“Hello?” he called out.
The sound, he realized, was coming from Tommy’s room. Billy bit his lip and wondered if the child was still home alone. Then Billy looked around and stepped through the doorway.
Tommy’s things were strewn across the floor, and little oatmeal fingerprints were on everything. Billy saw a Mother Goose book, a couple of blocks, and a little straw horse. At first Billy didn’t see anyone, but then he stepped fully into the room, and he turned to see Tommy behind the door.
The boy was crying in the corner. His hair was tussled, and his eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep. Billy rushed over to him.
“Tommy,” he said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— I mean—” He let his voice trail off, then started to cough. He pounded his chest and caught his breath. “Where’s your uncle? Did he ever come back?”
Tommy didn’t say anything. He just shook his head.
“Damn,” Billy said as he turned toward the window. The smoke outside was only getting thicker. “Listen,” he said, “we’ve gotta leave, and we’re not gonna come back. If you can bring something with you, what’ll you take?”
Tommy looked around. He couldn’t quite grasp what Billy was saying. “Take it all,” Tommy said.
“I’ve only got one horse. You gotta choose one thing.”
Tommy considered that for a second, then pointed to his toy horse. “That,” he said.
“All right,” Billy said as he stuffed the horse in his pocket. Without another word, he took Tommy’s hand and rushed him downstairs.
“Where we going?” Tommy asked.
“To the lake,” Billy said. “We’re gonna find your uncle, all right?”
“Mm-hm,” Tommy said.
Billy hustled out to the porch. “Do you know how to ride a real horse?” he asked as he stepped down to the sidewalk.
“Think so.”
Billy stopped. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Do you or don’t you?”
“No.”
Billy nodded and put Tommy in the saddle. “See this?” he asked. “You gotta sit on here real careful, you hear? Don’t fall.”
Tommy was scared, but he seemed to be all right. Billy unhitched the horse and joined Tommy on the saddle. “Hold onto me,” he said. “Don’t let go.”
Tommy wrapped his hands around Billy’s waist. Billy whipped the reins, and they headed off toward Lincoln Park.
FOUR MILES TO THE SOUTH, Robert was guiding his mother up the stairs. She was so limp that he had to half-carry her to her room. Lizzie held the door open while Robert eased Mary inside. Mary plopped down on her bed and was instantly asleep.
“Good heavens,” Robert said. He couldn’t help remembering how he’d put her to bed less than twenty-four hours before. Now his ordeal had brought him back to where he’d started, and he had to wonder if his efforts had been in vain.
He saw that Mary’s pills were back on the bedside table. “What are those doing there?” he asked.
Lizzie looked up. “There she always keeps them.”
“But I—” Robert paused and turned to Lizzie. “I had a reason for putting them away.”
“I’m sure you did,” she replied, “and I had a reason for putting them back.”
“Pardon me?” Robert said. “Lizzie, you know how dangerous that substance can be—”
“Your mother needs stability. She needs order. She must keep things a certain way, as nonsensical as it may seem to you—”
“Nonsensical?” Robert asked. “You act as if I hardly know her.”
Lizzie crossed her arms. “I’ve cared for her far more often than you,” she replied.
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” Robert said.
“You’ve been absent every time your mother needed you the most,” Lizzie snapped. “You were absent when Tad fell ill, you were absent after he died, and you’ve been absent during the fire. Who, dare I ask, was taking care of her then? It was I every time. How dare you be so distant and then accuse me, of all people, of neglect?”
“Distant, you say? She’s been living in my house!”
Lizzie scoffed. “One wouldn’t know it from the way you’ve been acting,” she said. “You know not even where her medicines belong, much less what they’re intended to do—”
“What have her medicines to do with anything?” Robert asked. Suddenly he realized that his mother was still asleep. At first he questioned how she could sleep through the quarrel, but then he noticed a hint of regret on Lizzie’s face. Robert’s blood began to boil as he realized what had happened. He picked up the pill bottle, and he had to resist the urge to fling it across the room. “You didn’t,” Robert said.
