Seventy-six: Awful silence

A massive boom shook the ground that night and wind whistled flying dust through the cracks in the door. The roof rattled.

I hid on my mattress, under the covers, and under my mattress on my covers in turns depending on what sounds shook my little cubicle room. There was no sleep.

No food arrived the next day. Fighting continued the whole day and I spent most of it lying flat under my mattress hoping I wasn't going to die. The door had five bullet holes in it already.

There was no sleep that night either and my ears rang with the sound of explosions and gunfire. Then one explosion, closer than all the others made me freeze in my panicked starfish position under my mattress. The ground actually heaved beneath me, so that I cracked my head against it. Around me was an awful cracking sound and then something heavy fell, pinning me down. I felt like an insect being squashed beneath a boot. The ground heaved again.

The next thing I knew was silence. An awful silence. The type where you think you're the only one left alive and everyone has gone and left you. Where you think you may be the only one left alive in the world. I tried to shout, but could only whisper. It was very hard to draw any breath. I felt numb. If anything hurt, I was grateful that I couldn't feel it at the moment. Whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, I didn't dwell on it long. I couldn't, because I was slipping in and out of consciousness all the time. All I felt was the heavy weight squishing me and the fact that the tiles were cold.

Voices. Bosky accents. Engines. The ground vibrated with moving vehicles and footsteps. I felt more than heard the rumble and clatter of moving rubble.

"There's a live one here! Help me dig 'em out."

"Another dead body."

"Another body here."

"Another buried person over here. I think they're still alive."

I heard the sound of my door being torn away and felt the rush of air.

"This room's empty," someone called.

It wasn't empty, but I couldn't move or call out for help.

"Can't be. That's Jean's room. She was supposed to be in there. Look again. More closely."

"I'm telling you. There's no one in there. If anyone was, they're dead. You take a look for yourself."

"Fine, but we still have to get that rubble cleared. Just in case. Anything that can be fixed should be fixed."

"Pity their CO died, she was a worthy opponent. She did a brilliant job defending the place. If she had been given all the resources she needed, we might not have been able to take the Compound. She sure gave us slug for slug," I heard Kiran's voice talking from further away, "but she said she locked Jean in her room before she took her last breath. "Hey, you, find anyone inside?"

"No sir."

"The CO said the block was locked. There should be people in every room," Kiran's voice drew closer. "Jean," he called. "Jean, can you hear me? Are you alive in here? You've got to give me a signal if you're alive in here. Where is she? I can't see anything. Someone get me a light."

I felt someone step on part of the mattress and then lift their foot off hurriedly and lift up what they could of the edge of the mattress.

"I found her. She's here. She's here. Jean. Jean girl, you're gonna be all right. Okay, baby? I've got you. You're gonna be all right. We're going to get you out of there really soon. Just wait a bit longer."

Fingers brushed my fringe and the tips of my fingers.

"Where's that crane?" Kiran's voice bellowed.

It was as if it were a dream sequence. The weight was lifted off the mattress, off my back. They put braces on me and rolled me over onto a stretcher. Faces whirled over me, blocking the blue of the sky, one by one. The world lurched dizzily and Kiran's hand was on mine. Sounds merged and mushed together. Without the weight on me, I couldn't decide what hurt more. My pelvis, my ribs or my head.

"Hang in there, Jean," he told me, brushing away the tears on my cheeks. "Hang in there."

He'd said Tightwad was dead. We wouldn't be having that drink after all.