Breaking: Explosion Reported at Boston Marathon's Finish Line

[Jan Klimkowski]

Laterally, for some reason, I'm reminded of k.t. Frankovich's harrowing account of the behaviour of military types in the aftermath of Hurricane Andrew.

The entire first person account deserves to be read.

However, it is k.t.'s description of life in an armed police / military / FEMA lockdown that has floated into my consciousness:

So what actually did take place when Andrew survivors tried to get help from those collecting dead bodies in the aftermath? Well, I for one can give a firsthand account. About the third day into the aftermath, a long line of police cars cautiously drove into my area during the late afternoon. We had not had contact with any other people from outside the devastation up until this point. There were approximately 12 to 15 police cars comprising this caravan, each marked from different locations throughout the state. Each car was driven by a man dressed in a dark police uniform and had three other plain-clothed men riding as passengers, making a total of four men in each vehicle.

Someone from our group spotted the caravan and ran to get me, knowing that I had been badly injured and that I urgently needed emergency medical help. My twenty-five-year old son and one other adult male survivor, helped escort me to the caravan. We hurried toward the lead car. It stopped moving when we approached the driver's side. The officer sitting behind the wheel rolled down the window. For a few moments he rudely ignored us, at one point giving us an impatient look of disgust.

This is the exact conversation and course of events that took place.

"Please sir, I need medical help," I begged, barely able to speak.

The officer sitting behind the wheel sighed heavily. He turned his head away from me and gazed out his windshield. The other three men in the car quietly looked at me.

"Sir, please, I need to get to a hospital!..." I begged frantically.

The officer took his time about reaching over to turn off the engine. With another sigh, he slowly opened the door and climbed out. He then proceeded to close the door and stood there with his legs spread astride.

"Lady, do me a favor," he answered. "Find yourself a piece of paper and a pencil. Write down your name and social security number next to the telephone number of your nearest living relative. Tuck the piece of paper in your pocket so tomorrow when I find your body, I'll know who to contact."

"No!... No!" I cried out. "You don't understand. I need to get to a hospital. I've been badly injured."

"No! You're the one who doesn't understand," he hissed back. With that, he reached over to his holster and took out his gun. He grabbed me, forcing me up against the side of the car, and proceeded to put the barrel of the gun against my temple. I heard the hammer cock.

From the position he had pushed me into, I could see directly into the car. The man sitting in the front passenger seat looked away from me immediately, glancing down at the floor. The two passengers in the back seat turned their heads quickly, staring out the window on the opposite side of the car.

My son and the other survivor watched as the officer had pulled back the hammer on the gun. So shocked out of their minds by what they were witnessing, neither one could move!

"You don't belong here!" the officer growled, pressing the barrel into the side of my head. "Now you get the hell outta here before I blow away your ass!" He shoved my face into the car window and then released me.
Someone grabbed me from behind and whirled me around so fast, I didn't have time to think! Before I knew it, I was being thrown over their shoulder. They took off running as fast as they could! I caught a brief glimpse of my son running next to me. With one gigantic leap, he and the survivor who carried me, dove behind a pile of debris! All three of us crashed on top of each other in one tangled up heap.

"I'll shoot your damn asses!" the officer's voice rang out.