The sight awaiting Detective Charles at the school gates was apocalyptic.
Flames still flickered from broken windows. Smoke curled into the sky like twisted shadows of mourning. A mix of sirens and sobbing filled the air, cutting through the chaos like blades. Police officers cordoned off sections of the school while firefighters stormed inside, dousing flames and kicking down doors. Stretchers moved swiftly across the grounds, some carried the injured. Others… did not.
Charles pushed past the tape, flashing his badge and ignoring the protests.
He ran into the school, eyes wild, voice hoarse.
"Kimberly! Kimberly!" he called, moving from one ruined corridor to the next.
Desks were overturned. Blood smeared the floors. Shattered glass crunched under his boots. The locker area was gone, blown into twisted metal. A wall near the science wing had collapsed entirely.
He reached her classroom, what was left of it.
The chalkboard hung sideways. Her desk was overturned, its contents spilled. No sign of her. Nobody.
"Kimberly!" he screamed again, collapsing against a wall, sweat and soot streaking his face.
All around him, parents stormed the campus, some in tears, others collapsing at the sight of lifeless bodies. A woman wailed uncontrollably as her daughter's name was called but received no answer. Another fainted upon recognizing her child's shoes on a stretcher.
It wasn't a school anymore. It was a war zone.
....
The Eyes of the Media
As emergency responders worked tirelessly, the media arrived in a frenzy. Cameramen positioned themselves around the chaos while reporters, clad in jackets and forced solemnity, delivered their breaking news to the nation.
"This is a national tragedy," one reporter began, standing in front of the charred gates. "A horrific incident at Girls' Fountain College, where an explosion, suspected to be a coordinated attack, has left numerous casualties…"
The camera panned to an officer pulling a barely-conscious janitor from the rubble.
Reporters swarmed.
"Sir, please, can we just have a moment of your time?"
The man, weak and coughing, nodded slightly.
"What happened? Did you see anything? The attackers?"
"I…I was in the restroom," he rasped. "I was cleaning… then I heard the blast. Screams… shouting. I stayed in there. I was afraid…"
"Thank you. Stay strong," the reporter said, turning back to the camera. "This survivor didn't see the attackers, but authorities are working quickly to gather witness accounts and footage."
....
Detective Charles stood outside the smoldering remains of his daughter's school, staring into the middle distance. His lips trembled. His fists clenched.
Someone touched his arm, it was Officer Millier, one of his close colleagues.
"We'll find her," Miller said quietly. "The list of the dead is being compiled… but she's not on it. That's something."
"But she's not here," Charles whispered. "She's not anywhere."
And in that moment, he knew, his daughter wasn't dead. She had been taken.
He turned sharply to Miller. "I need every name on the school's entry list this morning. Every visitor. Every staff ID scanned. Pull camera footage. Find something, anything."
Miller nodded. "Already working on it."
Charles stared up at the scorched remains of Kimberly's school, his heart burning more fiercely than the rubble before him.
Whoever did this… they had started a war.
...
Beneath the Calm
As the world absorbed the breaking news of the bombing, Miss Donna sat alone in her office, the sunlight through the blinds casting striped shadows across her desk. But nothing could warm the cold in her chest.
The television mounted on the wall continued to stream live coverage from Girls' Fountain College. The reporter's voice was low, almost reverent.
"We are still awaiting official statements from law enforcement. So far, 30 deaths have been confirmed, including students, staff, and teachers. Thirty-five students remain unaccounted for. Twenty others are being treated for severe injuries at St. Mary's General Hospital and Mercy West."
"Authorities suspect this may be linked to a child trafficking operation, though no group has yet claimed responsibility."
Miss Donna's eyes were locked on the screen, unmoving. Her tea had gone cold hours ago.
She had seen many tragedies in her career, but something about this one cut deeper, like a blade with a personal edge. Her fingers clenched tightly around a pen, the cap cracking under pressure.
"How can this still be happening?" she asked herself aloud.
"How can this happen under a government that promised security, peace, and protection for our children?"
It wasn't just sadness in her eyes anymore, it was resolved.
.....
Elsewhere, far from the wreckage and chaos, in a luxurious private villa guarded by security cameras and palm-lined walls, Governor Thomas Gall watched the same news coverage on a massive television in his private lounge.
A tumbler of whiskey swirled in his hand.
He sat back in his leather chair, suit crisp, expression unreadable. His political advisor paced the floor nervously.
"This is bad," the advisor said. "Too much heat. The country's watching. The press is going insane. Even foreign media has picked this up. If they link anything back to you…"
"They won't," Thomas cut in calmly.
"But there's a police detective already digging. Charles, I think. He's dangerous. And this Miss Donna from the court office…Mr Charles has probably started connecting dots I believe…"
Thomas the governor, sipped from his glass. "Then maybe it's time his… distracted."
....
Underground
Back inside the van moving through dusty rural roads, Kimberly could feel the vehicle beginning to slow. She pressed her ear to the thin metal wall.
They were somewhere remote now. She heard birds. Wind. No city noise.
Then, Marcus barked from the front, "We're here."
The doors opened. Blinding daylight poured in.
They were led out into a massive compound…barbed fences, camouflaged trucks, and tents spread across a clearing deep in the forest. A private airstrip lay further ahead, where a small aircraft waited.
One of the older girls leaned toward Kimberly and whispered, "They're moving us out of the country."
Kimberly's heart pounded. Her father's voice echoed again in her mind: "You be strong, always. No matter what."
She took a deep breath.
She had to find a way to escape.
Or delay them.
Or signal for help.
Something.
Anything.
....
The Alliance
Back at Police HQ, Miss skilar, a well know female detective, sat across from Detective Charles and Officer Miller, the red folder open between them.
As skilar detailed the depth of Governor Thomas Gall involvement, Charles paced the room, piecing together the attack.
"You said the name Virgo came up in 2019?" he asked.
Skilar nodded. "Yes, during an investigation into a fake orphanage ring in the North-East. Girls disappeared from schools. Same age group. Same patterns. The case was shut down. Classified above my clearance. But I kept records."
Miller flipped through the documents. "So the bombing wasn't just a distraction, it was a collection. A mass kidnapping, covered up by chaos."
Charles's phone buzzed.
A message from a tech analyst:
"We've tracked one of the stolen vans to a fuel stop two hours north. Surveillance camera caught a partial plate. Sending location now."
Charles looked up. His expression hardened.
"We've got a lead."
Miss skilar stood, ready. "Then let's follow it."