"What made you choose science, Virginia?" Marian asked.
The stargazing session had turned lackluster because of the glow from city lights and the inadequacies of Betty's bird binoculars, so the gathering on the roof of Grid Manor had turned mostly to conversation.
"Physics class in my junior year of high school, I think. Our teacher, Mr. Daniels—Mr. D—took us to the old gym for his annual demonstration of motion, force and gravity. This consisted of a blue-speckled bowling ball hung on a rope attached to a girder. He chose one student to stand on a platform against the wall. That year it was me. He brought the ball and jammed it under my chin and said if I understood the principles we had just gone over, I would know what would happen when he let go."
Virginia sat down on a stack of wallboard. "It swung out away from me in a nice, graceful arc, then started back. It got bigger, and bigger, and bigger—I think my eyes were getting just as big as it swung back. I pressed myself into the wall, but it kept coming, closer and closer, looming larger and larger and I almost ducked. But it stopped, without touching me, less than an inch from where it started, then began to swing back. I started breathing again. Mr. D told me later in the thirteen years he'd been doing that, I was one of three kids who didn't jump aside."
"Heck of a way to demonstrate science," Aaron said.
Virginia leaned back on her hands. "I think it was the certainty that impressed me, the fact that Mr. D knew no matter how many times he did the demonstration, no kid would leave the platform with a broken jaw."
Marian sat down on one of the lawn chairs that dotted the roof, actually an unfinished floor. The evening had a touch of coolness in it, a typical May evening for Albuquerque. Earlier in the day, they'd surprised her with a birthday party, complete with a lemon sheet cake and mint chocolate chip ice cream. The group gave her a nice purple sweater, which now warded off the evening chill. Aaron had his own gift for her.
"For Marian, daughter of the librarian," he'd said as he handed it to her.
She smiled at his use of the old family joke—and realized nearly twenty years had passed since she had heard it spoken.
"The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann," she said after pulling the wrapper from the paperback book. "You know, I've never read this."
"One of the few books I really remember from college," he said. "It's about a guy who lets himself get into an absurd situation, full of interesting but strange characters."
She looked at him. "Apropos to anybody we know?"
"Of course not. He could leave any time."
As she sliced the cake, she asked about his birthday.
He waved an arm vaguely. "Back in February somewhere. It wasn't important."
She looked down at the slice she had just made. "You might be right."
The bottom line, two months after their aborted departure, was that they were no closer to a solution. The heightened security and near-paranoia were taking their tolls—tempers flared more readily and the feeling that the four walls, as flimsy as they were, were closing in dogged everyone. A general agreement was taking form that the best course of action would be to contact the Holn Effect Task Force. Marian balked, though, remembering the isolation, the forced medical tests, the rough handling by anonymous beings swathed in green and Latex who hardly said a word, much less a kind one, to her as they demanded and demanded and demanded. She knew Aaron was remembering, too, from his silence when the subject came up.
"Virginia!" Tontine's shout broke the quiet.
"Over here," she shouted back.
A flashlight beam swept across the roof, catching the group, Tontine's figure at the source. "Fire below."
"What? Is it bad?" Virginia said as the trio ran toward the opening.
"Bad and getting worse," Tontine said.
At the next floor, they could smell the smoke; by the third floor down, the flashlight beam had become visible in the particle-laden air blowing up from below. By the time they got to the great room, smoke billowed up the ramp in great choking clouds. White King Sam was waiting.
"As you feared, 'Tine, the stuff's comin' right up the ramps.
What about the others?" Marian said.
"We had plenty of warning bec—"
Black King Leo ran up the ramp shouting "No exit! No exit!"
A second later, Ken also charged up the ramp, running hunched over with a bundle under one arm like a quarterback scrambling for the end zone, shouting, "I got the cat! I got the cat!"
"Sidestairs, go!" Tontine led the way with his flashlight. They passed the couches and chairs and rugs that had made the room if not cozy, at least comfortable, toward an opening between plywood walls. They had to step carefully along a narrow space between wooden wall and the edge of the floor. At least the fresh air got the smoke out of their eyes and nostrils. Reaching a set of metal stairs, the group clattered downward to another set and another. On a flight of stairs with only a thin pipe as bannister, Marian lost her footing, but Black King Leo grabbed her from behind.
On the fourth floor, they were forced to retreat from roaring flames.
"Cut off," White King Sam said.
"Chain ladder," Tontine said.
They had to dodge detritus left over from construction to get to what would have been the back of the building. The heat and smoke increased, driving them in their flight. Security lights on the building across the alley illuminated the coiled ladder. Leo and Tontine rolled it out from the bolts securing it to the floor. Tontine kicked it over the edge, and Marian watched as it uncoiled and hit the asphalt with four rungs to spare.
"White, Black, go down. Give a shout if there's problems on the way and hold it for the rest."
