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the broken French doors she almost fell headlong to her
death two stories below because her balcony no longer existed. Had
she been in more of a hurry, she would have stepped into thin air
and plummeted to the rubble-strewn street below. As it was, she was
saved by a jagged section of concrete no more the thirty
centimetres wide. She retreated one step back into the apartment
and kicked what was left of the doors open to let the smoke escape.
Then she stuck her head through the doorway so that she could
breathe properly, and surveyed the damage outside, as the smoke
cleared from inside the apartment. A westerly breeze was blowing
most of the toxic plume from the burning airliner away from her
towards the coast, and she could see that the buildings across the
street had taken the full force of the blast. Every window had been
blown in, and one building was already in an advanced state of
conflagration. Sally knew it would only be a matter of time before
the fire spread to neighbouring buildings, and then to hers. No
fire services would be coming to help, and she realised, with an
overwhelming sense of grief and trepidation, that she would need to
get out of her apartment and find somewhere safe for the night. She
got moving.
    In her bedroom she grabbed her backpack, a
change of clothes, her phone and charger, and her journal. She put
on a sturdy pair of trainers, took one look around her apartment
and headed outside. She had no real thoughts on which direction she
should go, so she just headed away from the blaze that was
spreading with every minute that passed. She knew that she had to
put some distance between her and the fire, and once she did, she
could look for somewhere safe to stay for the night. She realised,
suddenly, and with a real jolt of panic, that now she was living
purely in the moment, like a wild animal. Her safe, normal life had
been snatched from her, and all she could do was to try to stay
alive and safe, until some kind of order was restored. As she
headed away from her home, she saw that most of the streets had
become much like her own. Closed shops and empty cars provided the
backdrop to her nightmare, and she saw no one. Occasionally a cat
would scurry into the shadows, and she saw many unchaperoned dogs
roaming the streets, but they mostly avoided her. She had never
been a dog person anyway.
    After walking for half an hour Sally stopped
in a shady shopping arcade to rest. She was thirsty and needed to
find something to drink. Inside a 24 hour convenience store she
found a fully stocked refrigerator and helped herself to a couple
of lukewarm energy drinks. At the counter she grabbed some
chocolate bars and a box of crackers and went outside to eat. She
didn’t realise how hungry she was until she began to wolf down the
chocolate. She ate one bar and finished one of the drinks in two
long swallows. After eating, she felt a little better and decided
to rest for a few more minutes before resuming her journey. There
was a park bench nearby, so she lay down in the early afternoon sun
to rest. Within seconds of closing her eyes, though, she slipped
into a deep sleep. When she woke up, she realised that the light
looked very different, so she checked her watch to find that she
had slept for almost two hours. It was now almost three in the
afternoon. She thought that she had read in one of her books that
shock could cause people to sleep, to help the brain to recover
more quickly, and she realised that it had just happened to
her.
    She looked around. Back in the direction of
her house the smoke from the burning city looked more extensive
than before. Because there was no fire service to control the fire
it was raging out of control, spreading outwards from the original
plane crash site. She needed to keep moving. She had walked almost
ten blocks when she realised that she could make much better time
if she had a bicycle. A car was out of the question. She had never
had the inclination to learn how to drive,