He wheezed with each breath. The stinging and burning made Joniver feel as though the fire was going on in his own throat, and his eyes were red and irritated. He felt light-headed, and his vision was narrowing, but he was unsure if it was the thickness of the smoke or its effects on his senses, or something else.
With his grandmother leading, the two of them crawled for the door. Joniver thought at first of the window but realized a third story drop was not survivable for Nana and would be, at the very best, painful for him.
He crawled on.
He had never felt or experienced anything so intense or threatening, and panic took hold of him. He had the urge, at times it felt uncontrollable, to jump up and start running for the door. A part of his mind was spinning in a thousand directions, conjuring up scenarios that ended with his body a blackened, crispy mess of ashes.
He kept seeing himself falling. Why?
Wasn’t I just asleep? Am I still asleep? The coarse, hot air ballooned in his lungs and reminded him that this was not a dream. He was not asleep.
He commanded his mind to stay focused on following his grandmother, and at the same time reprimanded himself for allowing her to lead. Why am I not leading and taking charge of this crisis?
Why? Because I didn’t know enough to keep my head down or control my emotions.
Stay focused, Joniver, he commanded himself.
Why was it taking so long to get to the door, he wondered. He had so adroitly picked two apples off Michaels’ table earlier today, but seemed unable to control his limbs now. His legs wobbled, and he felt his arms tremble and his skin crawl.
In truth it took just seconds to reach the door, and Nana and Joniver were ready to move to the hallway and down the stairs.
He felt some sense of relief.
They heard the noise of burning wood and plaster on the other side of the door, and the air was much hotter. His grandmother turned back to him, and he saw the sweat beaded and running down her forehead and onto her face. He felt concerned. He could not lose Nana. He would not.
Nana felt the door with the palm of her hand and nodded at him.
“We can open it and go out on the landing,” she said over the noise.
He nodded, and she reached up to turn the handle, opening the door a few centimeters at first. As soon as a crack appeared in the opening, smoke billowed in, making the room even darker than before. Outside there was light, however it was the light produced by flames. Joniver saw the fire was not on the landing, but it was below them on either the first or second floor.
They crawled on all fours out into the hallway. Once there, Joniver scanned the area for the best way down and out. There was a fire escape at the end of the landing, and his grandmother motioned for them to move toward it. As they did so, other doors were cracked open, and the inhabitants emerged, most on all fours, making the landing look like a herd of animals running from a fierce predator.
Joniver looked for one door in particular. The door that he saw Emily enter earlier in the evening. The door was closed, however. As he herded with the others toward the end of the hallway and the fire escape, he kept a watchful eye out. He saw nothing move at her flat.
As they moved, Joniver noticed everyone was coughing and straining. Although being closer to the floor, as Nana had instructed, did help, he was not immune to the effects of the fire raging up the stairwell behind them. His throat burned, his eyes were red and seared in his head, as if a million stinging bees were inside his eyelids and eyeballs.
The roaring of the fire was in his ears and dulled his awareness of the people around him. He reminded himself over and over where he was and what he was doing and why. He felt he had to audibly command himself to move and stay focused or be consumed in the smoke and the crowd and the noise.
A question burned inside him, however. What was it?
You must keep moving, he thought.
What was the problem?
Something told him to go back.
Go back? Why?
Why?
Emily, he must go back for Emily.
Where was Emily? Had her door opened?
He stopped to glance back over his shoulder. All the hallway doors were now open, except one, and it was the one he had seen her enter.
Was it her?
“Nana!”
She stopped and looked at him, her eyes wide and her face smudged with the evidence of the black monster above their crawl. Her cheeks, even darker now with the ash, made her white eyes look much larger with just a dark brown spot in the middle. She was determined, but she was also afraid.
She is a tough nut, he thought.
“Don’t stop, Joniver!” she said in response to his gaze. “Keep moving and stay down.”
Joniver moved up next to her in a flash. “No, Nana! I have to go back. Emily has not come out!”
His grandmother stopped and looked at him. For years she had been friends with Naomi, Emily’s aunt, and she knew her grandson had a crush on Emily.
“When did you see her?” she said. “When?” she shook his arm. She could see his panic setting in. “When?”
“Stay down, Joniver. When did you see her?” Her question was like a roaring in his ears. The tongues of flame lapped at the landing wall thirty meters behind them now.
“When?” She shook again. “Look at me!”
“Tonight! Just as I came in. Before dinner.”
“Tonight?”
“I have to go back, Nana. I can’t leave!”
The fact was, he wanted very much to leave. Everything inside screamed at him to run, but he could not. Joniver turned and crawled back down the hall, retracing the ten meters to the unopened doorway. “I’m coming!” Nana said, and followed on all fours, not sure if she was following because of her love for her grandson or his love for a girl.
Joniver reached the door, realizing the last few meters passed by much more quickly than all the previous others combined. He swung the door open, and it stuck. He could open it part way, but not enough to get inside. Something was on the other side, pushing against the door.
“Emily!” he shouted, “Emily!”
“Right here! I’m right in front of you!”
There she was. He saw her face now through the door opening, but he still did not understand why the door would not open further. He looked in quick, panic-filled motions.
