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time is nearly smokeless.  It’s intended to stun hostage-takers with its concussion, sound, and flash, allowing the cops to rescue their victims unharmed …and kill the hostage-taker.
    As soon as Max tossed it, both he and Steve slid to their right and turned away from the blond man and his hostage, so the bright light from the grenade’s explosion wouldn’t blind them, too.  The detonation was almost instantaneous, and they felt the concussion.  Two beats of a heart later, they heard “Allah Akbar!” followed by a heat so intense it felt as though they had stepped under one of those big propane patio heaters turned up full blast, light so bright it was like staring into the sun, noise so loud it shut down their hearing as if a circuit breaker had been triggered, and then dead, silent, blackness.

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
     
    Sound pushed through the fog and registered like whispers in the back of a church.  First, it was a siren.  Then it was voices. “ETA seven, unconscious, respirations 22, pulse 96, BP 130 over 80, pupils equal and reactive, pulse ox 93%, multiple shrapnel wounds to the left side, slightly diminished breath sounds lift lung.  Non-rebreather at 15 liters.  Starting IV.”  More voices, this time indiscernible, distant.  Something familiar there …a radio.  Finally, “Ten four.”
    Movement — rocking.  Something, someone pushing on me, holding my arm, pinning me down.
    Pain — hot — searing.  Everywhere.  Oh the pain.  It’s all wrong.  Too much.  Something new.  Something happening to my arm.  A pinching sensation.
    No, no, he thought.  Stop it.  It hurts.  Everything hurts.  Fight.  Don’t give up.  You’re better than them.
    Max’s eyes fluttered, letting in the light.  A blurred image of someone leaning over him registered.  His breathing increased. His chest rose.  He started to struggle, pushing a hand away, but he felt resistance.  The hand took hold of his arm, firmer now, pinning it.
    He struggled harder, pushing out with his free hand and groaning.
    “Hey, hey, take it easy,” a voice said.  “Relax, you’re going to be all right …that is as long as you get your hand off my boob.  Calm down now or we’ll have to restrain you.  Can you hear me?  Hey, can you hear me?  You’ve been hurt, but you’re going to be okay.  You’re safe now.  You’re in an ambulance.  We’re almost to the ER.”
    He felt someone grab the wrist of his free hand and push it down.  Safe.  Blackness again.
     
    The cold half woke him and only then did he become aware of his thirst.  Where am I, he thought?  He heard a television; a male voice saying something about thirty-three dead.  Did I fall asleep watching TV?  And why is it so cold?
    Max opened his eyes, closed them, blinked them open again, and squinted into the light.  Turning his head to the right and slightly raising it, he saw someone sitting in a chair near the foot of his bed, facing a wall mounted TV with both the picture and volume on.
    “The President to address the nation at 6 PM Pacific Standard Time …”
    Short, collar-length, dark hair, swept back around the ears, navy blue tee-shirt, dark cargo pants.  He raised his head up another inch and thought he saw black six-inch lace-up boots like a cop would wear.
    “Locally, the police department has gone to twelve hour shifts and will be providing extra security at schools, shopping centers, and government buildings. …”
    His eyes shifted to the open door when he saw someone in light-green, push a cart past.  In the distance he heard a phone ring and someone laugh.  He was in a hospital.  He couldn’t remember what happened to him.  He couldn’t remember anything. 
    Max tried to speak to the figure seated in the chair but found his tongue stuck to the inside of his lips.  He worked it around until he had enough saliva to ask, “Who are you?  Where am I?”
    The figure jumped up and turned around.  It was a woman,