Strangers look back at me with ugly, smoke-darkened faces. A white-hot rage rushes through me.They let this happen.
But why? Why this? I can’t understand it.
Hands reach for me as I draw closer and voices surround me, but I can’t hear over the rushing of my blood.
I charge inside, covering my head, and the heat hits me like a slap. Fire-dry air steals the moisture from my mouth, my nose, my eyes. I blink again and again, but the air trembles with heat, a mirage like the inverse of the Storm. Everything smolders: the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
The beds are blackened. There are body-shaped lumps on some of them.Sheets,I tell myself.It’s just the sheets.
Something crunches underfoot.
Jem’s teeth, spilling from an overturned jar.
Amma’s sitar, propped up in its place by the stairs.
I reach for it, and the metal strings burn my skin. A scream tears from my throat, but I don’t let go.
I scream for them.
The building creaks as if it’s screaming with me. The ceiling bows, threatening to fall and bury me.
The smoke makes me wheeze, and tears blur my vision. I scrub them with the back of my free hand. I have to find them, find where they’re hiding.
The mosscloth curtain has burned away, and the way to the kitchen is bare.
I stop dead.
Amma’s cane, blackened, with a burnt hand still attached. Huddled around her, shielded by her, are—
No.
My legs give out, my breaths coming in gasps that scrape my throat raw. A scream tears through me and comes out a sob. I can’t breathe—I can’t catch my breath—but that’s okay, this isn’t real, this can’t be—
Darkness creeps into my vision from all sides.
Amma’s sitar bangs against the floor, and a low note sings in the air.Go.
Weeping, I drag myself back on knees and elbows with Amma’s sitar clutched in hand, blindly moving until the heat breaks, until a cool gust of air licks over me.
Hands pull me the rest of the way over the threshold and into the street. Icy water splashes against my face and voices speak urgently, but I can’t make out the words.
I’m already falling.