Ground Zero(33)

“Me too,” Brandon said.

He felt so helpless. He wanted to do something.

“Do you need us to call 911?” Brandon asked, glancing at Richard.

“We’ve called them already,” his dad said. “They told us not to move. To wait for the firefighters. What floor are you on? Are they up to you yet?”

“We’re on the 89th floor. There’s other people here, but no firefighters. Not yet.”

“Don’t worry, Brandon,” his dad said. “We’re going to be okay. Both of us. Are you with somebody who can keep you safe?”

“Yes. I’m with a man named Richard. He’s nice.” Brandon looked up at Richard again, and Richard smiled. “He was on the escalator with us this morning. The one who almost spilled his coffee. Remember? He works on the 89th floor.”

“Okay. Good. You stay with him until you’re safe.”

Brandon’s mind went back to the inferno on the 93rd floor. The wreckage. The woman who’d burned. “What if the firemen can’t get to you in time?” Brandon asked.

“Then they’ll take us off the roof by helicopter,” his dad said.

Yes! Brandon had seen the helicopter. And while there was nothing it could do for him, it could easily land on the roof and evacuate the people trapped in the floors above.

“It’s all right, Brandon. We’ve been through worse,” his dad told him.

Brandon couldn’t believe his dad was being so calm about everything, especially when Brandon felt so close to freaking out. He’d been able to put his feelings away through most of it, to push on when things were so horrible he shouldn’t have been able to think straight. But now that Brandon was still for a moment and finally talking with his dad, all his fear and worry and confusion came bubbling back up, and he could feel himself starting to panic.

“Brandon—Brandon, are you still with me?” his dad asked.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry. I—”

“Brandon, it’s all right. You still have your key, right? To the apartment? You can get yourself home on the subway. You’ve done it before. If they evacuate the building, I want you to take the subway home and wait for me there. Got it?”

“I can’t do this without you, Dad,” Brandon said. He was crying again, and he turned away from Richard and the others, embarrassed. “We’re a team. You always—”

Outside, through the window, Brandon suddenly spotted something glinting in the blue sky. It was an airplane. A jumbo jet. Larger than life, and flying too low across the harbor, too close. Terror seized Brandon at the sight of something that should. not. be. where it was. Esther saw it too, and she gasped.

The plane was coming right for them in the North Tower—another plane—getting bigger, and bigger. Too big. Too close. Brandon took a frightened step back—and then the plane’s wing dipped and it turned, disappearing behind the South Tower right in front of them. There was a dull POOM, and suddenly a bright orange fireball erupted from the side of the South Tower facing them.

Everyone in the office ducked, and Brandon cried out in shock and terror. The North Tower shuddered again, and Richard cursed. Through the phone, Brandon could hear people screaming in Windows on the World. He put the receiver back to his ear, his hands shaking.

“Dad? Dad! Are you all right?” Brandon cried.

“Yes, something just happened to the South Tower, but we don’t know what! I didn’t see it!”

“It was a plane,” Brandon said with growing horror. He didn’t understand what he’d just seen. Planes didn’t fly into buildings, but he’d just watched one fly straight into the World Trade Center. “Dad, a plane just hit the South Tower!”

There were more screams through the phone as people began to understand what had happened. Richard stood back up and put a trembling hand over his mouth. “Dear God in heaven,” he whispered.

“Brandon—Brandon, are you there?” his father asked.

“Yes,” Brandon said. He was still trying to process what he’d seen, but he just couldn’t make his brain accept it. For one plane to hit the World Trade Center—that was a terrible accident. But for a second one to hit the South Tower …

“Brandon, you have to get out of the building right now,” his father told him. The calm in his dad’s voice was gone, replaced by a breathless, electric fear. “As fast as you can. Do you understand? Don’t wait for the fire department. Get out.”

“What?” Brandon said, confused. Nothing made sense. What was happening? What was going on?

“Brandon, listen to me. You have to get out of the building. Now.”

“I don’t understand,” Brandon said. He held the phone with both hands. “Dad, I don’t—”

“Brandon, hang up and get out of the building as fast as you can,” his father told him. “This wasn’t an accident. We’re under attack!”





Reshmina ran to look over the edge of the mountain where Pasoon had aimed his rifle, and she pulled back in surprise. The American camp, the one Pasoon had shot at years ago, was abandoned now. The Taliban had torn down the tin roofs and painted insults on the rock barriers, but nobody was there. The Americans had packed up and left. The ANA still had bases in the province, but not the Americans. Not anymore.