“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. “What happened to you?”
“Splinters from the desk.” He looked me over. “How could you not have a scratch on you?”
I shook my head. “No idea.”
With a last thunk thunk! those rotors finally caught and stalled. The men were screaming and pounding on the doors. Had the copter shifted to the edge of the room? Maybe they dangled. If not, they’d been lucky.
The building’s power flickered; emergency lights blinked to life. The alarm stuttered, going to an intermittent buzz.
A scorching gust of wind rocked the building, filtering in through that missing wall to reach Papai and me. The glass ceilings and walls of the atrium groaned all around us.
Though the air was hot, I got chills across my nape. “Listen. What is that?”
“The alarm?”
“No. Louder.” I heard a . . . roar?
The sky grew lighter and lighter. Neighboring high-rises swayed in the wind. Beneath my feet, this floor trembled. Papai and I shared a look. We were at the very top of the tallest structure in the city—in a glass atrium.
As the focal point, we’d proudly staged our latest-model copter in the air; it swung above us.
Papai murmured, “Meu Deus,” yanking my attention from the copter.
What looked like a giant laser was coming for us. A shock wave blasted the windows of other buildings as it approached. “Papai?”
“It must be a bomb. We have to reach the ground! Head for the stairs!”
As we ran past the door to his office, I glanced over. The survivors frantically kicked at the copter’s door; just as we crossed, the wreckage was blown against the doorway. The fuselage crumpled like a tin can; blood splashed the windshield interior. The copter plugged the doorway hole, but the impact still rocked us, tossing Papai and me to the floor.
Behind us, the atrium shattered.
We crawled down the gallery toward the stairwell. “Keep going!” he said from ahead of me. “Do not slow! And do not look back at the light.”
The building quaked. Beside me, a bronze statue of Papai toppled over. I scrambled forward. Never make it. I braced for the impact—but the opposite wall had buckled, catching the statue’s head! Like a crumbly pillow. The length of bronze was suspended right above me, held aloft by that failing wall.
I scurried; the statue dropped. Boom!
I gazed back in shock. It’d landed centimeters from my feet. “Did you see that?” I asked Papai. The odds of dodging that must be a million to one.
“Keep going!”
We reached the stairwell door. He levered himself to his feet, then grabbed my hand to pull me up.
When our skin made contact, his eyes widened; mine narrowed. We’d both felt some kind of energy pass between us.
“What was that?” I asked.
He blinked, staring into my eyes. “I-I don’t know.” He helped me inside the stairwell. “We have to keep moving.”
“I’m waiting on you.” I took off.
We dashed down the stairs. He was in shape, keeping up with me despite his injuries. We’d made it down three flights when the building quaked again. The stairwell seemed to contract on itself, walls cracking.
A ceiling tile popped open above Papai; electrical cords and wiring dropped—just in time to snare his neck!
I cried, “Papai!” I attacked the sparking wires, unraveling them to free him.
Pale with shock and confusion, he rubbed his throat. The building continued shaking, vibrations beneath our feet. “Just . . . just keep going! We won’t be safe till we’re on the ground.” He shoved me ahead of him. “Go!”
A few more flights down, another quake rocked us. This time the stairwell expanded with an eruption of wall fissures.
A piece of metal swung from the ceiling, arcing just past my ear. Sprinkler pipe? I turned back, saw it crash into the fire-extinguisher cabinet. The loosed extinguisher dropped directly on his foot.
The building seemed bent on destroying him!
“Porra,” he yelled in pain.
“Let me help you!”
Limping forward, he snapped, “Go.” He gritted his teeth, using one leg and the railing to hop down the stairs.
We descended dozens more flights without problems. Finally we reached the last one.
“We’re here!” Three steps from the bottom, I stopped to wait, keeping an eye on him above.
“I’m right behind you. Head for the safe—”
The railing broke loose, tumbling over. I screamed as he plummeted past me. The railing edge brushed my jacket, missing me by a whisper.
He landed on the steps with one leg tangled in the bars, groaning in pain.
I scrambled over to him. “Papai!”
His face was bloody, his eyes dazed. Blood seeped from his side, oozing down the steps. “Think I broke my leg.”
I strained to lift the railing. Too heavy. I attempted again, barely budging it. “You have to help me—we have to free you.”
“Zara, wh-when this attack ends, take the long-range copter. Fly north. Get to my brother in Texas.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“The building will come down. Rescuers will find you. But it will be too late for me.”
“Don’t talk like that, Papai!”
His face was tense from pain. “I must confess to you. . . . I have robbed you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Olivera clan. Bento Olivera found out something I’d done. . . . I-I wronged him first.”
“What did you do?” What could Papai have done to warrant my mother’s murder? I knelt beside him, impatient for his answer as he struggled to speak.