He shook his head. `More women and children … upstairs. Stef is up there … helping them: He retched violently and doubled over. A night manager… somewhere:
They hauled him outside into the cool, rainy night, propped him against the side of an ambulance, and gave him oxygen. He gulped it down greedily, his eyes gradually beginning to clear, his sight to return. Knots of women and children huddled all around him, shivering in the cold night air.
His gaze settled on Fresh Start. Flames were climbing the exterior of the walls, shooting out of the second- and third–story windows.
Stef!
He lurched to his feet and tried to push his way hack inside, but hands closed tightly on his arms and shoulders and pulled him back again. `You cant do that, sir; a voice informed him quickly. `Get back now, please:
Windows exploded, showering the street with shards of glass. `But she's still in there!' he gasped frantically, trying to make them understand, fighting to break free.
More women and children were being hustled out, escorted by firefighters. A hook and ladder truck had rolled into position, and the extension was being run up toward the roof. Police cars had arrived to protect the firefighters and control traffic, and there were flashing lights everywhere. At the fringe of the action, a crowd was gathering to watch from behind cordoned lines. The mix of rain and hydrant water had turned the streets to rivers.
Still struggling, Ross was moved back to the makeshift shelter, overpowered by the combined weight of his protectors. Fear and anger swept through him in a red haze, and he felt himself losing control.
Stef! He had to go back in for Stef!
And then she appeared, stumbling out the smoke–filled doorway of the shelter, a small child clutched in her arms. Firefighters clustered around her, taking charge of the child, moving both of them away from the blaze, the building behind them bright with flames.
Ross broke free of the restraining hands and went to her. She collapsed into his arms, and they sank to the rain–soaked pavement.
`Stet; he murmured in relief, hugging her tightly.
`It's all right, John,' she whispered, nodding into his shoulder, firefighters rushing past them in dark knots, hoses trailing after like snakes. `It's all right:
Fresh Start burned for another hour before the Fire was extinguished. The blaze did not spread to the nearby buildings, but was contained. The shelter was a total loss. All of the women and children housed in the building were safely evacuated, in large part because of Stef's quick action in getting to them before the blaze spread to the sleeping rooms.
Only the night manager did not escape. His ruined body was found in the basement, lying near the charred filing cabinets and records bins. It took only a short time to make a tentative identification. It was a man, not a woman, and Ray Hapgood had been on duty and was unaccounted for.
It was three in the morning when Ross and Stef re–entered their apartment and closed the door softly behind them. They stood holding each other in the darkness for a long time, breathing into each other's shoulders in the silence, saying nothing. Ross could not stop thinking about Ray.
`How could this have happened?' he whispered finally, his voice still tight with shock.
Stef shook her head and said nothing.
`What was Ray doing there?' he pressed, lifting his head away from her shoulder to look at her. `It wasn't his duty. He was supposed to go out to his sister's in Kent. He told me so:
Her fingers tightened on his arms. `Let it go, john:
A stubborn determination infused him. `I don't want to let it go. Who had the duty tonight? Who?'
She lifted her head slightly and he could see the angry welts and bruises on her face. 'Simon makes up the list, John. Ask him:
'I'm asking you. Who had the duty?'
She blinked back the tears that suddenly filled her eyes.. `You did. But when you went home sick, Ray offered to fill in''
He stared at her in disbelief. He had the duty? He couldn't remember it. Why hadn't he known? Even before he was sick, why hadn't he known? It should have been posted. It must have been. He was certain he had looked at the list. So why didn't he remember seeing his name?
He felt worn and defeated. He stood in the dark holding Stef and looking into her eyes, and for the first time in a long time he was uncertain about everything. `Did you see my name?'
`John. . '
`Did you, Stef?'
She nodded. `Yes: She touched his face. `This isn't your fault, John. Just because you weren't there and Ray was doesn't mean its your fault'
He nodded because that was what she expected him to do, but he was thinking that it felt like it was his fault, just as it had felt like it was his fault at San Sobel. Any failure of responsibility or neglect of duty belonged to him, and nothing could change that. He closed his eyes against what he was feeling. Ray Hapgood had been his friend, his good friend, and he had let him die.
`John, listen to me' Stef was speaking again, her face close to his, her body pressing against him in the darkness. `I don't know why this happened. I don't know how it happened. No one does. Not yet. So don't go jumping to conclusions. Don't be shouldering the blame until you know the face. I'm sorry Ray is dead. But you didn't kill him. And if it had to be someone, I would rather it ryas him than you'
He opened his eyes, surprised by her vehemence. `Stef'
She shook her head emphatically. `I'm sorry, but that's how I feel'
She kissed him hard, and he kissed her back and held her tightly against him. `I just can't believe he's gone' He whispered, his hand stroking her slender back.
`I know'
They held each other for a long moment, and then she led him to the bedroom. They undressed in the dark and crawled into the bed and held each other again in the cool of the sheets, The streets beyond their window were silent and empty. All the fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, and bystanders were gone. The rain lad faded away, and the air was damp and cold in the wake of its passing. Ross hugged Stef's smooth body against his own and listened to the soft, velvet sound of her breathing.
`I could have lost you tonight,' he whispered.
She nodded. `But you didn't'
`I was scared I had' He took a long, slow breath and let it out. `When you were inside, bringing out the last of those children, and I saw the flames climbing the walls, I thought for sure I had'
`No, John,' she whispered, kissing him gently, over and over, 'you won't lose me ever. I promise. No matter what, you won't lose me'
The dream comes swiftly, a familiar acquaintance he wishes now he had
never made. He stands once more on the hillside south of Seattle, watching as the city burns, as the hordes of the hold swarm through the collapsed defences and begin their ritual of killing and destruction. He sees the battle taking place on the high bridge where a last, futile defence has been mounted. He sees the steel and glass towers swallowed inflames. He sees the bright waters of the bay and sound turn red in the reflected glare.
He finds he is cold and indifferent to what he witnesses. He is detached in a way he cannot explain, but seems perfectly normal in his dream, as if he has been this way a long time. He is himself and at the same time he is someone else entirely.
He pauses to examine this phenomenon and decides he has changed dramatically from when he was a Knight of the Word. He is a Knight no longer, but he remembers when he was. Oddly, his memories are tinged with a wistfulness he can't quite escape.
Before him, Seattle burns. By nightfall, it will have ceased to exist. Like his old life. Like the person he once was.
There are people huddled about him, and they glance at him fearfully when
they think he is not looking. They are right to fiat him. He holds over them the
power of life and death, They are his captives. They are his to do with as he chooses, and they are anxious to discover what he had planned for them. The exercise of such power is a curious feeling because it both attracts and repels him. He wonders in a vague sort of way how begot to this point in his life.