“Aunt Naomi passed out and is blocking the door,” Emily said. “Push against it. Help me sit her up!”
Joniver saw she had her aunt’s forearms in her hands as she squatted in a low, but upright position. Joniver pushed, although he feared he would hurt the woman motionless behind the door. Regardless, he had to act, and Emily’s solution was the best at hand. Besides, Emily was not asking, she was telling.
As Joniver pushed from the hallway side, Emily pulled her aunt toward her, and slipped in the same motion under the woman, so she was on all fours with her aunt on her back facing downward. Aunt Naomi was not a big woman, so Emily could manage her without much trouble under normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances, however.
Joniver swung the door open to its full width, and Emily moved out. She saw the fire to the right toward the landing stairwell, then looked back at Joniver and Nana.
“Take Aunt Naomi!” she said, “I’ll be there in a minute!”
Joniver’s grandmother moved forward and assumed a position suitable for a handoff with Emily. When Naomi was positioned on her back, Nana moved toward the fire escape and called for both Joniver and Emily to follow. She talked to Naomi in an attempt to wake her.
Joniver saw the fire. It was on their floor and not more than a few meters away.
This was madness!
What was Emily doing? Nana?
“Wait!” Joniver did not know what to do.
Joniver swung his head left and right for several seconds. Every cell in his body pushed him toward the fire escape, but still he could not go.
What was Emily doing?
/> He moved into the apartment, which was laid out much the same as his and Nana’s.
“Emily! Where are you?”
He wanted to stand, but dared not. He fought not only his fear but the searing in his throat and eyes. His ears pounded with the noise of the flames just outside the door, and he once again fought the sickening feeling welling up inside him.
He moved toward the bedrooms, seeing no evidence of Emily in the main room. He crawled around the corner into the small hallway, when she emerged from one of the rooms with something around her arm.
They almost butted heads.
She screamed. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING! YOU - YOU - STUPID IDIOT!”
“Looking for you!” Joniver said. “We gotta get outta here!”
“I know that you jerk! Get out of my way!” She brushed past him, half dragging, half pushing a backpack that was very, very full. He could not see the contents, or even much about it, but he saw how Emily clutched it.
“Let me help you,” he said, and he reached out touching the backpack. He intended to sling the pack on his back.
“DON’T! DON’T! NO!” she roared over the sound of the flames. “I’ll take it and you don’t touch it!”
She yelled the last sentence as she crawled away at a pace Joniver was not sure he could match. He followed her toward the door, and he realized he was once again following as a woman led him to safety.
“Does Ruth have my aunt?” Emily said.
“What?”
“Does your Nana have my aunt?”
“Yeah, of course!” Joniver replied, coughing and wheezing as he did so.
The fire blazed only a few meters from Emily’s doorway. The red hot flames, swept the walls and peeled the aged plaster like the motion of a ballerina’s graceful hand, but in the hallway there was destruction rather than beauty and ash instead of grace.
The landing was empty, and Joniver saw through the open window the building tenants from upper floors filing down the fire escape. They looked like an awkward, stumbling procession of impromptu clowns.
Joniver and Emily had no time, and Joniver feeling the heat so close as they exited the apartment, decided to risk the run to the fire escape. He jumped up on his feet in a crouching, almost duck-walk pose, and with his left hand grabbed Emily by the right arm, pulling her up as well. The two half-sprinted, half-crawled to the exit window, coughing and choking on the debris-filled air.
Joniver simply wanted to get outside and breathe. He pushed Emily toward the window. She clutched the backpack and went through.
Joniver followed, squeezing next to her in the throng moving down the rusted metal stairs. There were a few steps missing, and the handrail was not attached the full length, but everyone made it down with little incident, which was a surprise, Joniver thought.
The Fire Control Unit finally arrived, and the residents of Peachtree Towers watched as their building was turned into blackened steel girders surrounded by ash and rubble.
Emily had not waited to get to the bottom, but coming to an opening in the fire escape handrail, she jumped the last two meters to the ground. Joniver followed her.
Joniver felt the sweet night air fill his charred lungs; breathing had never felt so good. He was not sure he would ever get the smell of fire out of his nostrils, but for the moment, the fresh air was enough. His head cleared.
Where is Nana and Aunt Naomi, he suddenly thought.
Together, they searched, Emily almost frantic. They found a makeshift shelter set up to tend the injured, and there they found Aunt Naomi. She lay on a sort of picnic table with Nana beside her.
Nana sobbed.
Emily sensed what had happened, and she ran with a look of both hope and knowledge. Emily’s eyes told her the truth that she hoped was a lie, but it was not.
Aunt Naomi was gone. Emily had lost one more lifeline to her past and one more anchor in life. An anchor that always assured her of who she was and who she could be. The feeling of being adrift at sea returned. Her mind flashed back to finding her father dead at the bottom of the stairs. The feelings of that little girl swept over her now in an instant; the feeling that she was weak and all alone in the world and always would be. The helplessness was like a poison working its way through her body.
Emily lifted her face to the sky and sobbed with a moaning, crying sound from deep inside her heart. She cried like a wolf who has lost a mate.
