Tessa was shocked by the destruction. The fall out area from the blast was much larger than she’d been told. Her house was supposed to be safe. Her family was supposed to be safe. They had assured her that there was no need to leave the country as that would cast suspicion in her direction, which would lead the authorities to them.
Being part of a radical movement had always been on condition that it didn’t include being a suicide bomber, but the government had to learn that part of their job was to listen to the people who had put them in power. This had come a little too close.
Perhaps she should have done the calculations herself instead of trusting one of the other members. After all, they had accepted her into the fold with open arms because of her training in explosives. This was a far cry from blowing up mountains to make way for new roads or bringing down old, derelict buildings. She loved the precision with which correctly placed charges could make towered bricks fall straight down without affecting their surroundings other than a dust cloud.
The group would surely provide funds to repair the damages. She’d have to ask them to be more careful next time. Hopefully they had gotten most of the cabinet, but there were sure to be a few more that needed taking care of.
She turned from the shattered windows to wake her husband for a celebratory breakfast and saw a line of scarlet dripping from his neck. The start of a puddle already congealing on the floor, a shard of glass protruding from his throat.
Someone had killed him.
by Debbie Gravett © 2019.05.24