Spiked Lemonade - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,1

smile on my face. Five minutes ago, I wasn’t considering what would happen in five minutes—what I would have to see.

Again.

“Jags, we need you to head into Candlewood. The first responders need more help and they’ve just called us because they’re short on medics.”

“For what, sir?” I don’t know what he’s referring to. I must have missed some information or news during my half hour commute here, so I’m looking at my commanding officer with questioning eyes, waiting for him to tell me what the hell is going on.

“There was a double explosion at West-Side Market in Candlewood about twenty minutes ago now. Gather your men and get down there, stat.” We don’t normally get called off base unless the State is desperate for backup. “It was an attack of some sort, son. Watch yourself down there.”

“Yes, sir,” I respond while running through a to-do list in my head. I’ve only been home from Afghanistan for a few weeks, but I feel disoriented, preparing for the unknown at home in the United States. This shit isn’t supposed to happen here. But it does. All the fucking time now.

We arrive at the location and find complete chaos. My men disperse into different areas to help people while I just stop for a moment and look around. I take it all in for a long second, needing to evaluate the situation as a whole before I decide on a plan of action.

People are screaming, running in every direction. Many are injured, blood dripping down the sides of their faces. Others are limping, with clothes torn or being used as tourniquets.

But worst of all is the children. Some are hurt badly, and some look lost, standing still in the middle of the parking lot, utterly confused and terrified, crying for their parents. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I think, running my hands through my hair. I’m not ready for this! Now is the time I shut it all off—all my human feelings and emotions. I can’t allow myself to feel anything right now, or I’ll break. I’ll fall to my knees and beg God for an answer I’ll never get. I’m trained for this, but these civilians—the children—they’re not. Why?

My focus freezes on one particular little girl who can’t be more than eight or nine. She has long, strawberry hair and glowing freckles that are mostly covered with a film of dirt, except where the tears are streaming down her face. I walk past the State Troopers and up to her. Kneeling in front of the girl, I wrap my arms tightly around her little body, pressing her head against my chest. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart. Are you looking for your mom or dad?”

Through heavy sobs, she sputters out, “My aunt and brother are inside. I couldn’t find them after the boom and I ran outside, thinking they would be out here too. But they’re not!” she continues to cry as she tucks her arms in between us, curling herself into me as she shakes like an old washing machine. “Will you help me find them, sir?”

I pull back and grip her shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes. “Yes, I will help you find them.” Bringing myself back up to my feet, I take the little girl by the hand and walk her toward the nearest State Trooper. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Ella-Beth but people call me Ella for short.”

“Well, Ella, I’m going to ask this nice officer if he will stay with you while I go find your brother and aunt. Okay?” Despite my determination to feel nothing, the desperate look in her eyes goes straight to my heart.

“Can I go with you?” she asks under her breath. “Please don’t leave me, sir. I’m really scared,” but there’s no way I can promise to keep her safe if I take her inside with me. Not to mention it goes against all of my training for these types of situations.

I kneel back down in front of her, needing to make direct eye contact as I answer her honestly. “Ella, I don’t know what is happening inside that grocery store right now, and I need to be able to keep you safe while I find your family. You want to be safe, right?” When I see a hint of stubbornness in her eyes, I suspect she’s not going to agree with me.

“No, I want to find my brother and my aunt. I’m going with you, sir.”

There’s a burning struggle in my head—the right and