Chapter 5


The turn off for the L-5 was one of the busier intersections on the entire island. The Island was not all that big, as far as islands went but, if you had to drive from one side to the other you could find yourself missing a couple of hours of your life that might otherwise have been put to more useful endeavors had you bothered to take the controlled access highway. Why it was called the L-5 was not really known by anyone. There was no L one to four and the letter itself had no known meaning. Somebody had just decided to call it that and the name stuck. Whoever named it, and why, had vanished into history.

The west side turn off was graced with a wide assortment of restaurants and shopping plaza's that were all competing for the business of rush hour morning commuters. One of the more popular spots was not even noted for it's good food. The Foo King Dinner had service that was generally less than spectacular but, it's cutting edge trumped everything else. It was convenient to get in and out of if you were in a car. That made it quicker to grab a bite before work, even on their slowest of days.

This meant the place was usually packed with a variety of humanity, every work day, just after the sun came up. This morning was no different. Gracie Palace hated this time of the day for no other reason than, by the time it was over, her feet hurt. Her job was taking orders, bringing orders, and fighting off the advances of more than a few of her customers that wanted to order her just as much as the food.

Gracie walked out to one particular tan pick up truck that had pulled into a covered space. She promptly asked the man behind the wheel of the car, "did you text in an order?"

The guy huffed as he looked out the open window of the driver side door. He was sweating, his skin looked pale, and he did not seem to be in a very pleasant mood. Gracie remembered his vehicle more than his face but, even that looked somewhat familiar. Despite knowing that he was a regular customer, Gracie still wasn't sure exactly who he was. She asked him again and he snapped at her, "NO!" Then after looking at his phone he eased off and said, "just give me the number one, will you?"

Instead of just walking off with the order, Gracie had to ask, "are you ok, mister? You don't look too good."

The man did not bother to reply. He was too busy with his phone which he now placed to his ear and scornfully told the person on the other end, "You tell that cock sucker to stay out of our business. I don't care who got shot." Gracie picked up her step after hearing that.

Gracie was still visibly nervous when she reached the order window. She had already sent several orders in via an app on her phone. Now she had to take them back out. Mel, the old scruffy looking guy that ran the morning window could not help but notice how jumpy the girl was, "you having problems with your app again, kiddo?"

Gracie tossed a piece of gum in her mouth and began to chew. She nodded towards the tan pick up, "that guy out there looks like he's about fall over in the seat."

"So," replied Mel.

"No I'm serious Mel," Gracie shot back. "The guy is as white as a sheet and sweating buckets." She hesitated for a minute and then told Mel the rest, "and he's on the phone telling some guy to shoot somebody."

Mel slid the next set of orders out the window and told the girl, "and exactly what business is that of ours?"

Gracie smacked at her gum, looked at Mel with contempt, and then finally just told him, "are my orders up?"

Mel vanished into the kitchen but she could still hear him complaining about, "you know Gracie, you're not going to live to be an old woman if you keep worrying about everything. That goes double for stuff that is best left alone. I don't have to tell you that in the Arch, when somebody says they're going to pop a cap in your ass…"

Mel showed back up at the window with the stack of Styrofoam boxes and slide them out to her, "it means they probably are. So those things are best left…"

The heat wave reached them first. Mel's hand went up to protect his eyes from it and then the bright light that came almost immediately after. The sound and concussion waves from the explosion followed quickly on it's heels and there was no protection from that. Mel's feet lost their gripping on what was, under the best of circumstances, a slippery tile floor. He went down as hard as a rock and, as much as it hurt, he thanked the lucky stars that he was currently seeing in front of his eyes.

Mel had done his time in two wars and he knew one or two things about explosions. The best place to be when they happened was as low to the ground as you could get and, preferably, with as much solid matter between you and it as possible. The concussion wave had actually worked in his favor this time! What disturbed Mel the most was, if didn't know any better, he could have sworn that blast had been of the nuclear variety. The only problem with that theory was if it were true then he could not have been making any theories right now. His body would be so much ash floating over air currents well on it's way to Valley Point.

When Mel got back to his feet he felt of his forehead and found blood on his fingers when his vision finally cleared up. His kitchen help seemed even more stunned than he was despite the fact that they had been behind some good cinder block walls that protected them from the worst of it all. It seemed their worst wounds were nothing more than simple shock from the unexpected. Mel cured it with the age old remedy. He screamed at them in anger, "don't just stand there you morons! Get the first aid kit!" The order was quickly translated into about a half dozen languages after that and finally the kitchen staff got moving.

Mel looked back out his order window and experienced a little shock of his own. The parking lot, specifically the order area, did not look anything like he had remembered. The big awning that sheltered the vehicles, when they picked up their orders, was now ripped in half and laying on it's side. Several vehicles were on fire and, the most prominent one was the tan pick up truck that Gracie had just been talking about. That suddenly reminded Mel of her and he began to panic when he realized he did not see her. Mel did not bother wasting time, running for the back door, when he realized where she was. He just crawled through his window.

Gracie was still in tact, more or less. She was laying on the ground next to the window. The blast had thrown her up against the wall but that had not been what killed her. Mel rolled her body over and almost wanted to puke. Only the seasoned mind of a veteran kept his bowels in check. He had not seen anything like this since his last war. Half of Gracie looked perfectly normal. Her left side, the side that had faced the blast, was burned beyond all recognition. Mel decided that holding in the contents of his stomach was not such a good thing after all. He let it all come out.