Cradle’s head turned, everything moving as if it was underwater, as he looked at a group of men and women with tattoos. They were loud, too loud, as they gathered together, talking among themselves.

He looked the other way. He saw other faces. Faces that would be in the crowd shortly. A couple that were about thirty years old. Then an older man and woman.

The old couple get trampled early on, Rain thought.

Eyes roved slow-motion in the other direction. In a store with colorful graphic images in frames, and other things in glass cases, a big guy with long hair, a nose ring and an impressive beard was talking to an older man, while tapping one of the framed cartoon images. No sound came out of his mouth as his lips moved.

Images like this would be the best Rain would get at seeing Snag’s face uncovered.

There were others. The twelve-year-old girl with her friends, that Snag would fail to help. She would die in the crush, after slipping from Snag’s grip.

A lot of the children and elderly in the mall would be counted among the dead.

One of the three girls said her goodbye to her friends. The movement was slow motion as she ran across the plaza of the mall.

She was smiling as she approached the woman who waited for her. The smile fell from her face, she slowed, then hung her head.

The woman showed the girl her watch, tapped it, her words were stern and entirely unheard. There was only silence in this slow motion prelude to the event.

The woman with wavy red hair, a sweater that failed to hide her impressive chest, and an ankle-length skirt. Heads turned to watch her berate the child. The child looked nervously back at her friends.

Love Lost.

Things accelerated, as the scene rushed forward. Everyone to their positions.

Three explosions in quick succession, loud after the silence, the blasts tearing across the plaza the opening of one of the exits. Blue flame.

Then the movement, everyone trying to get away. The layout of the shopping center allowed only one good escape route, and everyone rushed for it.

Another acceleration, skipping ahead in time. The sound of the stampede, the crowd, all of the noises that had been made or hinted at earlier, now came to the forefront, crashing into the present moment. Cradle was close to the front of the crowd. He was shoved, he tried to catch his balance, and he fell. His glasses came away from his face, they were stepped on.

Twice, he reached for the glasses, and his hands were stepped on. There was a desperation in it, more of a struggle to get them than there was even an attempt to stand. The scene was blurred but his hands were as clear as anything.

Close by, a woman screamed, and the sound was prolonged, multi-part.