Tim Murphy, a rookie policeman, was driving the black and white, while his pardner, Sergeant Jeff Hagens, was chatting up his girlfriend on his cell phone. This was Tim's third week with Hagens, and he was disappointed with him. Hagens was one of those lazy cops, that tried to pass off to other officers anything that would require paperwork. But Hagens loved busting prostitutes.
Murphy turned left onto Colfax Avenue, when suddenly everything ahead of them turned orange. Seconds later the car was rocked with the booming aftershock of the explosion. Tim slammed on the brakes, himself in shock. Then he could hear sergeant Hagens shouting, "Go, go, go!" Tim stepped on the gas propelling them forward. Three blocks later the street turned into bedlam. People running, screaming, cars blocking the street, many of them abandoned. Hagens leaped out of the car, yelling, "Come on Murphy!"
The two officers ran into the cloud of dust, slipping and sliding on the broken glass and crushed concrete. Sergeant Hagens was yelling something unintellible into his radio. Tim was having trouble keeping pace with the older man. "Tim!" Hagens shouted, "Get these people to safety."
The people referred to were the dust coated, coughing, survivors, who were stumbling and staggering around, many of them rendered deaf by the blast. Tim gathered up these people and persuaded them to hold hands as he guided them out of the area. Returning he saw sergeant Hagens emerging from the smoke and dust, at a trot, carrying two children. Hagens shouted, "Get in there, those people need help."
Tim, his mouth covered with his handkerchief, reentered the choking dust and smoke. "Oh, God," he thought, "Please don't let this be another twin towers." He slowly became aware of the sirens in the background. Gathering as many people as he could locate, he ushered them from the blast area.