Kevin ran as fast as he could through the piles of concrete pulling the boy like a runaway cow dragging the owner at the end of the rope. The sound of the blast continued to rise as if the bombs were running together with them.

They don’t know how long they had been running until they reached the shattered remains of a house. The sound of the blasts had faded. Kevin, panting like a horse after a race, let go of his hand and looked at the living thing he was dragging along with him. It was a boy, not more than fifteen years old.

He asked, “ What’s your name?”, “Peter, "...