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Patriots’ Day, 2013 Boston, Massachusetts

K atherine Celeste Winston glanced at her watch. Two thirty. She’d promised Adam she would wait until he whizzed past the winning pennant displayed at the end of Boylston Street. If his stats were correct, and she had no reason to doubt them, he should be running past soon. The enormous crowd of onlookers had gathered at the finish line, waiting for their peeps to raise their arms high in the air, or maybe dance or collapse once they’d completed the race. The lucky winner had crashed through the winning line about three hours earlier. Katherine knew Adam wasn’t going to win, he just wanted to best his previous time.

She was tired, and the crowds were starting to overwhelm her. As a rule, she didn’t place herself in a position where she would be in large groups. However, she couldn’t always dictate the circumstances of life. Of course, she knew the Boston Marathon crowds were estimated to be around one million along the twenty-six-mile route from Hopkinton to Copley Square. She’d inched onto Boylston Street, merely a few blocks from Copley Square. It had taken her two hours, wending her way through hundreds of other marathon enthusiasts, before she’d found an ideal spot to watch for Adam, number twenty-six-thousand . . . something. She couldn’t recall the last three numbers; it wouldn’t matter as Adam’s height and rusty hair would stand out amongst the other runners. While it wasn’t a perfect spot, it gave her a decent enough view of those hoping to complete the race.

Sandwiched between a tall, slender woman and a man who was at least six-five, she couldn’t help but place her hand over her nose and mouth as the man raised his arms to cheer the runners, his body odor so foul she had to move away. Trying to make her way through the crowd, she was pushed and shoved. It was like being in a mosh pit at a punk rock concert. One overenthusiastic spectator jumped up and almost landed on top of her, causing her to bump into a young man, maybe in his early twenties with ink-black hair. He glared at her, and for some reason, Katherine felt a chill run down her spine. Though she was unsure why, he frightened her. She mumbled a quick apology and forced her way to the group closest to the finish line, where all the hoopla took place, away from the dark-eyed man.

Suddenly, what sounded like a loud explosion filled the air. Fireworks. Katherine smiled to herself. It sounded like someone had started celebrating. She eyed the throngs of people, searching for the source of the loud bang, but was unable to locate the revelers. Katherine continued to try and find where the sounds were coming from. She turned her head in the opposite direction and saw a large crowd gathered around several runners slumped on the ground, blood streaming from them. Katherine’s own blood pumped as she shoved her way over to the scene. Before she could determine precisely what was happening, she heard a second blast close to where she stood. The mass of people surrounding her looked as shocked as she did. Quickly, the uninjured sprang into action. Those unhurt ripped their shirts off to use as makeshift tourniquets for the wounded, who were writhing in the middle of the street. Screams and sirens played a cacophony in the background as Katherine pushed through the crowd, searching for Adam, trying to recall his full bib number. He’d ranked low during the required qualifications and begun the race around 11:15, in the last wave. He wore a yellow bib, but Katherine still couldn’t recall his exact number, just that it was around 26,000. The runners had emergency contacts on their bibs if they fell ill during the race. She felt in her jeans pocket for her cell phone. Surely he would call if he were injured , she thought, as fear rooted her, immovable, amid the catastrophe surrounding her.

Hundreds of voices were now screaming and shouting out the names of their loved ones. Katherine didn’t call out Adam’s name. It felt as if a rock were lodged in her throat; she couldn’t make a sound. Confused and uncertain about how much time had passed, Katherine forced herself to run in the opposite direction, away from the giant white clouds of billowing smoke.

There were cries and shrieks of pain. Calls for help. Men and women in bright yellow vests that read P OLICE or P HYSICIAN . People wearing white vests with the Red Cross sign raced through the streets, passing Katherine, stopping to help the multitude of injured. Katherine caught sight of a sneaker with the bloodied foot still snugly inside, minus the leg, and waves of nausea rose up within her. Falling to her knees, heaving, she emptied the contents of her stomach in the street, closing her eyes as if it could erase the image of the sneaker and the severed foot. Taking a deep breath, she used the hem of her shirt to wipe her mouth, then forced herself to stand, pushing her way through the scene of destruction.

