Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11 It was Dad's voice that broke the silence. "Lucas!" Dad shouted. "Dad," Lucas rasped, spitting dust from his mouth. "Is anyone hurt?" Dad called. People coughed and hacked and sniffed. But nobody seemed to be badly hurt. Dust was everywhere. It coated Lucas, every inch of him. It was in his nose, between his teeth, stuck to his tongue and to the back of his throat. It wasn't like regular dust. Some of the grains were jagged — bits of ground glass. When Lucas tried to brush himself off, the dust cut into his skin.

"I have a light," Dad said in a calm and quiet voice. "I'm going to turn it on. Follow the light and come to me. We're going to stay together. We're all going to be all right." There was a click, and then the glow of a small yellow circle. It looked like the moon on a foggy night. The air was filled with white floating dust — to Lucas it seemed like they were trapped inside a snow globe. There were four other people in the store with him and Dad, two women and two men. The younger of the men came from behind the counter of the store. He worked there.

Dad asked everyone their names. "I want everyone to put a piece of clothing in front of your mouth," he told them. "It's not good to breathe this dust." Lee, the store worker, got big bottles of water for everyone, and rolls of paper towels. Everyone rinsed their mouths. Dad soaked a paper towel and carefully washed Lucas's eyes and face, then he

helped the others. Catherine, the younger of the two women, was crying. The other people comforted her. "What was that?" Catherine sobbed. "Was there another plane? Someone said there was another plane." "No," Dad said. "That was not a plane. I think the top part of the building must have come down." The door was stuck. Dad kicked out the jagged glass that clung to the door frame. He stepped out first, then turned to help everyone through, out of the store. Dad had told them he wanted to move quickly. The four strangers started walking, holding hands. But Dad stopped just outside the store, his hand clamped to Lucas's shoulder, staring at the scene of destruction all around them. It seemed to be much worse south of them, where even through the fog of dust, Lucas could see that twisted steel beams and big chunks of concrete filled the streets. Cars were on fire. Fire trucks and ambulances were smashed. A few weak sirens squawked. It

sounded like the trucks were crying for help. All around them, people climbed out of windows and doorways. Everyone was coated with the white dust. Lucas thought of a book he'd read on World War II last year. There were pictures of cities that had been bombed and burned to the ground. That's what this scene reminded him of — war. Dad was looking intently south, like he was searching for something. "It's gone," he said in a soft voice that only Lucas could hear. "What's gone?" Lucas said. "One of the towers," Dad said. "The entire building collapsed." Nothing around them looked like the wreckage of a collapsed 110-story building. Where were the big hunks of glass and steel, the smashed office furniture and computers, the miles of wires and pipes? "Where is it?" Lucas said. There was nothing but dust. "It's all around us," Dad said. The dust, Lucas realized. That was the tower. It was practically all that was left.

Lucas tried not to think about how many people might still be in the buildings — the men and women working there, the hundreds of firefighters and police and paramedics who were on the scene. Georgie and Mark. Uncle Benny. Lucas tried not to think about the people who might have been in that building when it came down. Dad would have been — if he hadn't come looking for Lucas in the firehouse. Dad took Lucas's hand and held it tight. "We need to move fast," he said. The other tower, Lucas realized. If the first one could fall, the second one could, too. And so they began their march north, Dad and Lucas together. The dust cleared as they reached Chambers Street. All of a sudden the world was bright again. But it didn't matter, Lucas realized. It didn't matter how far they walked, or how much time went by. Nothing would ever be the same again.