Pat stirred awake, wrapped in the soft warmth of his sheets, but the absence of a familiar scent left him feeling disoriented. A light green gown draped over him confirmed his location: Technate General. A nurse stood nearby, her face expressionless and distant.
"Do you know where Sister Catherine is?" he asked.
The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, but you're the only survivor from the church fire. You're very lucky to be alive."
Tears trickled down his cheeks. "What started the fire?"
"A bomb."
"A bomb? From where?"
"We don't know. We do know that it came from another country. A plane was spotted earlier that evening; the police are still investigating the case."
The nurse's pager began beeping in the pocket of her green dress. "I have to go attend to other patients," she said.
The door clicked shut, leaving Pat alone with a sudden, crushing emptiness. All of it was gone—the familiar warmth of the church, the faces of his friends, the life he had. He was left with nothing but the deafening silence of a hospital room and the profound ache of being the sole survivor.