Pool_2

>> After Gas <<

Without long and practical experience and a suitably oriented aptitude, what you conjure quickly in your head and what actually happens are seldom related. When the wrong people plan, it is called fantasy. So, propane? A diversion? Something subtle to get the police involved? Yeah, right. Bethdale firemen were putting out the remaining secondary fires and sifting through debris. "Find where that comes from and shut it down!" A pressing emphasis was neutalizing electrical hazards. "Jesus. More wires." An inordinate number of power lines were running through the rubble. An interesting choreography moved on a set of contrasts. Beings in otherworldly brilliant metallic fabric glided over the scene with odd hand held wands. Men in business suits and amber hard hats pointed as others laden in thick brilliant orange rubber trudged through muck . Stagnant gray cinder floated away. Rising smoke and settling dust framed Bethdale's newer sun yellow fire engines and, too, the older but trusty reds. In its way, it was beautiful. For poise, you couldn't top the chromed hook and ladder with it's long white arms folded, as if wanting to know when it could join in. There would be no opportunity in this flat spread of scatter. "Gimme a hand here. Don't step there." The obvious fear had been that a gas line had blown. All nearby gas services were shut down as the very first step. Sniffers were out in force. It's gotta take balls to be drilling holes into roads you suspect are trapping gas. It's down there licking its lips, just itching to claim you. All the more so that the negative diagnosis of the noses was surprising. "Hey, check this out!" Waving hands and voices beckoned the inspectors who had been poking randomly about.