The acrid air was thick with smoke as she picked her way over the dead and dying. Her breathing was labored, punctuated with hacking coughs and piercing pain. The smell of death and charred flesh permeated her senses. Missiles, or, as they referred to them, "Angels of Death," exploded in the distance. She squinted through the mist, focusing on the towers, and safety, just ahead. She turned and yelled out to the person behind her, "Another hundred yards and we'll be safe." She lost her footing and tripped. Her cheekbone crashed hard into the ground, leaving the taste of warm blood in her...