Jim is outside when it happens. He's heading up the sidewalk to have lunch at his parents' house when he hears and feels an earth-shattering explosion. He staggers and nearly falls, seeing his childhood home crumble to the ground before his eyes. "Oh my god," he mutters, running up and shoving his hands in his hair. After a shocked minute, he pulls the phone out of his pocket and calls 911.

Busy.

He calls his parents' house phone. He doesn't hear it ringing, although it would be no more than twenty feet away from him. That is, if the house were still standing.

He calls Pam. It doesn't even ring this time. He tries again, five or six times. He finally has to give up. He figures the towers are out.

He yells for his parents and gets no response. He tears up, because he knows there's no way they could possibly have survived that. The house doesn't have a basement and the entire structure has caved in to the point where it's shorter than he is. And he doesn't have a backhoe or any way to get through.

He sees a few cars going by, speeding like bats out of hell, and thinks they have the right idea. He has to get to the office, he has to get to Pam. He has to make sure she's okay. He has to see how widespread this is. He hears sirens in the distance and tries to call 911 again. It still doesn't ring, so he's certain the towers are out.

He drives as far as he can until traffic jams up. It's a fucking nightmare. People are screaming and running. Buildings in every direction are rubble, or nearly so. He's been sitting still for five minutes and he thinks walking would be faster. He's still not very close, but he pulls off the road and parks at Walmart because he's got to get to Pam.

He looks at Walmart in awe for a moment, because it, like pretty much every other building, is practically demolished. He goes through his trunk and tries to take anything remotely useful, because he's not sure if or when he'll be back here again. He's got a bad feeling his car will be looted and stripped by the time he gets back to it, because he's already seen a couple people getting mugged along the side of the road.

He stuffs a few bungee cords and a tarp into his backpack, a camping knife, a camping lighter, a map, and fills the rest with as many bottles of water as he can fit. He opens one and forces himself to chug it, the water nauseatingly warm from sitting in the car all day, but he knows he'll regret it more if he doesn't. He changes into his sneakers, slings the backpack over his shoulders, picks up his sleeping bag, and sets off.

Because he's got to get to Pam.

She has to be okay.

He swallows hard as he begins the walk, trying his best to ignore the screaming and death surrounding him. He tries not to make eye contact with anyone. A young girl grabs his leg, begging for help. He takes one look at the collapsed building she says her mother is in, then looks around at all the other collapsed buildings and crying people. He bends down on his knee and says he's sorry, he can't stop right now, but she can come with him if she likes. She screams and runs back to the building, refusing to go. So he keeps walking, his mouth twitching down into a frown, his heart breaking, but what can he do?  

He aims for back streets, trying to avoid the risk of that happening again. Then he sees a group of boys kicking someone on the ground in an alley. They spot him and run in his direction. He feels his stomach drop as he veers sharply and runs quickly back to the main drag. He can run faster than they can, so they don't follow for long.

After about twenty minutes on foot, he arrives at the office without any further incident. He's shaking and sick to the depths of his soul as he comes around the corner. He used to have to look up at it. Now it's flattened, shorter than a single story. There isn't a sound coming from inside of it, no indication that there were any survivors. He's certain that anyone inside would never have had a chance.

The whole way over, he'd avoided thinking about the possibility that she didn't make it. She couldn't not make it.  

She's the love of his life.

Was the love of his life. Because now she's dead.

She was probably in the kitchen eating her mixed berry yogurt.

She probably didn't feel a thing.

It was probably over in a heartbeat.

He bends over and vomits.

He walks up to the building, as close as he can get. Wave after wave of grief pummels him relentlessly. Tears are streaming down his cheeks and he's sobbing her name, over and over again. He can't stop thinking about how much he wishes he'd been inside, too. He can't stop thinking about how much he wishes the knife in his backpack was a gun.

He knows it's ridiculous, he knows there's no way she survived, but he can't stop himself from circling the building and looking for her anyway.