"Right," Black King Leo said, placing a foot on a rung without hesitation. White King Sam followed, and a minute later shouted back up, "Fire on the third floor. Spreading." Another minute, "Second floor, engulfed. Be careful."
"Marian, pull your hair back. Put this on." Tontine removed his jacket and she slipped it on over her tresses, buttoned it up. "Ken."
Ken stepped out awkwardly onto the ladder.
"Put the cat down," Marian said.
"Can't. I have to save—"
She stepped to the edge. "Listen to me, Kenneth Polking. I will not have you sacrificing your life for my cat. If it comes down to your life or Merlin's, put the cat down. Do you understand me?"
Ken gazed at her a moment, then smiled. "Yes, I do understand." He started his downward trek.
"Mar—"
A crackling roar erupted behind them; flames licked greedily through cracks in the plywood walls.
"Go, go," Tontine urged.
She clambered onto the ladder. It had a tendency to jerk sideways, threatening to force a misstep. She had to concentrate but keep moving because Virginia got on five rungs above. Billowing smoke surrounded her, stinging her eyes, but she quickly learned to judge how far apart the rungs were and could hit three times out of four. The third floor still was more smoke than fire, but the second floor was a roaring storm, flames snapping and licking across the ceiling. Heat washed by in a rush of wind, blowing her hair and blasting at skin. Hot air burned her throat, and the rungs were uncomfortably warm to bare-handed touch. She stepped up the pace of her descent, but was surprised at the coolness below the first floor ceiling—no fire, no smoke. When she got to five rungs above the ground, she jumped.
"That way." White King Sam pointed.
Marian dashed to the mouth of the alley where Ken waited, still holding the bundle. A few seconds later, Virginia jogged over, binoculars bouncing on her chest. Flames surged out of the second floor, and Marian nearly panicked. Aaron ran up, stopped, put his hands on his face.
"Let me see," she said, turning him toward the light. "Yes, your eyebrows and hair got singed. Are you OK?"
"Yeah. Just trying to get my heart slowed down. Where's—"
Tontine and the two kings ran toward them, and as they caught up, the entire group ran across the street where a block away a bright-red fire engine screamed toward them. A dull whump! suddenly sounded above and blazing shards arced out over the street.
"Kerosine heater," Aaron said.
"Shit!" Tontine dashed off toward a fireman getting out of a truck. The others joined a small Grid Manor group, where Miguel wrote down their names.
"Tontine?" he said.
"Over there," Ken said. "The others?"
"All over around here."
"Watching our home go up," White King Sam said.
Thick smoke poured from even the top floor now, with flames beginning to lick out between walls and snaking upward, twisting and roaring until the whole center portion of Grid Manor was engulfed.
Tontine stepped up on the curb. "Had to warn them about the propane and kerosene stores."
He joined the lookers watching the pyre dance around the steel girders. The first stream of water rose and hit the fifth floor. Too late, though.
"I got the cat," Ken said, creating an opening in the cloth so Merlin could peer out.
"Mrow."
Marian scratched the cat's ears. "Thank you, Ken."
"I had to save him. He saved us."
"What do you mean?" She had to raise her voice over the din.
"Wailed like a siren," Black King Leo said. "Yowling I'd never heard before from any cat, especially from him. We ran down to find out what the hell he was doing. He was on the edge of the fifth-floor ramp just a wailin' and carryin' on. We smelled the smoke before we saw the fire."
"Regular little smoke detector he is," Ken said.
"How—" A new clatter cut her off. Kilkenny and Betty pushed her cart around the gawkers. Something with legs stuck upward from the main basket. Occasionally Kilkenny would pull an item out and hand it to someone. When he got to Black King Leo, he handed over a dark, rectangular box with a knight impressed on the lid and a chess board.
"Thanks," Leo mumbled. "My father gave me these."
"Kilkenny, did you risk your neck trying to save this stuff?" Tontine asked sharply.
"N-no. Just g-grabbed and r-ran." He grinned.
He pulled out a couple of backpacks from the lower rack. "Y-yours," he said, handing one each to Marian and Aaron.
"Met Betty on se-second floor, E-eddie and Tom helped me. R-ran down and ou-out far west side with s-stuff, got B-betty's cart by kitchen."
Betty looked up at him. "Chair."
"Y-yeah." He yanked the big item off the top of the pile, turned it over and set the rocking chair down in front of Marian.
"My God, you carried this down nine flights in a burning building?"
"Not me-me, F-fuller. New guy. Big f-fellow. Strong."
"This isn't even mine. It was here when I got here."
"Whose is it, then?" White King Sam said.
Everyone looked at each other. Kilkenny suddenly pointed at it with both hands. "Yours now."
Marian laughed, shook her head. "I guess so. But damn, nine flights?"
Kilkenny shrugged. "C-couldn't save c-cake."
She had a sudden picture of flames surrounding the cake sitting on the picnic table, icing melting and turning black. She also saw the three-legged couch burning, the sewing box aflame, plywood walls being consumed by roiling flames . . ..
