Free Break The Ice by Kevin P Gardner

into my shoulder and squeezes hard but only once.
    “I’m going to roll you off and try to stand up,” I shout. I push, and she lifts like paper. The adrenaline coursing through me has given my arms an extra boost. With my free hand, I guide her legs out and help her sit up.
    Dirt covers her shirt and a few pieces of grass fall from her hair. A long smear of ash clumps at her side. I brush it away, but she flinches.
    “What’s wrong?” I say. The words sound miles away.
    She holds my hand down, hesitating, before lifting her shirt a few inches where the ash marks stained.
    There’s no cut or blood, only a red welt the size of my fist that’s already bruising. I apply some pressure around the spot, and she jumps back. “I don’t think they’re broken,” I say. But what do I know? “Can you stand?”
    “Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she says.
    “Lean against me,” I say, placing her hand on my shoulder.
    I stand, as slow as possible, and carefully lift her with me. We keep going until my back is straight and, for the first time, we stand side by side. She’s only a few inches shorter than me. “You’re really tall,” I say.
    She laughs, wincing again from the movement. “I don’t think now’s the time for that,” she says.
    Right. The burning building. I help her with the first two steps before she lets go and walks solo. “I’m right here if you need,” I say.
    I don’t make it three feet before tripping and stumbling forward. My feet catch up before I fall. Bending over, I turn over the burnt metal bar at my feet. It’s part of the building and smothered in ash. “One of these must have hit your side,” I say.
    Kaitlyn shoves it with her exposed toe. “Count me lucky,” she says.
    “You’re not the only one,” I say. My line of sight passes her as I stand up. Twenty feet away, kneeling down in the grass and staring at the destroyed Orange Cone is Ted. I run over to him.
    “What the hell, man?” he says.
    “Are you okay?” I say.
    He turns his head. A thin cut spreads down his cheek. It’s bleeding, but not a lot. Some of the curls at the edge of his hair burned off, leaving behind an uneven row on the other side. Dirt and ash stain his shirt the same as Kaitlyn’s.
    “What. The. Hell? ”
    I grab his shirt and pull him to his feet. “You’re fine,” I say. “Did you see what happened?”
    “The fucking building exploded, man, that’s what happened,” he says.
    Not much help. Kaitlyn has followed me over. She stares at the store’s remains. “Stay with Ted,” I say. “I’m going to check the front.”
    “That’s crazy,” she says.
    “What if somebody else got hurt? Stay with Ted,” I repeat.
    The fire added to the already hot day is brutal, but I run around the rubble and out onto the patio area. Many of the tables were knocked to their sides, chairs blown into pieces and a few umbrellas set on fire. Scattered around the tables are at least a dozen bodies. I hurry to the first person and lean down, checking for a pulse. It’s the Asian man wearing yellow. His pulse beats twice before it disappears.
    Nausea floods my entire body. I force myself to stand up and check two more. A couple sharing a bowl of ice cream. A shard from the bowl sticks out of the man’s neck. The girl, her arms wrapped around his waist, has no noticeable injuries, but she’s not breathing.
    Darting from destroyed table to destroyed table, I check on everybody. Nobody out here survived the blast. How many were inside? Could any of them still be alive, trapped? Through the only intact window, I spot movement. Stepping around pieces of the Orange Cone sign, I get as close as possible.
    Inside, a man stands beside a smoking sink. Laughing. He bends down next to a pile of burning boxes and warms his hands.
    “Are you alright?” I say through the cracked glass.
    His laughter cuts out. Cocking his head to the side, his eyes search for me. He scans the burning room until the destruction ends and the lone