Upbeats

  Chapter Thirteen

  We stepped through and immediately the strong, intense fumes hit us. The fading light from outside vanished. Breathing in, it felt like a ton of bricks piled up in your lungs.

  I coughed, uncontrollably, after only a few breaths. The smoke wasn’t that bad, as the fire was only on the top two floors, but it was enough.

  Smithy only started coughing after we reached the third floor and we were bombarded with the black smoke.

  "Crouch," he instructed. "There’ll be more fresh air the lower we go."

  I bent my knees and lowered myself and found that to be true. It wasn’t much better but it was a significant improvement.

  "Let’s just get to the seventh floor and get out," I said.

  The elevator was a clearly ruled out, not-going-to-happen option. The stairs were safest but the problem was that some staircases were either broken or littered with ceiling beams and other debris.

  It wasn’t an issue for Smithy and I: he teleported over it and I walked through it.

  On some floors, the smoke wasn’t too bad and light was able to drift in through the smashed windows or gaps in the walls, allowing us to see more of the eerie scenes in the building.

  The sun was setting fast. One second it was hovering over the tops of buildings, the next, it just plummeted straight down and out the sky.

  By the time we reached the seventh floor, the sun was completely gone and we were relying on our other senses to guide us.

  When we approached the seventh floor, so did the fire.

  Orange flames were eating at door frames, tearing at the floorboards and raging on items of furniture. The heat intensified and the smoke just got a hundred times worse.

  All that I heard was the aggravated rage of the fire, the crackling of wooden items and the destruction of property.

  But Smithy’s hearing is fantastic. I don’t know why his is any better than the rest of us but it is.

  "Don’t you hear it?" he whispered. His eyes darted around, searching for the source of a noise I hadn’t heard.

  "No," I answered.

  He pointed to a door that was hanging off its hinges, a little faded flower sticker peeling off. It led to a small apartment.

  Smithy cautiously walked up to it, stuck his head in, checked it out and stepped further in, gesturing for me to follow.

  Furniture was turned upside down, paintings were hanging in odd positions and objects were strewn everywhere. The fire hadn’t reached here yet. So either that old grandmother was a terrible interior decorator or . . .

  "I think I know how the fire started," I said, sick at the idea of how someone could do such a thing.

  Smithy nodded, frowning in complete disgust at the circumstances and agreement with me. "Thieves, vandals, thugs . . . they start a small fire, get everyone out in a panic and then see what they can lay their hands on. Here."

  Smithy steered off into a room, a bedroom. Though it was trashed, you could still see that there was a small, white bed with pink butterfly patterned sheets, a dozen soft toys, a little doll house that looked like it had seen better days and a little child’s painting of a squiggly rainbow on the wall.

  The bed had been stripped of its sheets, the toys had either been ripped apart or torn to shreds, clothes had been thrown all over the floor and there was even graffiti on the walls.

  Smithy fell to his hands and knees and started digging through the mound of clothes and toys, searching for something. I could tell that the mound wasn’t just made up of clothes and toys. I joined in shoving clothes out the way and after a few seconds, we came to the bottom of the pile.

  A little girl, a bit younger than Jemima, was curled up into a tight ball, crying. Her brown hair was a mess, she had only one shoe on and she was scared as any child would be.

  I knew what to do, after years of learning how to calm down Jemima when she was scared. I reached out and gently stroked her shoulder. She didn’t seem to have any injuries so it was okay to move her.

  Lucy May jerked off my hand and scooted backwards, away from Smithy and I.

  "Hey, it’s okay," I said, softly. "We’re here to help get you out. Your grandma’s really worried about you."

  She was sniffing loudly and hiccup-crying. "But how do I know . . . that you’ll . . . take me . . . to her?"

  I looked at Smithy. "We’ve got time: demonstrate."

  Smithy stood up, closed his eyes and teleported to the other side of the small room. Then he teleported back again.

  "He’ll get you out," I assured.

  Lucy was still understandably afraid. "Is that safe?" she sniffed.