“What was I to do?” Lizzie asked. “Your mother was in a state.”
“So this was your solution? To provide her with a dangerous drug?”
“Your mother will be fine,” Lizzie said. “She’s better off with than without it—”
“What nonsense!” Robert yelled. “What in God’s name were you thinking?”
“Do not ever speak to me that way,” Lizzie said, “and stop acting as if you’re the ideal caregiver for her.”
“Then who is, pray I ask?”
“She needs someone like your father— of whom you are but a pale shadow.”
“My father?” Robert asked. “Why on Earth would you invoke his name in all this?”
“Because he comforted her in a way you never could,” Lizzie said. “Do you not think she was devastated at Eddie and Willie’s demise? Naturally she was, for any mother would be. She was every bit as beside herself as she is now. But this is the first time she’s acted out so. And that is because she hasn’t your father to lend her his aid.”
“Lizzie,” Robert snapped, “stop treating him as if he were some omnipotent legend. He was a flesh-and-blood mortal, no different from you or me, and he could do all of the same things that we can, no more and no less—”
“Then why, pray I ask, do you not do what he did?”
Robert threw up his hands. “What do you want from me?” he said. “How can you ask me to measure up to him?”
“You men,” Lizzie said. “It’s always a competition: who’s the smartest, who’s the richest, who’s the most powerful, and the like. In God’s eyes, none of that matters.”
“Oh, stop speaking to me as a preacher’s wife. And stop insinuating that I don’t defend my family, or that I don’t seek out the best for my loved ones.”
Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Then why did your wife leave you?” she asked.
Robert blinked. The question shocked him in its bluntness, and it took him a moment to respond. “Sh-she didn’t leave me,” he said. “How dare you say that?”
“She left your home and traveled halfway across the country to be with her parents,” Lizzie said. “How else would you prefer to construe it?”
“She’s caring for an ill mother. You know that.”
“Then when will she be coming home?” Lizzie asked.
Robert paused. “I don’t know,” he said, “when her mother recovers, I suppose—”
“You may tell yourself so, if you must,” Lizzie said. “But I venture to say that I understand female thoughts and feelings considerably better than you— as I have been burdened with plenty of my own.”
Robert scoffed. “Why are we discussing this?” he asked. “The matter at hand is not about me, it isn’t about my marriage, and it isn’t even about my father. It’s about my poor mother, and about what you have done to her.”
“What I’ve done to her?” Lizzie said. “I was assuring her safety. If you wish to be so high-and-mighty about her care, then I suggest you venture out of your shell from time to time, and take care of her yourself— instead of leaving it up to those whom you feel you can command.”
Robert was so furious that his veins stuck out of his neck. “You unabashed little imbecile!” he yelled. “How dare you say such a horrible thing? I give her my all, I always have, and I always will, and no dastardl
y insinuation of yours will ever change that. Understand?”
Lizzie just stood there in silence. Her expression was a perfect pokerface, and her arms were firmly folded.
“Get out of my house,” Robert snapped, “at once.”
“Gladly,” Lizzie replied.
WHEN BILLY GOT BACK TO LINCOLN PARK, he saw countless scenes of panic and desperation. A mother cried out for a child she couldn’t find. Men were describing their loved ones, hoping to find someone who had seen them. Tommy turned his head around and tried to grasp what was happening.
“Mister Caldwell!” Billy yelled. “Mister Caldwell, where are ya?”
But there was no reply. At least fifty others were also calling out names, and no one was paying much attention.
“Mister Caldwell!” Billy called out again. “Are you out there? Answer me, I got yer boy!”
There was nothing. Billy kept moving through the park, but he began to think it was hopeless. His horse trotted through a corridor of people. A homeless man sat on a beer keg and stared blankly into his lap. Next to him was a whole family: a mother, a father, two children, and a dog, with no possessions left between them. Each person was reacting differently. Many people were pale with fear, with raccoon-like circles around their eyes. Some were nearly naked, having run from their homes in their nightclothes. One girl stood with her family and wondered why Mommy was crying, while her father stared into space.
