The Weight of Our Sky(50)

Shooting looks left and right, I sprint across the road, keeping my body low, heading straight for the stadium. Then, wiping my damp hands on my skirt, I begin working my way slowly along the fence that hugs the back of the building, walking as quickly and quietly as I can, sticking close to the fence so I can take cover in its shadows. Behind the boards I hear the gentle slop and splash of water—the pool, I think to myself. I’m about to move on when I hear something else, something that makes me freeze.

A muffled scream from behind the fence.

Biting back a rising panic, I begin feeling along the fence wildly in the dim light, until my fingers hit on a gap between two boards big enough to peep through. I crouch down, getting up close, trying to make out what’s happening.

A young girl—she looks to be about my age, in the white blouse and slightly-too-long green skirt that marks her as a student at the nearby Chinese school—is shrinking back against the opposite end of the fence, her eyes wide with fear, her arms outstretched as if to stop someone. I follow the direction of her gaze and see a man coming toward her, his back to me, dressed in full military gear. As I watch from my hiding place, he grabs her wrist roughly so that she yelps in pain, then covers her mouth with his other hand, forcing his body against hers. Her eyes close; even from where I am, I can see the tracks her tears have left on her cheeks.

I have to do something. I have to do something.

Barely even thinking, I grab a handful of rocks from the ground next to me, stand up, and in one smooth motion lob them with all my might over the fence. Then I crouch down again, the roaring in my ears so great at this point I can barely hear anything else at all. The Djinn screams a litany of death and doom in my ears, and I tap quietly against the fence. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three . . .

The rocks land everywhere, some clattering on the ground or on the wooden deck chairs surrounding the pool, some with a splash in the water itself. The soldier jumps back, his body tense and alert; the girl takes advantage of the opportunity to wriggle out of his grasp and run back into the safety of the hall. Swearing under his breath, the soldier hoists his pack of gear back onto his shoulder and makes his way after her.

I sag against the wooden boards, weak with relief, my body drenched with sweat. It takes me a while to be able to get up again, and when I do, my legs are so shaky that I have to lean against the fence for support.

Keep going, I tell myself, keep going. You need to get to Mama. Keep going.

? ? ?

A few minutes later, I’m back on Petaling Street. Bathed in moonlight, the streets are eerily silent and empty, the bodies that littered the roads and sidewalks just days before having been, I assume, carted off to the morgue by now. Okay, Melati. You made it. Where do we go from here?

I keep my eyes open, darting glances up and down the street as I think. If Mama came here looking for me, she’d head straight for the Rex, I tell myself. So that’s where I have to go.

Immediately, the Djinn shrieks in protest. The Rex? Don’t you remember what happened at the Rex, Melati? He conjures up images of Saf’s pale, tearstained face, that last imploring look before the doors closed. You stood back and did nothing. You didn’t protect your friend. You saved your own skin and you let her die. It was your fault. Your fault. All your fault.

His accusations come thick and fast; the guilt floods through me, knocking me to my knees and leaving me gasping for breath. At that moment, I spot two bright lights in the distance; headlights. I need to run, I need to hide. But my limbs are heavy and I can’t move.

The headlights are coming steadily closer, and I can just make it out: an FRU truck. Move, Melati. Move. You need to move. There is no way I can get back on my feet, so I crawl as quickly as I can from the pavement into the burned-out shophouse closest to me, wedging myself between a blackened wall and a pile of rubble. I try to stay my loud, rasping breath, but I can’t seem to stop panting. I focus on the rubble beside me and try to count the number of bricks I can see, squinting to make them out in the dim line. Three, six, nine, twelve, fifteen, eighteen, twenty-one . . . I stay here counting long after the rumble of the FRU truck has faded into the night, until my breathing is even again. I know I should leave, start making my way to the Rex, find my mother, but the Djinn has me in his bony, unyielding grasp, and I can’t make myself move, can’t do anything but count and count and count and count and count.

I’m at 1,425 when I fall asleep, curled up on the cold concrete floor.

? ? ?

I awaken as the pale, gray light of early dawn steals into my hiding place. I unfold myself and do my best to rub some feeling back into my cold, stiff limbs. My stomach rumbles, and I try to remember when I had my last meal. Yesterday? Was it breakfast? Lunch? And I have nothing with me to eat or drink now. I lick my dry lips and sigh. You really didn’t think this through, Melati.

Mercifully, the Djinn is silent this morning, and I work up the courage to peek outside, where a steady, light drizzle seems to strip the city of color, turning everything lifeless and gray. I feel goose bumps rising on my arms and quickly wrap them around myself to ward off the sudden chill in my bones. What do I do now?

The quiet of the early morning is shattered. A siren blares in the distance, and in the next moment a police car comes barreling down the road, its tires screeching as it turns the corner and roars off.

Of course! The police station! It’s a big one, just a few minutes away. I breathe a sigh of relief; I know people have been taking shelter in police stations, so my mother might be there. And if she isn’t, well, they’re policemen—they can tell me what to do.