The flames rose and rose, a great roar blasting up into the darkening sky. The heat pressed the onlookers back a full block, but they gazed at the fire with rapt faces. The wood glowed red like nocturnal eyes; the fabric lit up like flashes across space. The fire heaved, exhaling its terrible breath, igniting the wind. It writhed like a spirit, possessing the structure it consumed.
“Burn, burn, let it burn!” they shouted. “Smote the rubble to ash, fill the streets with coals, and let it burn!”
Trent shaded his eyes with his arm and watched the towering fires devour houses, blocks, history. He let the heat flay him. Half the Section burned, an entire district, and people burned within it. Sweat rolled down his face, and his skin burned.
When he finally turned away, he had decided.
The air washed over him, chilling him. But he still burned.
The drums beat. Ba-ba-boom-ba-boom-ba-boom! They beat and beat, the lifeblood of the reborn Section 2, a call and response across city blocks, neighborhood taunting neighborhood, the rhythms mocking and teasing, like shouts out the third story window at the couple across the street. Smaller bonfires filled the roadways, fueled by furniture and store shelves and trash. Their black smoke hung low over the narrow streets.
Men shouted down the alleys. Women called to one another and screamed. Children, like savages, scurried with loot from the shops and trinkets from the dead.
“Trent! Where are you going, Trent?”
He gave the people no heed, but Willow broke away from where the others were eating and drinking. “Where you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“You see this dress? I found it at Sammel’s after it had already been picked clean. Pays to be a scrawny runt, sometimes, it does.”
She was pale and malnourished, her stringy hair pulled back tight. “I know that look,” she said. “You’re out for blood.”
“Maybe.”
“Wait till morning. Whole Section’ll be as hungover as mice in a vat of beer. Slit his throat while he snores, whoever it is, and be done with it. Enjoy tonight.”
“I found a gun.”
“One of theirs?”
“Yeah, one of theirs.”
“You tried it?”
“I’m saving it. They always keep them well charged.”
“This one must be special.”
“It is.”
Trent walked rapidly, and Willow had to jog to keep up.
“This ain’t a normal hit. It’s personal,” Willow said.
“You don’t just take out any old Joe on a day like today.”
“Listen, Trent, let it go. I see the fire in your eyes. I do. But today’s special, like you said. Whole Section’s ruined. What law was here’s gone. We finally got control of the place. We build our kingdom now. Ain’t that the truth? And you’ll be a major player. But tomorrow.” She took his hand and stopped him. “Eat, drink, dance, make love. Isn’t that what you do when the world ends?”
“No. No it isn’t.”
He shook her off and started walking again.
“Who’s so special it can’t wait?” she called after him.
Ten minutes later, Trent entered the Central Justice Hall. He climbed to the third floor and entered the office of Josiah Kemeul. It had been ransacked like the rest of the building. Trent surveyed the mess.
“He’s probably dead already,” he muttered. They’d have pegged his residence early this morning, as well.
He pulled the gun from his pocket and began to pace. It needed to be said, even if he wasn’t alive to hear it.
“I hated you, Josiah. You believed you were right–always. You believed mankind was evil and must be punished. I believed we should be free. And I made sure we were. The Guide gave you bare authority, but you did everything within your power to stamp out all our unruliness and wildness. You lost that battle, Josiah. We won. We won.”
He stopped at the window. Red light and black smoke clothed the Section. In the distance, the conflagration was raging, spreading indomitably.
“But you were right. I wanted to overthrow your order, but I never…. I didn’t know, until today, how hot the fires burned.”
Trent raised the gun to his head, gazing upon the city. It would be ash by morning. Not freedom and power, but desolation and savagery. “I didn’t want this, Josiah. You’re the only one who’ll understand.”
He pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Trembling, he pulled again.
He examined the gun.
He pulled the trigger one, two, three more times.
With a cry, he threw the gun out the shattered window, collapsed, and let the blood-soaked darkness engulf him.
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