“Mister Caldwell?” Billy yelled. “Where are ya? Can ya hear me?”
Up ahead, Billy saw a grove of trees, and he knew there was an open meadow behind it. He coaxed the horse forward, hoping to get a better view.
Then, as the horse passed the trees, Billy’s mouth fell open.
From there he had a broad view that extended for miles. The lakeshore was covered with tens of thousands of people. It was so crowded that Billy couldn’t see where the land ended and the water began. The sky was an ominous shade of pink, interspersed with glowing orange rainclouds. Burning embers were still blowing through the air, and little bits of ash were floating down like snow.
“Blimey,” Billy said, half to himself and half to Tommy.
“Where Simon?” Tommy asked.
“I dunno,” Billy said. He didn’t know why he’d assumed that Simon would be there. Billy now realized that if Simon had been in the area, then surely he would have gone home; and if he hadn’t been close by, then he could be anywhere.
Billy swallowed hard as he surveyed the crowd. “I-I think... maybe....” Billy licked his lips and looked at Tommy. “We’ll find him,” he said.
AFTER STANDING IN THE LAKE FOR THREE HOURS, Simon’s leg had almost entirely gone numb. He stumbled out of the water and sat down on a rock. His pant leg was torn and stained red, and he found he couldn’t move his foot properly. His calf erupted in pain whenever he tried to put weight on it, so Simon knew that something was wrong.
He rolled up his pant leg and immediately winced with disgust. His knee was grotesquely swollen. A deep cut ran from his ankle to the back of his knee. He had bled so much that he couldn’t tell what was skin and what was raw flesh. He also saw yellow flecks in the wound, which he thought could be pus but couldn’t be sure.
Lillian didn’t seem to blink. “Good heavens,” she said. “Stay seated. You must not attempt to move.”
“That’s impossible,” Simon shot back. “I cannot stay. I must get home to my nephew—”
“That is out of the question,” she snapped. “You’ leg could be infected. The wound must be cleaned immediately.”
“But—”
“You don’t wish gangrene to set in, do you?”
Simon gritted his teeth. He knew how dangerous gangrene could be. Once the necrosis set in, the only way to stop it was to remove the dead tissue. That often meant amputating part of the body— and if that wasn’t done, then the patient would die. “No,” he said, “it cannot be so bad.”
“Simon, you’re a man. Although seeing a doctor is not in you’ nature, you must see to it immediately—”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m afraid I do.”
“How could you say that?” Simon asked. “You’ve never been in my position. You’ve never been responsible for a child. I spent most of the night trying to tell myself that Tommy was all right, but I cannot do that anymore, and I cannot allow anything to happen to him—”
“What about you’self?” Lillian said. “You’ quite good at acting in your own interests, and in this case, your interests are identical to his. If something happens to you, then you cannot be of use to him, or to me, or to anyone else.” She bowed her head for a moment. “I’m sorry, I just— well, you’ll have to accept it.”
Simon looked toward the north, in the direction of his house. He couldn’t see a thing, since the North Side’s smoke and flames were still blocking his view.
Lillian put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure Tommy is safe,” she said.
Simon gritted his teeth. “That’s quite easy for you to say.” He tried to put his weight on his good leg. He wanted to race away, but he knew he couldn’t do it. “Lillian,” he said, “try to see it as I do. I no longer think of Tommy as merely my nephew, and I certainly don’t think of him as one of J.J.’s mistakes— if anything, I... I think of him as my son.”
Lillian pursed her lips. “Simon,” she replied, “I’ve spent more time with him than you.”
“You needn’t remind me,” Simon shot back, “and I wish to God it weren’t so.” He slowly sat back down on the rock. “I never claimed to be a good father— or uncle, or whatever one wishes to call me.”
Lillian sat down beside him. “It is not my intent—”
“Intent matters not,” he replied.
