Mom was still walking slowly down the road, scrutinizing even the tiniest things that’d been affected by the blasts. “Mom,” I yelled out. “Look over here!”

She looked over at me, and up at the wall, and at me again. Her worried expression told me to get away, and I did, going to her.

“Stay away from there for now, okay?” she said sternly.

“Okay.”

Papa was inside one of the houses, probably offering help. Papa was always like that; helping people even when they didn’t ask him.

Some airplanes and helicopters still passed by overhead, but it was otherwise silent. The smoke and ash had mostly dissipated, and I could see the full extent of the damage done to our village. As far as I knew, no one had died.

Tony, a boy I went to school with, was now going near the hole in the wall. He looked down the continuation of road and, warily, stepped out to the other side. “Tony, get back here!” I yelled.

He started to come back, but then fell down to the rubble after I heard a sharp crack.