Kilkenny and Betty began to move on. The cart wasn't empty yet.
"Wait, here's something of yours, Betty." Virginia unslung the binoculars and handed them to her.
Betty's head bobbed.
There wasn't anything else for the group to do but watch. By now, the fire had spent its initial rage by swallowing most of the shelter and now quietly was consuming what it could before being smothered in turn by the water streams. The smoke flowed in a great airborne river to the east, a tall signal to anyone wanting to know where the excitement was.
A bright light stabbed at Marian. She winced as a TV camera lens swept by. The light was gone in an instant, throwing everyone back into shadow.
* * *
[["And now for a roundup of news around the nation. Police have charged Paul Mellinfield with first-degree murder in the death of his wife, Sandra. Sandra Mellinfield had been one of the Rewound Children, and her death last October had been ruled a suicide from an overdose of sleeping pills. However, Investigators now say the medicine was given to her without her knowledge, but evidently that's not what killed her. The medical Investigator has issued a short statement saying Ms. Mellinfield was drugged at the time of her death, but the cause likely was asphyxiation, probably by having a pillow pressed into her face. Mr. Mellinfield is an executive with the Global Bank of Commerce, and his second wife, Carla, is pregnant with their first child.
"Meanwhile, several hundred women protested the new anti-topless ordinance in Miami Beach today by removing . . ."]]
* * *
Earl's mind drifted from the television. So Sandra might have been murdered after all. Six dead for sure, perhaps eight—no sign of Aaron and Marian. At least he knew why he'd never heard from them—and that gnawed at him constantly. He had visions of them buried in a shallow grave near some dump, left there by persons unknown. He could see Aaron, the man-boy with thick hair and sardonic sense of humor; and Marian, with those blue eyes and gossamer hair framing that delicate face . . ..
He cursed. Where the hell are they?
At least the rest of the project was going well. In the month since he'd agreed, Earl, Jack, Giles, and Alex had traveled to see every other member of the group—and every one of them had said yes with a palpable sense of relief. Pam Yolbin's mother, Pete Aragon's sister, and Eddie Thompson's brother all had agreed to come, thereby assuring a nutritionist and physical trainer for the group. Tom's companion had agreed also, especially after the foundation promised to help in a legal battle brewing over Tom. Linda and Jerry's son practically had his job resignation written before the end of the conversation.
Earl's brain started slipping into sleep. On the TV, something was being said about a fire . . .
He sat bolt upright, stared, then jumped up.
"Jack! Gilac—Jale—Giles! Alex!" He ran into the suite's dining room. "I saw them! Aaron and Marian! On TV!"
"Where? Doing what?" Jack practically shouted back.
"I didn't catch it. There-there was some story about a fire somewhere, and there was a crowd shot, and they were there, I know it was them!"
"What were you watching?" Alex said as she headed for the sitting room.
"A news channel." Earl and the other two men followed her. "A roundup or something."
"Headline News," she said. "In a half-hour, they're going to repeat everything."
"We should record it, though, so we can get all the info," Jack said.
"The gift shop has blank tapes for sale," Giles said, heading for the door. "If they're still open, I'll get one, if not, I'll go elsewhere."
"You have twenty-five minutes," Alex said.
"Right."
The shop was open and Giles was back in ten. The three real adults sat on the couch, Earl on the floor in front. Giles wielded the remote control.
The story about Sandra Mellinfield came on. "God," Alex breathed.
"This," Earl said.
"Tape started," Giles said.
" . . .of suspicious origin chased about forty-five homeless people out of a temporary shelter inside an unfinished building in Albuquerque, New Mexico. No one was hurt in the blaze but—"
"Come on, come on," Earl muttered. "There! There!"
"Keep the tape going," Jack said.
The news went on to something else. "Now."
"Rewind, rewind," Earl muttered.
Giles stopped it just after the report started. "About . . . there."
"Freeze!"
The image froze on a girl half in shadow, face blocked by long hair. Earl moved closer, heart racing. "Can you do frame by frame?"
"Yep."
Earl grimaced as, at first, the figure was lost in shadow, but a few frames later, someone moved and light fell flat on two children, both of whom suddenly looked straight out of the TV.
"Freeze!"
"Them?" Alex said.
"Them!" Jack exulted. "Where?"
"Albuquerque," Giles said. "Where it all began."
"Right." Jack jumped up, went to a phone. "I'll get us on the first flight. We've got to get there fast 'cause someone else might have recognized them."
"Look at the T-shirt he's wearing," Alex said.
"'I survived the Holn,'" Giles read. "That's great—"
Earl moved toward the large screen on his knees. He placed his left palm on Aaron's image, right palm on Marian's.
"They're alive." He didn't bother to check the tears welling up in his eyes or the constriction tightening his voice. "Goddamnit, they're alive."