As a demolition expert, Bob knew very well what the implosion should sound like, and that was not it. The dust settled, and sure enough, half the building was still there.
He ripped off his earmuffs and walked towards the site. His crew made some pathetic attempts to stop him. As if it mattered whether he lived or died. He pushed them aside. Nothing mattered anymore, not since he lost his wife, Sarah.
Bob checked the first explosive charge. It seemed fine. He checked the rest, and they were also fine. What was going on?
As he stood there, scratching his head, he heard a baby cry. He felt his heart rate go through the roof. The bastards told him they’d checked for squatters!
He ran around like a madman looking for the baby. He found it in the arms of a woman. The mother? She was alive but unconscious.
“Hurry,” said a familiar voice in his head. Sarah? Was he going crazy? “I can’t stop it,” it said. “Hurry!”
Bob grabbed woman and child and ran. Just as they reached a safe distance he heard the voice again. “Take care of them, my love.” Then the charges exploded.
Thanks for reading!
Written for the Sunday Photo Fiction – October 2nd 2016