Dreary--it was the only word I could think to call the scene that greeted me once light began to dawn in the eastern sky. What had been a typical suburban neighborhood was now reduced to a pile of rubble. Yesterday daffodils showed their happy yellow faces in window boxes up and down the street. In the mild spring afternoon, Johnny, from across the street, had mowed the grass in front of his house before stepping next door to do the same job for the Widow Montgomery. He was a good conscientious boy who looked out for anyone on the street who needed a helping hand. After the bomb had dropped shortly after the midnight hour, when everyone was fast asleep and unsuspecting of the oncoming catastrophe, I worried about Johnny. Had he been able to find a place of safety or was he just another casualty of this senseless war that had been going on for the last six years?

Funny how things happen. The house I share with my wife and two children appeared to be unscathed but Johnny's house directly across from us was annihilated along with the Widow Montgomery's and several others that made up Elm Street. How ours had survived while others hadn't was a question that hung in my mind. Only one other house, near the corner, was still standing. It belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Pitt. We weren't on speaking terms with them. It had been brought to my wife's attention that the children had been using their driveway as a turnaround for their bikes when they rode on the street. Ginger told me in confidence that it wasn't so much the bikes as it was Marvin and Marcy. "You see," she stated with contempt in her voice, "Mr. and Mrs. Pitt are childless. They're jealous of the twins."

I should attempt to check on the Pitts, I thought to myself as I continued to gaze out the large picture window onto the street of rubble. Under the current circumstances, it didn't matter about the ongoing dispute between neighbors. What concern were bikes and turnabouts at this point? Searching for survivors should be the first objective, whether we liked each other or not. With this thought in my mind, I reached for my cell phone to see if I had their number listed in my call log. Blank. The black screen showed no sign of life. It took a moment to register that the connection must have been dropped as soon as the explosion had occurred.

Walking along the street or sidewalk would be a treacherous activity. The pavement looked as though someone had attempted to create a jigsaw puzzle and failed. Sharp shards of concrete and tarmac dramatically jutted up in odd directions all over the place. Walking or driving was out of the question. Unless a tank came by, there would be no movement on the street. We were isolated from even our closest neighbor.