  "It’s safer than staying up here," I reasoned.

  Lucy May stood up, slowly. She looked, uncertainly, from Smithy to me.

  "It’s okay, we’re quite professional," I said.

  Smithy held out his hand to Lucy May. She studied it, considered her options but still didn’t do anything.

  "I’ll teleport you to the kitchen so you can see what it’s like," Smithy offered.

  Lucy May looked up at him with big eyes and slipped her tiny hand through Smithy’s long fingers.

  This was the first time Smithy was going to teleport a passenger. So he was probably doing this mostly so he could test it out himself.

  "I suggest you close your eyes," he said. "It’s so sudden; it kind of hurts your head to see everything change."

  Lucy May nodded and closed her eyes, tightly.

  Smithy nodded to me and vanished, taking Lucy May with him to the kitchen. It was spot on. One second, they were in the room, the next they were in the kitchen, just opposite the bedrooms.

  Lucy May giggled. "That was fun," she said.

  Fire was starting to lick at the door to the apartment.

  "Okay, let’s get out of here," I told Smithy.

  There was a look to him that I didn’t pick up on. Something was up, but I ignored it.

  He chose to pay no attention to it as well. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He faded, but he didn’t completely disappear.

  The fire was coming fast, smoke was filling the room, filling me with a developing dread.

  "Smithy, we have to get out now," I said, all niceties pushed aside.

  Smithy tried again but he didn’t vanish. He only faded.

  "Smithy, no more games," I said, urgently. Why was he delaying? "We have to get out, now."

  "I know, I know," he replied, frantically trying again, but still, only fading.

  The fire was starting to eat at the overturned couch.

  "NOW, Smithy, and that’s an order," I said, sternly. What was Smithy up to? Why wasn’t he doing it?

  "I . . . can’t," Smithy said, defeated.

  "What do you mean you can’t?" I exclaimed. "You just did it from the room to the kitchen!"

  "I’m trying but I just can’t do it . . ." Smithy let go of Lucy May and examined his hand. "I just can’t do it," he said under his breath.

  The fire was approaching. I had thought this plan out well, but I had forgotten something: human error.

  "Listen, Smithy, we have to get Lucy out now. Just do it."

  Smithy looked up at me with a glint in his eye of . . . something. I should have taken the time to notice it and figure it out but suddenly, there was a knock on the door that led to the fire escape. The door slid open. "Anyone here call for a split-second, didn’t think you’d make it, was about to kiss yo’ mamma goodbye, rescue?" Ned said, cheerfully.

  I could have punched the air, we had a fall-back, a way out. Even if it was an unplanned Plan B.

  Relief washed over me like a tidal wave. We got lucky this time: Ned had been climbing the fire escapes and had found us.

  I picked up Lucy May and handed her to Ned. She was small and Ned did have boosted strength, thanks to his invincibility, so she wasn’t a burden. He hoisted her onto his back, as if he was giving her a piggy back ride.

  "Going down," Ned said, brightly, as Lucy May held tightly onto his b
ack as he climbed down.

  "Luke, I . . ." Smithy tried to explain.

  I don’t know why I was angry. Maybe it was because of our failure. Maybe I had just panicked and the fear overwhelmed me. I shouldn’t have been so short.

  I wasn’t, in truth, disappointed with Smithy, as if he had any bearing on the behaviour of his power.

  Perhaps, at that moment in time, I was, in some way, cross at Smithy for not fulfilling his role.

  But I was, and I have to admit this right here and now in plain black and white, ashamed of myself for how I acted.

  "Let’s just get out of here," I said, stonily.

  I climbed down the fire escape. I calmed down within those few seconds it took me to get to the other side of the room. But when I paused to say I was sorry to Smithy, he had already vanished.

  I climbed down that fire escape, disgusted at myself, and trying to remember what it was that I saw in Smithy’s eyes. What had he been trying to say?

  I sighed. I knew what it was. And it only added to my guilt.