Joniver looked on. Emily had saved the backpack, for whatever good it would do. He was so grateful not to have lost Nana. He hurt for Emily, he guessed, but she would be fine. He was pretty sure she had other family close. He did not. Losing Nana would have been worse. Why had Emily been so determined about the backpack?
Then it hit him, for he had lost something too, or rather, left something. There was a sinking, sickening feeling knowing the time had passed he could go back to get it, and when it was found, well…
His thoughts trailed off.
He knew what had happened to others, and what had been rumored to have happened to a few. His lack of sympathy for Emily’s situation was now channeled in an instant dread for his own. His shoulders slumped, as he brought up both palms and covered his face.
He moaned, too.
Chapter 4
Joniver killed its owner to take his sword, because he thought it an elegant weapon. Killing the owner made it that much more valuable. This was the story Joniver told.
He did not literally kill the sword’s owner, but rather found him dying from an encounter with a Guardsman Security Detail. The Elite Guardsmen of the Security Detail were known for their evening raids of citizen residences. Often the reasons were not clear, but most people on the street believed the raids were for some terrorist act or terrorist threat. No one knew exactly what happened to prisoners taken in the raids, but everyone knew that few survived.
Killing was no stranger to the street.
Joniver recalled an evening twenty-two months past. An evening that was like any other, except he and Olinar had been roaming surrounding sectors to hookup with friends. They returned to the Peachtree district late and separated at Piedmont Avenue, Olinar heading south and Joniver west to his apartment.
As he turned the corner at 15th Street, Joniver saw the Guardsman detail marching in formation toward a standalone house on Lafayette Street. This was more than odd, he thought. Only company officials live in single family homes, and there is no reason for the Elite Guard to be at an official’s house this time of evening, particularly in this sector.
Joniver squatted behind a row of burned out automobiles, as he crept closer to the house. In the early twilight, the golden corded shoulder bars of the Guard uniforms had a dull gleam, like a low powered flashlight as its battery supply wanes. The smart red beret worn by each soldier sat sharply over hung to one side, hiding a portion of each face. The look gave each Guardsman a commanding and serious appearance. As they moved in formation at a slow jog, the beat of seven pairs of boots sounded like the soft tapping of walking horse hoof beats.
Joniver crawled from the pavement into one of the old cars, fighting through the rusted metal and shattered plastic. At one time, this had been a luxurious interior, but now it gave Joniver an excellent view of the house, and he could see the backs of the Guardsmen as they approached it.
The Captain knocked and waited as two other Guardsmen positioned on either side of the door. The door cracked slightly and a head appeared. Joniver held his breath. As soon as the door opened all three Guardsman rushed through, and Joniver saw two sets of hands grab the head in the doorway. Shots were fired and Joniver heard screaming, along with the scurry of gathering neighbors in the street.
There was a loud WHAP! And the front door swung open hard, cracking on its hinges, then hanging by just a few screws to the jam. One of the Guardsmen dragged a woman out the door and threw her to the cracked and dirty asphalt. Another gunshot rang out and Joniver saw a Guardsman drag a small form out the door and throw it to the street. He heard the cries of a
mother for her child, and saw her lunge and fall onto her son’s body. She hugged the boy, hoping that somehow her tears and screams would reanimate his lifeless form. The troopers were unmoved by the display.
Joniver saw the mother look up through her tears, then drop the boy’s body and rush his killer in a screaming rage. The Guardsman shot her in an economy of movement without hesitation or emotion.
Joniver flinched and ducked his head lower in the car’s body. He bit his hand to keep from screaming, and he felt tremors run through his extremities.
Joniver saw the father thrown through the doorway just in time to see his wife gunned down. He stumbled to the asphalt, his dinner napkin still tucked in his shirt collar, screaming obscenities at the Guardsmen. The Captain emerged from the house, put his gun in the man’s back and fired.
“Clear the house,” the Captain ordered. He looked up at the crowd and shouted to the patrol in the street, “Get these people back in their houses!”
The Guardsmen did their work and were quickly gone. The Guardsmen persuaded curious eyes and ears of the crowd their interests were best served in their own houses and apartments.
Joniver peered at the man still writhing in his own blood, as he drug himself along the stone-paved street with blood oozing from his left chest and gurgling from his neck. He saw the man clutch something under his pants leg like he was holding onto a lifeline. Joniver waited until all the onlookers had scampered like frightened rabbits to their holes. They did not want to be the next victims, but Joniver believed they already were.
By now, the dark and dank street was lit only by the fading glow of twilight in the West and a single flood light on the side of a cracked brick building thirty meters away. The cool evening air seemed to freeze even the time as Joniver witnessed the slow death of the man. His blood created a slight cloud of red vapor as it exited his warm body like water spray from a fountain.
Joniver shimmied out of the ramshackle vehicle, which was his hiding place, and ventured a few steps forward. He heard nothing. These kinds of cars had not moved on their own for decades, but this one had proven to be quite handy as a hideout, Joniver told himself. The car’s formerly white exterior paint was now rusted, still bearing a shield insignia, and the word ESCALADE written in chrome letters across one side of its rear compartment.
Another Force Page 4