Excerpt

The woman’s constricted airway absorbed her initial scream. Eyes wide and mouth formed in a perfect oval, she resembled a silent movie damsel in distress. 

          She convulsed. The act cleared her throat, allowed her second scream to escape. The shrill and piercing sound rode a strong offshore current down an unprotected walkway, through a weatherproof double paned slider and across a breezeway separating the lobby of The Inn at Cocoa Beach from its northern two-story wing.
           Diminished after forcing its way through dense plate glass, the woman's cry failed to shatter the concentrated focus of ten individuals gathered in the lobby. Some of the ten sat. Some kneeled. Some stood, short in front, taller to the rear. Mesmerized by the pictures flashing across a console television—an impenetrable halo of silence encircled the ten. 
            Trained to remain cool when covering a cataclysmic event, an unseen broadcaster attempted to recall his lessons and deliver a steady and calm report. His voice, however, refused to cooperate. It cracked with emotion as live video shots presented each new and gut wrenching scene.