She and Adam had arranged to find each other at the family meeting area after he’d completed the race, in case they didn’t connect near the finish line. She realized she had been running in the opposite direction. Turning around, Katherine felt hot tears roll down her cheeks and smelled the smoke and blood. There was so much blood. She did not like the sight of blood. The smell of blood. Yet it surrounded her. People were bleeding, crying, and searching for their loved ones everywhere she went. She touched her forehead, pulled her hand away, and saw it, too, was covered in blood. She’d been injured by whatever had blown Boylston Street into this bloody mass of hysteria.

Moving forward, she passed Trinity Church and located the family meeting area. Red Cross workers, emergency medical technicians, police officers, and volunteers scurried beneath the white tent.

“You’re bleeding,” a Red Cross worker told her, guiding her to an area where medical supplies were tossed haphazardly on a long plastic table. “Here,” the man said, as he soaked a gauze pad with liquid and placed it on her wound. Katherine winced. “You have a piece of metal stuck in your forehead,” he said. “I can remove it, or you can wait and go to one of the hospitals, but it could take a while. They’re overwhelmed with injuries, and this doesn’t seem to need stitches.”

She nodded. “Just do whatever you need to.” The last place she wanted to go was a hospital. Finding Adam was her top priority now.

He nodded back and said, “This’ll sting a bit. You may want to see a doctor if you have any infection, but I think we’ve got this.” He smoothly removed the piece of metal. “Keep it clean with peroxide, use an antibiotic cream, and remember to see your doctor if you have any issues.” With that, he moved aside to assess another victim.

Victim. Where had that word come from? Victim of what? Katherine wondered as she held the gauze to her forehead, pressing firmly against the wound to control the bleeding. Pushing the thought aside, she focused on finding Adam. Dazed, she walked among others who were stunned, just like herself. No one else seemed to know exactly what had happened. She heard someone say, “Weapons of mass destruction,” but mentally ruled that out. Possibly a gas line at one of the many restaurants that flanked either side of Boylston Street had leaked. There could be no other rational explanation.

“Adam!” she called out, seeing a splash of rust-colored hair. She shoved her way through throngs of people, and disappointment coursed through her veins when she realized the tall red-haired man wasn’t Adam. Unsure what to do next, she decided that she should just stick to their original plan—wait here, and hope that Adam would soon join her. She found a place to stand where she could observe people coming and going.

She continued to check her phone in case Adam called, but nothing so far. She knew that he had checked his bag containing his cell phone before the race had started. The runners were supposed to pick up their personal items at the end of the race, but had Adam been able to retrieve his belongings? Did he have his phone? Unsure of anything other than the mass confusion around her, Katherine left the crowded family meet-up tent. Determined to find Adam, she retraced her steps back to the finish line. So many people were gathered around, some shouting, some crying, others appearing to be in a daze. Sirens continued to blare; the closer she got to the finish line, the louder they became. The mass hysteria reminded her of the attack on the Twin Towers in New York on September 11th. Was this another attack on the country? Desperate to find out, she scanned the crowd for a police officer. Seeing a blue-uniformed Boston officer speaking to a small group, she hurried over to hear what he said.

“If you haven’t located your friends and family, I suggest heading to the family tent. We’re setting up more locations as I speak. We hope to have more news soon and share it with the families waiting to find out where their loved ones are,” he instructed.

Everyone began shouting out questions at once. The officer held his hand in the air. A Red Cross volunteer with a megaphone spoke to the crowd. “I know you all are concerned for your friends and family. We are doing our best to provide you with names of those injured and unaccounted for as soon as we have them. We’ll meet at the family meeting tent as soon as we have more information to share.”

Most of the crowd dispersed, heading to the tent. Katherine followed them. Checking her phone again to see if she’d received a call from Adam, she wasn’t surprised when it showed no missed calls. She checked the settings to ensure the volume was as high as it could go, then quickly changed Adam’s ringtone to the loudest, most annoying sound her phone offered. She was grateful she still had plenty of battery life left.

Walking back to the family meeting area, she was startled when her phone rang. It wasn’t the tone she’d just changed for Adam. Sliding her finger across the screen, she answered.

“Hello?”