Rifiuto: Non Miriena
There wasn't any less chaos after Flight One-Seventy-Five slammed into the South Tower than there was the first. Smoke filled the once beautiful blue sky, and people stood around, watching the towers smoulder and burn. Zane looked around, searching for anyone who could give him an answer as to what happened. He'd watched American Airlines One-Seventy-Five slam into the second tower, and rushed down to help; now, he searched for the four girls he'd been talking to earlier.
"Breakfast at Windows on the World, with Tam's sister. She's one of the hostesses in the restaurant. It's tradition."
His heart plummeted, as his mind flashed to the restaurant. He'd been eaten there on plenty occasions, growing up. It was a beautiful restaurant, with a wide, panoramic view of the Financial District, and the bay. Because his father had once worked in the towers for Marsh and McCleanen, Zane's earliest memories were of joining his dad for lunch at Windows on the World, sitting in the booth between his parents, and looking out at the tiny cars and people, hundreds of feet below.
And now, to think, that those girls were trapped on the top floor, in the restaurant-
Time seemed to slow.
Minutes passed, and he helped direct people away from the buildings, even as he rushed towards. Even after the South tower collapsed a minute before ten, he couldn't help hoping that the girls had all made it out alive, and he rushed towards the remaining World Trade Center. As he continued to direct people out of the North tower, he searched among the smoke for the girls. Just before ten-twenty-eight, people were ordered out of and away from the towers, and he took off running, following the thousands scrambling to get away from the collapsing tower. People fell, others helped them up; strangers grabbed hands and rushed for cover, slamming into walls and doorways, crashing through windows to find some form of shelter.
"No! They can't be gone! No!" The young woman's scream jarred him from his flight instinct, and when he turned to look; it was to see a woman, crumpling to the ground, already covered in the fine granulated dust of the South tower. Without thinking, he grabbed her hand, yanking her to her feet and hauling her away from the collapsing building. His heart leapt into his throat, but he didn't chance a look back; he could hear the screams and feel the rush of wind as the tower chased after them.
"We have to take cover!" She didn't reply; eventually, he yanked her behind a van, slamming them into the ground as the cloud enveloped downtown Manhattan. They rolled, before landing, the rush of the dust and debris and soot flying over them. Laying atop her, he pressed her into the asphalt, covering her small body with his, burying his face in her hair as the cloud blew over them. He listened, to her frantic breathing, felt the warmth of her breath against his shirt, and tightened his hold on her as they and thousands upon thousands of others in Manhattan were thrown into pitch blackness in the middle of the bright Tuesday morning. His heart continued to beat, slowly returning to its normal rhythm as they lay behind the car. When the dust had settled and silence took the place of the roar, he lifted his head, blinking the dust from his eyes. After a moment, he looked down at his companion. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, coughing. "Uh-huh." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly, before meeting his gaze again. From what he could tell, she was having just as hard a time breathing as him, for all the dust and soot in the air. Her long black hair was coated in fine, granulated dust making her hair grey. "Th... thank you." He nodded, giving her a small smile, before burying his face in her hair again and taking several deep breaths to calm his frayed nerves. She gripped his shirt, holding tight to him; they waited for several minutes before he pulled away again and glanced under the car they hid behind. It was silent, still, yet he could hear shouting, the loud beeping screams of the PASS devices on the firefighters' gear, and the hacking coughs of those caught in the dust storm from the building. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, helping her up.
"Come on, we... we need to go find help." She glanced behind them, back towards where the towers had once stood.
"I... I need to find my friends..." He shook his head, wrapping his arm tight around her waist as she turned to head back the other way.
"I don't think they made it." He whispered, his voice rough yet soft; he coughed, choking on the dust, as he attempted to keep his mouth covered. She didn't seem to notice, and turned to look at him with wide, confused eyes. "Come on, we need to find some shelter." They moved, slowly, shuffling through the dust and debris- stepping over wood and glass, dust and the fine, granulated remains of atomized human beings to find some form of help. Eventually, they came upon a few firefighters.
"Are you hurt?" One of them asked, handing him a towel. He passed it to her, pressing it to her nose and mouth.
"Where can we-" She started, but the man cut her off.
"A firehouse would be best, but whatever building you can find. I'm sure they're all taking survivors in. As fast as you can. Go!" They did as told, stumbling through debris and dust-filled streets along with several others. Both were strangely quiet, their bodies registering the shock and drinking in the various sounds, the shouts and cries, the crunching of debris under their feet, the screech of PASS devices. Eventually, they made it to a firehouse- Engine Seven, to be precise, which would later become famous for not losing a single firefighter in the attacks. As they entered the firehouse, and were instantly seen too, he let himself look around. Other survivors were milling about, looking for loved ones, asking each new arrival if they'd seen whomever they were looking for. After several minutes, he joined his companion, taking a seat beside her, and accepting the second cup of coffee she'd been given. He gave her a soft smile, and she leaned close, studying his hand. After a moment,
"I guess that point's moot now, isn't it?" He met her eyes, studying her face before he realized who she was.
"The girl from the cafe." She nodded, giving him a sad smile. "Why weren't you with your friends?" She swallowed.
"I... we were in the lobby, boarding the elevator and... I got a call from my older brother Luca, and I stepped out..." She sniffled, looking into her cup. "I stepped out... to answer it... and they went... up, saying they'd... wait for me at the entrance to the restaurant... minutes later... the plane hit..." She choked on a sob, her tears dripping into her cup. He sat beside her, laying a hand on her back; she looked up at the contact. "I didn't know what was going on, but... but soon police came in and... ordered us to leave. I stayed. Helped get others out. Military brat, your training kicks in. I've done four tours in Somalia, Haiti, Brazil and Peru... I know how to handle a crisis. I... I tried to... to go up the stairs but... but they wouldn't let me. When the South tower fell... and then the North... I should have known that the North would fall... but I..." He nodded as she stopped, choking on her sobs. Minutes passed, and he sat beside her, letting her cry. Suddenly, though, she got up, catching sight through her tears of people entering the firehouse and she rushed towards them. Zane swallowed, her desperate words ringing her ears,
"Have you seen four young women? Their names are Tamsen and Jadie Blythe, Gwendolyn Rowley, and Caitlan Hertz. Have you seen them?"