Simon and Lillian looked at each other, and for a moment they were both silent.
Archibald Andrist cleared his throat. “Lillian!” he said.
Lillian turned toward her father. He was approaching the ruins like a spooked dog. A few areas were still smoldering, sending ribbons of smoke through the air.
Lillian sighed. “Father, it really is not terribly dangerous,” she said. “There is no need to act so.”
Andrist swayed his head drunkenly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he didn’t say a word.
Lillian turned to Simon. “You mustn’t mind him,” she said. “Let me see you’ leg. Pe’haps there is something I can do.”
BILLY REACHED THE OAK GROVE WHERE HIS FAMILY HAD TAKEN SHELTER. He brought his horse to a stop, dismounted, and took Tommy into his arms. The boy was crying out of fear, and Billy couldn’t find a way to calm him.
Billy’s mother stood up when she saw him. “Who is that?” she asked.
“He’s the boy I was watchin’,” Billy said. “He needs somethin’ to eat.”
“Billy,” Trudy said, “we have nothing to offer. Where and how could we possibly—”
“Mother,” Billy said, but then he paused in mid-sentence. “Well, I suppose I—”
“Your father still hasn’t returned.”
“What?” Billy said. “Then where the devil is he?”
Trudy shrugged but didn’t make eye contact. She put her hand to her mouth as she tried to keep from sobbing.
“Mother, don’t cry,” Billy said. He wanted to do something that would make her feel better, but he already feared he might not see his father again. “H-he’s got to be in good hands. He’s got to be, I know.”
“You’re just saying that,” Trudy said, “I never even said goodbye— you can’t possibly—”
“Mother, you must stop fearing the worst,” Billy said. “What right have you to assume something’s happened?” He looked at his siblings and felt a lump in his throat. Billy wanted to think that George had come under some millionaire’s wing. That, Billy thought, would be the safest place to be, or at least so he hoped—
“I— I know not what to do,” Trudy said. “We must do something, we must, I can’t simply sit here and
all the while allow heaven-knows-what to occur—”
Billy shook his head. He looked off toward his right, where the fire was still plowing through the city’s northern reaches. Most of the nearby blocks were ablaze, leaving only one way out of the park. That escape route was Fullerton Avenue, but it lay right in the path of the flames. Billy didn’t dare venture there; he knew it was only a matter of time before the fire enveloped the street, and with Tommy in tow, he didn’t dare risk it.
Billy was about to say something, but as soon as he opened his mouth, his mother stormed away. Billy stood motionless for a moment. His feelings were so complicated, so confusing, and so utterly overwhelming, that he couldn’t begin to figure out what to do. He simply looked at Tommy, shook his head, and hoped for the best.
JOHN CHAPIN HAD MADE HIS WAY ACROSS THE CITY and was now a good distance from the fire. He had been on his feet all day, and his exhaustion was nearly unbearable. Now he was stumbling into a depot, one of the last ones in operation.
Chapin was anxious to send word that he was safe. But with the telegraphs down, there was little he could do. He was tempted to search for Fletcher, but with the city in such disarray, Chapin could pass Fletcher in the crowd a hundred times and never know it. The wisest thing to do, it seemed, was to leave the city altogether.
The depot was clogged full of people who were all trying to flee. Chapin bought a one-way ticket and headed for the platform. He had to elbow his way through the crowd, but finally he reached the railcar.
Once inside, Chapin struggled to find a seat. He opened the restroom door and found a woman crouched over the toilet, holding two children on her lap. A man sat wedged in a corner, and two others had somehow crammed themselves into the available space. Chapin excused himself, closed the door, and moved on.
After some searching, he found an open spot in the last car of the train. He leaned against a wall and stared out the window. His joints were sore, his legs were tense, and his lungs still burned with pain. He tried to ignore his fellow passengers as they clustered around him, filling the car to well over capacity. A few elbows jabbed at Chapin’s ribs, but he was too fatigued to care.
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