Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

truth.
    And the flames are the truth.
    Firemen still ambled around, helping people carry things. Many of them had died, I knew, and while the monster had still been swallowing homes and people and memories whole they had been steadfast and unyielding in their fight. But now the monster was quiet and still, and they were hollow, their faces as blank and black as the landscape around them. I fell into line behind one of them, adjusting the emergency pack on my shoulder.
    Something had happened with the road. I lived high up in the hills, and there was but one road back to the highway. There were no cars or fire trucks or ambulances; the injured and the dead had been carried out by hand hours ago, and now there was only us, walking the path to the 14.
    "Never actually walked this road before."
    I hadn't heard him approach, but there he was beside me.
    "Nice view."
    I'd been composed until that moment. Through the evacuation and the charred bodies and the screaming, I'd been composed. Through the heat and the fear, I'd been composed. Through the waiting for the rescuers, I'd been composed.
    "Fuck off, Cale."
    I must have spoken loudly, because people turned to look back at me. I could feel my hands beginning to go numb.
    "Lang…" He was tentative, not like he was afraid I'd hurt him, but like I was a toddler threatening a tantrum at the bank. "Do you really think this is the time-"
    My backpack was on the ground and I was on him. He crashed to the ground, back first, letting out a deep oof and then gasping. I straddled his abdomen, my bare knees and calves cutting themselves open on the rocks and the burnt debris. I landed a solid right hook and felt his nose crack beneath my fingers before a man stronger than me was pulling, dragging me away. I fought him, the man behind me, but it was no use and I soon exhausted myself and collapsed in his arms. He let me down to the ground gently.
    "Okay…" he said. He rubbed my back as I lay there, face down. Others that had stopped to look were moving on at the behest of another fireman. He nodded at the fireman above me and continued herding people along. I could hear Cale screaming.
    "He broke my those !" His shoes scratched against the rocky ground. "He broke my thucking those !"
    I closed my eyes.
    "It's okay," the man above me said. "You're gonna get out of here. I promise."
    I tried to breathe and inhaled dust instead. I spluttered and he pulled me up until I was sitting. He moved around until he faced me and put his hands on my shoulders.
    The last of the others were disappearing down the hill, even Cale, still yelling. I tried to stand; I didn't want to be left behind.
    "Hey, hey." He held me tight. "Not just yet."
    "I-"
    "I'll take you down in a moment. Just rest for a second."
    The light around us was orange in the fading and smoke-clogged sunlight. I looked him in the face, but I couldn't see much; it was covered in soot and dirt, as was his hair. He was big, though. And strong.
    After a few minutes he stood, taking my hands and pulling me with him. He waited while I got my bearings, then walked beside me. We moved down the road at a slow pace, but I was glad to be moving again. Away from this place.
    "It smells nice, doesn't it?" My voice sounded far away, like I was listening to an underwater recording of it. "The wood."
    He replied – I could see his lips moving – but I couldn't hear him anymore. The brown-orange sky got bright and hard to look at, and black spots appeared in it.
    Then I was gone.
    ****
    When I opened my eyes again, I was on my back and there was a cannula in my nose. Machines beeped around me. The ceiling was pink and everything else was white and seemed to have a cottony quality, even the bed rails. I touched one of them to see if it was covered in fur.
    It wasn't.
    "Well, look who's awake."
    Her voice was both loud and muffled, like she was shouting into a pillow. Her face was blurred and I blinked to clear my sight.
    "It's the soot and dust," she said. "They'll clear out in a few hours, you just sit tight."
    "I'm thirsty." I sounded as though I had sandpaper in my throat. "I…"
    She handed me a small paper cup with ice chips inside, and pressed a button on the bed. There was a low hum, and then I was sitting up. The television was on; flames billowed beneath a helicopter.
    I took the cup and swallowed some of the ice.
    "Where are we?" I winced; my throat was sore. "Los Angeles?"
    "Palmdale," she said. She wrote something on a clipboard, then