this."

"When? Who?"

"Not yet." She reached for another cigarette and fought off the craving. "We let them think about this, count the cost and the bodies. Then we hit them again with a second wave."

"How long do we give them?"

She hesitated. Was that screams she could hear? Or just another memory? "A few days. We'll give them a few days."

There had been more survivors than she had thought. More than she had dared hope for when she had seen the carnage on the main street.

Too many for such a small town, though.

She couldn't shake the guilt. Couldn't shake the feeling that she was responsible for this, that somehow she was to blame for all these deaths.

She felt the room slip and weave, the lights dancing, twisting, spiralling around her. She closed her eyes. Feeling herself slip away, her body still throbbing with pain.

"Easy, ma'am." She felt strong hands steady her, help her to a seat. "Just rest there for a second. Chris? Chris can I get a hand here?"

Gauze was pressed against the wound on her head and then a gloved hand gave her something to drink, wonderfully cool and soothing. Easing her smoke scarred throat, driving the pain away.

Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Thankfully, the room behaved itself this time, staying in it's proper place.

A tall man, dark haired, dressed in the same white shirted uniform, sat down facing her. He flicked open a notepad, laying it across his knee, holding his pen poised above it. "My name's Ben Franklin. I'm the Sheriff. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"No, ask away."

"What's your name, ma'am?"

"Michelle Dessler." She watched as his pen flashed across the page of his notebook. "I'm here on vacation."

He flicked back through the pages. "You told Deputy Blackthorne that you saw the crash."

"It wasn't a crash, Sheriff. The middle car was tossed in the air, and it triggered a second explosion." She swayed a little in her seat. "Could I have a drink of water please?"

"Certainly Ms Dessler." The clunk of ice cubes in the glass as he handed it to her sounded so tantalising and she drank it with greedy sips. He sat back down facing her, making another note. "Are you okay to continue?"

The flash of concern in his eyes, the compassion in his voice, caught her, reminded her forcibly of Tony. "No I'm okay. Thank you Sheriff." She looked around the makeshift infirmary. "There's a lot here in worse shape than I am."

She had gotten off lightly. Again.

Memories and faces threatened to rise up, to invade again, to overwhelm her. She shook her head, forcing them away, back to where she had buried them. Forcing herself to pay attention to what the Sheriff was saying.

"We're not used to things like this up here, that's for sure." He nodded at two deputies, sitting ashen faced near the door, passing a hip flask between them. "Might get that type of shit in the cities, but not up here."

His voice trailed away and he stared blindly at his notebook. He leaned back and the faltering sunlight caught his wedding ring. The sudden flaring of light jerked them both from their thoughts.

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, Ms Dessler, you said that that the middle car was tossed in the air. You any idea what would do that?"

"A bomb."

"A bomb?

Michelle nodded. "I worked in CTU in Los Angeles, Sheriff. Believe me, I've seen what powerful bombs can do. They wouldn't have had to be anywhere near the blast site to detonate it."

"Shit." Sweat trickled down Ben Franklin's suddenly pale face. "Any idea who would want to carry out somethin' like this?"

She shook her head, trying to forget that the motion made her head want to fall from her shoulders. "I don't know Sheriff." She rubbed at her eyes, trying to hold back a sudden rush of tears. "I don't know, maybe it was just an accident. I just...I don't know." Her stomach lurched and she could taste bile at the back of her throat.

His radio flared suddenly to life and he spoke quietly into it. Not that Michelle could concentrate on his conversation. It was taking all her strength, all her willpower to stop herself being sick.

"I have to get back to the scene." He helped her to her feet. "I'll walk you back to your hotel."

"...unconfirmed reports are coming in...."

"...Governor of Nevada..."

"....explosion...."

"...shots fired..."

"....assassination..."

"...unconfirmed rumours of casualties...."

"...fatalities..."

"Come on Sam, just let me take one photo." He gestured with his camera. "For the grandkids. I'll even take one of you in front of that bastards car, you could have it blown up, put it up on the wall of your big room." The people around him groaned and then laughed at his joke.

"I'd better not, Hawk. Sheriff Franklin would have my badge." The deputy glanced around at another younger, braver group of locals, edging closer to the wreckage. "Hey you cant..."

One of them reached out his hand and jerked it back with a curse. As soon as the deputy's back was turned, he heard the tell tale hiss and whirl of a camera. He spun back around to see Hawk's grinning face, mostly obscured by the camera.

He watched the shutter close in slow motion.

The Sheriff's car pulled up, close to the still smouldering wreckage. Sheriff Franklin and another deputy got out of the car.

Franklin pointed at Hawk, still clutching his camera, still smiling. "If you aren't out of my sight in the next thirty seconds Hawk, you're going to be spending tonight in jail."

Hawk disappeared like he'd just grown wings.

Franklin planted his hands on his hips. "Alright folks. You all know what happened here. Show a little respect."

Angry murmurs started to grow after his words.

His own temper growing, he leaned forward at the biggest group of scavengers. "And if that don't work for you, this is a crime scene. Beat it before I arrest you for tampering with evidence."

Reluctantly, the crowd departed.

His eyes tracked them easily. The only people in Nixon not caught up in the carnage and growing chaos. He watched them leave the scene, drifting easily through the crowd.

Why was he still surprised that she could be so callous, so cruel?

He followed them through Nixon. Ignoring the shouts of his conscience, battling through the almost physical heat. Followed them to the place they had stayed the night before.

He stayed outside. Waiting. Watching. Waiting for them to run.

He watched them. The only people in Nixon not shocked or stunned by the attack.

She hadn't run.

What else had she planned?