Alternating waves of darkness and light swept over her, but she fought to stay conscious. As her vision came back into focus, she pushed away the table, which was blocked by chairs and pieces of other tables that had been thrown against it by the blast. It took all her strength just to clear enough space to stand in the gray pallor that now encompassed the room. The air was filled with smoke and the overwhelming smell of gunpowder. With the fluorescent lights shattered, it was difficult to see through the thick haze. Leaning against the wall for support, she edged forward on rubbery legs. “Ralph? Come on, buddy. Talk to me,” she said, coughing. Ella called out his name several more times, but there was no answer. Slowly, she worked her way through the wreckage of table and chairs, orienting herself with the help of the light coming through the open door. With every step, her boots crunched on broken glass and plastic from the light fixtures. There was something sticky and slippery on the floor, too, and it made walking difficult.
