“Front exit only!” I shout again. “Keep moving! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!”
Another explosion hits somewhere out in the alley.
The building shudders.
The emergency strobes stutter.
A couple of ceiling tiles drop like dead birds.
“Oh my God,” someone wails.
The smoke is so thick now I can barely see six feet in front of me.
I taste copper.
I don’t know if it’s blood or wiring or my own mouth.
I grab the shoulder of a guy frozen in the aisle, his eyes glassy, his mouth opening and closing without sound.
“Hey,” I snap, shaking him hard. “Hey! Look at me!”
He blinks at me.
“You’re leaving,” I tell him. “You’re leaving right now.”
“I—I can’t find my wife,” he stammers.
“What’s her name?”
“Janet.”
“What does she look like?”
“Red hair. Blue dress.”
I shout, “JANET!”
A woman sobs, “I’m here, I’m here!”
They collide into each other and cling like shipwreck survivors.
“Go!” I scream at them. “Now!”
They bolt for the door.
The alarms outside get louder.
Sirens.
Police. Fire. Ambulance. Maybe all of them.
Not fast enough.
Never fast enough.
Mara grabs my good arm.
“You’re bleeding,” she says, voice tight with terror.
