not acting for dramatic effect. His voice was trembling, near to breaking.
“In light of what we are now seeing, I must personally say that America is facing a coordinated attack by a foreign enemy. There is no hard evidence yet, but I will lay my career on the line with this, that we are facing the long-anticipated and publicly announced attack that ISIS has been threatening us with for months. It is either ISIS or a radical group associated with them. This horrific attack bears the markings of mass murderers without regard for any concept of civilized behavior.
“I therefore appeal to all of you to do two things. First, pray to God that this scourge shall speedily pass away.”
That shocked Kathy. His words were both Lincolnesque but also unheard of in this current age. A reporter asking his listeners to appeal to God? An ironic thought that even now, within minutes, the network would probably be flooded with text messages and phone calls demanding that the reporter be fired for “jamming” his religious views down the throats of his audience and that he make an on-air apology for it.
“And second, I appeal to you that if you are on the road, trying to reach your children in schools, please, pull over, stop, and take a deep breath.”
He paused, obviously welling up.
“I cannot leave here to try to reach my kids, though every fiber of my being as a father is screaming at me to do so.”
He paused, lowering his head for a moment. In television, even a few seconds of silence felt like an eternity and it was a good ten seconds before he regained his composure to face the camera again.
“We need to take a break…” was all he could now muster.
Kathy looked at Craig, for a moment filled with doubt about what they were doing.
“We aren’t going any further,” he announced. She wondered if he was indeed abandoning their quest and was ready to turn about. If so, she would tell him to stop, get out and run the rest of the way. Their school, her daughter’s school, her husband’s school, was confirmed as being under attack. It was not a rumor, it was not a fear, it was confirmed and she had to be there.
Craig skidded to a stop and she looked up again. It was not that he was giving up. They were still a quarter mile out from Chamberlain Middle, but the road ahead was jammed bumper-to-bumper, red taillights glowing, frantic parents getting out of their cars, abandoning them in the traffic jam, deciding to run toward the chaos. Ambulances and police cars were driving across lawns and walkways, sirens wailing. It was a cacophony of madness.
She got out of the car, a bit startled when Craig actually grabbed her shoulder.
“Come on!” he cried, and she started to run with him. She felt as if her heart were about to burst, for in the distance she could hear the repetitive bursts of gunfire.
Her husband, her daughter were in the deepest circle of hell.
Inside Joshua Chamberlain Middle School
The gunfire ceased in the room across the hall; Bob could hear muffled child-voiced moans and cries, heartbreaking, so many calls for “mommy” as they died. Mommy, who, when they were at the arrogant age of twelve and thirteen, was a source of embarrassment and eye rolling when an attempt was made to kiss and hug them in public, but in a moment of terror, of pain, of dying? It was a cry to a mother for comfort, to hold them and to ease the pain as they died, and it steeled Bob for what he had to do. He was so shocked by the anguish of it all that he first had to wipe tears from his eyes, silently cursing himself for his moment of frozen inaction and fear.
How could any man, any human being inflict such suffering upon children? He could hear the triumphal calls to their Allah echoing down the hallway and it filled him with rage and now the motivation to move aggressively and fight back. All the years of political correctness, all the appeals from the nation’s leaders to extend a hand of friendship to all… If
“In light of what we are now seeing, I must personally say that America is facing a coordinated attack by a foreign enemy. There is no hard evidence yet, but I will lay my career on the line with this, that we are facing the long-anticipated and publicly announced attack that ISIS has been threatening us with for months. It is either ISIS or a radical group associated with them. This horrific attack bears the markings of mass murderers without regard for any concept of civilized behavior.
“I therefore appeal to all of you to do two things. First, pray to God that this scourge shall speedily pass away.”
That shocked Kathy. His words were both Lincolnesque but also unheard of in this current age. A reporter asking his listeners to appeal to God? An ironic thought that even now, within minutes, the network would probably be flooded with text messages and phone calls demanding that the reporter be fired for “jamming” his religious views down the throats of his audience and that he make an on-air apology for it.
“And second, I appeal to you that if you are on the road, trying to reach your children in schools, please, pull over, stop, and take a deep breath.”
He paused, obviously welling up.
“I cannot leave here to try to reach my kids, though every fiber of my being as a father is screaming at me to do so.”
He paused, lowering his head for a moment. In television, even a few seconds of silence felt like an eternity and it was a good ten seconds before he regained his composure to face the camera again.
“We need to take a break…” was all he could now muster.
Kathy looked at Craig, for a moment filled with doubt about what they were doing.
“We aren’t going any further,” he announced. She wondered if he was indeed abandoning their quest and was ready to turn about. If so, she would tell him to stop, get out and run the rest of the way. Their school, her daughter’s school, her husband’s school, was confirmed as being under attack. It was not a rumor, it was not a fear, it was confirmed and she had to be there.
Craig skidded to a stop and she looked up again. It was not that he was giving up. They were still a quarter mile out from Chamberlain Middle, but the road ahead was jammed bumper-to-bumper, red taillights glowing, frantic parents getting out of their cars, abandoning them in the traffic jam, deciding to run toward the chaos. Ambulances and police cars were driving across lawns and walkways, sirens wailing. It was a cacophony of madness.
She got out of the car, a bit startled when Craig actually grabbed her shoulder.
“Come on!” he cried, and she started to run with him. She felt as if her heart were about to burst, for in the distance she could hear the repetitive bursts of gunfire.
Her husband, her daughter were in the deepest circle of hell.
Inside Joshua Chamberlain Middle School
The gunfire ceased in the room across the hall; Bob could hear muffled child-voiced moans and cries, heartbreaking, so many calls for “mommy” as they died. Mommy, who, when they were at the arrogant age of twelve and thirteen, was a source of embarrassment and eye rolling when an attempt was made to kiss and hug them in public, but in a moment of terror, of pain, of dying? It was a cry to a mother for comfort, to hold them and to ease the pain as they died, and it steeled Bob for what he had to do. He was so shocked by the anguish of it all that he first had to wipe tears from his eyes, silently cursing himself for his moment of frozen inaction and fear.
How could any man, any human being inflict such suffering upon children? He could hear the triumphal calls to their Allah echoing down the hallway and it filled him with rage and now the motivation to move aggressively and fight back. All the years of political correctness, all the appeals from the nation’s leaders to extend a hand of friendship to all… If
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