What a Difference a Day Makes
Chapter Two
Emily's POV
The car hummed over the dirt road, thankfully filling the awkward silence that had hovered between me and my mother for the entire trip. The extent of our talking was limited to professional greetings and forced pleasantries as we boarded the plane. We never talk much, ever since I was a little kid, but then it was because she was unable to make the time and put in the effort, now it was because she didn't care. I focused on why we were here, instead of whom I was with, hoping that it would lift my spirits. We were here to help build a school for underprivileged youths who lived in this war-torn country, to offer hope. At least that's what I'd be doing; my mother would probably be soaking in all the good press like a sponge, hoping to put the Prentiss name in good light. We were nearing the compound when my mother spoke up from her place beside me.
"Emily?" she asked, her voice was flat and professional as always.
"Yes mother?" I replied, each word dripping with thinly veiled irritation and contempt, knowing what was coming next. Ever since I came out to her in my senior year of high school, she gave me the same speech. Before any public even in which I was forced to attend, she stressed that I "not make her look bad" or "refrain from any undignified behaviour" as if she thought my being gay was undignified, or that it would somehow show and discredit her entire political career. I mean it when I say I hate politics, I blame it for the reason I was denied a mother. But of course I hid all that anger and contempt behind my walls, tucked them away in a little box to be dealt with later.
"This could be a very important event, it will hopefully attract the attention of a lot of potential jobs for me, since I am in between assignments, and I just want to stress the importance of this to me. Don't mess this up, try to remain dignified, for my sake." She lectured as if I was some naïve child. I nodded silently, knowing that if I opened my mouth to speak, the verbal product of her patronizing speech would escape as well. We both got out of the car, and the hot and dry air hit me like a slap in the face. The sun above beat down like the cruellest of unsubs, and I was grateful for the sunglasses stopping me from ending up blinded. The building we entered was a brownish grey, the same color of the land around it, and the shade within provided instant relief. My mother's friend from the Syrian consulate showed us around, and she hung around him while I joined the other volunteers, who were resting in the room adjacent. From where we were standing you could see local children playing outside with a well-loved soccer ball. The volunteers were finishing preparing a lunch, and one went out back to call the kids into the eating area. I kept to myself mostly, throwing myself into what I had come to do, help. I passed out plates of food to the small and excited children; the youthful carefree nature that they embodied couldn't help make me smile as well. A young girl was chattering happily in Arabic, and I kneeled down to hear what she was saying, when it happened. I had been in the building for barely five minutes, and I got that little warning, that sixth sense inside of me told me that something was about to go terribly wrong. Acquiescing to the nervous side of me, I began to usher the little girl out of the room that was worrying me so much, when some invisible force smacked me square in the back, pushing me downwards into the soil and ripping the terrified youth from my grasp. I felt the gravel sting as it bit into my cheek, and I was just about to put my hand there to inspect the damage, when I was driven back down again by a wall of heat. As soon as the percussive shockwave dissipated, whatever it was combusted, throwing flames and roaring like a feral dragon. Screaming mingled with the explosion sound, and I couldn't tell where it was coming from until I realized it was my own. The sound was deafening, tearing through the small room like it was the end of the world, the ripping of metal and stone, the deep bang that resounded in your chest and assaulted your ears. Pain seared through every cell of my body, every nerve ending was on fire, and agonized tears mixed with the blood that trickled into my eyes. Dirt from the ground rained down from the sky and it felt like the earth itself was ripping in two, shaking and shivering and rattling my bones. My body was at the mercy of this unknown force of destruction, and it wasn't very merciful. After what seemed like hours, the noise quieted down, and I looked up from where I lay. I felt no pain, which was probably a worse sign than if I had. In the sky above me, partially obscured by dust clouds was a post-apocalyptic mushroom cloud. An explosion. Another stray round went off, sending me tumbling to the earth again, yet I could barely hear it. My head hit the ground with a dull thud, and I resisted the primal urge to cry out. My lungs ached as I breathed in rapid snatches of air, air that was tainted by the acrid black smoke that hung over the land like the spirit of death itself. I coughed and hacked, feeling a wet splatter on the hand covering my mouth, blood. Flaming piles of debris were surrounding me too close for comfort. I tried to get up and look around, get away, anything, but the slightest movement sent my head spinning something awful. I saw hazy figures in the distance and I was about to get up to approach them, but again, something told me that they were bad news. Their backpacks looked weird, or was that a third arm? The landscape around me pitched and bucked and through the intense dizziness I registered hitting the ground. The people came closer and I was finally able to focus on what they looked like. That was a funny looking backpack… I cringed as the sound of machine gun fire ruptured the dead silence and I felt my numb body flood with dread. They weren't here to rescue us, they weren't wearing backpacks, the fuzzy black masses over their shoulders were automatic weapons. I threw myself against the dirt, ignoring the overwhelming sensation of heat as the tip of my shoe nudged the ghostly flames that hungrily devoured everything within its path. I closed my eyes and willed my body to remain stationary as they approached; their conversation was registered by my ears as a faraway ringing and nothing more. Searing pain ravaged my calf as I felt the flames inch their way higher, and agonized tears teased my lids apart. The two armed men were so close I could reach out and touch their ankles if I had that little regard for my own life. One was walking and kicked something out of the way and it was, oh my god! Black spots swam in my vision as I tried to erase that sight from my memory, the image of a terrorist kicking aside the body of a small child. I felt nauseous, and I was certain I would either throw up or faint. I did neither. One of the men muttered something which I couldn't hear, and shoved my side with his boot roughly. Despite the excruciating feeling of my leg on fire, the revolting smell of my own flesh burning, I managed to lay still until they disappeared into the dust. With that I sprung up as well as I was able and patted out the flames that had devoured my leg. I couldn't bring myself to look at what I used to call an appendage and instead decided to focus on what I could do to make sure I stay alive. The shock had dissipated as quickly as the smoke which had vacated the crater behind me, and every movement rubbed or pulled at an already-throbbing area of my body. I dug my FBI badge out from my back pocket of my pants and placed it beside me. My team, my team would save me. People would come to investigate the explosion and they would find me and find my badge and call my team. I looked forward to seeing them, Hotch, Rossi, Penelope, Reid, Morgan and JJ. JJ. One of my best friends, and maybe something more, and I hope that we'll have the time to become that something more. I need to tell her, even if I don't make it, she has to know how I really feel about her. I touched my fingers to my temple, the source of what was turning into the king of all migraines, and they came away bloody. I knew that my conscious seconds were ticking away, so with shaky fingers I traced my final message on a flat rock beside me. Darkness was closing in, and the dizziness had returned in full force. Holding my badge in my hand I fell forward, praying for either a rescue, or a merciful death.