Fault

Part 3

Fallon Connelly 10:52 a.m.

My feet hit first and give way, sending my hands out in front of me to stop my momentum. Both my palms skid on the mixture of cement and glass shards. I cry out, rolling several feet before bringing my shaking and bloody hands to my face. The pain is sharp and I see it shiver up my arms like a chill.

Adrenaline picks me up by the shoulders and forces me on my feet. My legs are stiff, locked at the knees, and I hobble to a nearby tree with my hands out in front of me. They tremble. A woman in clacking high heels clips my arm as she runs by, twisting me around to face where I've come. She stumbles, rights herself, doesn't even look at me and keeps running. This is total chaos.

Up at the window Cal is positioning himself to jump. His face is colorless. People are pushing each other behind him. When I examine the distance between us I realize how far I fell and how lucky I am that I only took damage to my palms. I stand there, feet from the landing zone, when Cal jumps.

It's not graceful. It's not at all like the agile chimps Cal and I saw at the zoo last year. They swung carefully around their pen while we sat there and watched, separating ourselves from our school group. That was the first time Cal tried to hold my hand and the first time I pulled away.

He hits the ground in front of me, tucking into a roll that's slowed by his backpack and the ocean of glass under his shoes. He uses his jacket as a cover. His momentum takes him right past me and when he finally stops, he's on his side breathing heavily.

When he pushes up on his hands and gets to his feet, he looks almost unscathed. His jacket is torn in places but when he yanks the sleeves up his creamy skin is as smooth as always.

He marvels at his forearms for a moment before his head snaps up, looking for me.

"Here," I call, only a few feet from him. A rush of relief coats my insides like syrup.

His eyes find mine, and his lips almost break into a smile. Almost. Instead, his eyes slide past mine to something behind me. His jaw lowers a little. I turn to follow the line of Cal's vision.

The high school is only two floors and even before this it was falling apart. Through the ground level windows I can see the flames that started the panic. The glass blew apart and the fire is blackening the wooden frames. The bricks above each window bear the soot from the waves of smoke. Beneath one window lies Mr. Price.

The girl I tried to help in the hallway lands awkwardly between us, and she sobs as she limps away.

Price props himself halfway up, leaning his back against the very building we were all so desperate to escape. The left side of his face is raw and bleeding and his left arm is tucked tightly under his right. Dirty sweat beads on his forehead. He looks past me, to a spot over my shoulder, eyes glazed and unfocused.

Two more kids slide on the glass, so close together it's as if they held hands on the way down.

I separate from the tree and weave back to the building, Cal right behind me like we're tied together. He doesn't even question what I'm doing. Heat rolls off the school in waves. This is what a trip to the sun would feel like.

Price doesn't acknowledge us as we crouch beside him. Cal says his name, asks him if he's okay, if he can walk. The roar of the fire conquers my right ear. I look down the street and see that every single building has some sort of damage. The bank on the corner has completely collapsed and from this angle it looks as though part of it has sunk straight into the ground. The façade of the burger joint is now rubble in the street. Smoke is pouring out from the deli. And those were just the places I could see.