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the building collapsed inwards, making it clear he and Frank were far from safe. As they crossed into daylight, a huge boom came from the staircase behind them and the force of it slammed into his back, knocking him onto his knees. He leapt to his feet and, with a breath of relief, they burst free of the building.
    “They off the roof? This bitch is hungry for something besides wood,” he croaked to the captain as he rushed towards the paramedics.
    “Pulled ‘em off about ninety seconds ago. They’re clear.”
    One piece of good news.
    Duncan handed the girl to the EMT and hovered, ignoring the offer of oxygen as he continued to cough. He knew from the extreme angle of her neck and the grayish pallor of her skin there was no hope but waited for official word anyway.
    “Where are the parents?” he asked gruffly, rubbing his aching knees.
    The medic turned sad eyes to him and shrugged. “Not sure. One of the neighbors said it’s a single mom. Leaves the kids alone to run errands.”
    The medic confirmed the girl was gone, dead on impact, so at least she didn’t suffer. Duncan remained quiet from then on. Words and emotions tumbled through him, stealing his ability to talk. The boy would be fine, despite a broken and severely burned leg, but Duncan refused to be around when they told him there had been no saving his little sister. Uselessness gnawed at him, hollowing his insides, a bottomless abyss opening beneath him. Kids didn’t deserve to feel this kind of grief.
    After the crew finished cleaning up and was headed to the house in the rig, Duncan struggled to purge himself of the lingering anger. What kind of parent left children that young alone? It made him think of his own kids and how long it’d been since he last saw them. The damn separation complicated things, but more than that, he was often too stoned to care about the weeks and months passing between visits. Dad of the Year, give him his trophy now.
    He groaned, working the kinks from his shoulders. This kind of shift, coupled with thoughts of his kids, made him desperate for his pills and a drink. All he wanted was to crawl in a hole and shut the entire world out while he numbed himself into a stupor.

~ 4 ~
     
     
    September 11, 2001
     
    E ver since the second plane hit the south tower and she lost communication with her parents, Olivia wandered in a daze, drifting in a sea of madness. At first, she clung to the belief they were alive and moments from being rescued, but as more time passed, the idea faded. Hundreds and hundreds of firefighters entered the towers in a constant stream and she prayed they would find a miracle path past the destroyed floors.
    Another chunk of flaming debris crashed to the ground, sending a burst of sparks into the air, and she flinched, her pulse skipping. A deadly shower of building, plane, and luggage fell from above, along with other things. Horrible things. Body parts—a hand, a torso. And among them, thousands of papers. They danced in the breeze, graceful and misplaced with the rest of the horror. She heard sirens in the background, and screams punctuating the air, but the roar of the fires assaulted her ears. Chaos reigned and, in the midst of it, she stood, unmoving, unable to grasp her rampant thoughts. Only a single notion made any sense—that this was an illusion, a trick, a nightmare she must wake up from.
    An explosion snapped her from her stupor and chased her behind a wooden bench, the same one she’d perched on earlier while waiting for her parents. She stuck her head out, peering around frantically. Distracted for half a second, she felt warm liquid running down her leg. Expecting blood, she saw a growing wet spot on the front of her capris instead. She’d peed herself, but the humiliation vanished, unnecessary.
    The expressions on nearby faces echoed her shock and fright, the indecision over whether to run or stay put, the battle over which was safer. Olivia’s terror vibrated through every cell in