Angua raced though the streets, muzzle to the ground, a deep rumbling growl escaping her bared teeth occasionally. Commander Vimes had been running at some speed, even in lupine form she was having difficulty catching him.
The explosion knocked her off her feet and she rolled over the cobbles, whimpering. Inside, the unchangeable core of human thought whispered /oh no/, as the sickening feeling of guilt reared its ugly head.
She regained her balance and set off running again, into the clouds of billowing smoke and dust. The air was so thick with it she almost passed the slumped figure of Commander Vimes without noticing him. He didn't seem to see her, either, so she carried on running, leaping over the debris that was all that was left of the Vimes-Ramkin Mansion.
*
There was a reason that Sybil and Sam survived the initial explosion of the mansion, and it was because Lady Sybil, against Vimes's express wishes, was in the dragon house with her son. Vimes was decidedly uneasy about letting his son in the dragon house until he was a little faster on his feet. What if there was an explosion? he had often plaintively argued.
Lady Sybil could see his point. But Sam was in his pram, actually inside one of the (empty) reenforced dragon sick pens, so if one of the dragons did explode he was perfectly safe.
Lady Sybil was about to begin mucking out, when Sam threw his rattle out of the pram for the /third/ time. She sighed, picking it up and moving to put it back in the pram.
"You," she said, "Are worse than your father." She touched his nose with her finger as she spoke, making him giggle. As she stood, smiling over her son, the explosion began.
The dragon house was built with very thick walls and lightweight roof for the precise reason that this was the best shape to survive an explosion with minimal harm to the occupants. However, it was designed to stand up to an explosion from the /inside/, and also one of much smaller destructive force.
Lady Sybil screamed and grabbed her son as the whole building shook. Either instinct or intellect told her to crouch in the corner of the sick-pen as the roof collapsed inwards. The blast ripped the house apart and the shockwaves struck the walls of the dragon house. A large piece of timber smashed into the pram, as the wall closest to the house collapsed inward. Lady Sybil closed her eyes as Sam screamed in terror.
There was a terrible moment of noise so loud that her entire body seemed to shake with the vibrations. Plaster, stone and splinters hit her head and back as she tried to shield Sam from the debris, eyes still firmly closed. After a few moments the noise ceased; Sam's screams became audible again, and, still not crushed by the wall she was certain had been falling towards them, she risked opening her eyes.
It was so dark and the air was so full of choking dust that it took her some time to establish what had happened. Miraculously the wall had stayed relatively whole during its trip to the ground, and now formed a particularly thick roof over the four walls of the pen. Sam was still shrieking with panic and she tried to shush him, attempting to ignore the horrible small noises of rubble rattling across the makeshift roof, as it settled into a new position.
*
Angua growled, a fierce rumble from deep within, both the human and the wolf part of her expressing its anguish. However good her nose was, it was damn near impossible to smell anything in this mess, with the dust falling from the air, and the rubble still shifting under her paws.
She strained her ears instead and yelped. Just on the edge of hearing, so quiet she couldn't be sure if she was only imagining it, or if it was simply coming from the city itself beyond the billowing clouds of sound deadening smoke and dust, there was the sound of a child crying.
She leapt from pile to pile of debris until she was certain. She sniffed around a large slab of what had once been a wall. Perhaps it was her imagination, but there was just the faintest scent....
It was enough. She bolted through the smoke back to where Commander Vimes was collapsed on the cobbles. Some of the other Watchmen had arrived, they stood a little behind their Commander, the same expression of horror on all of their faces. No one could bring themselves to say anything to the man slumped on the floor.
She barked, wishing Carrot was here, he /always/ understood exactly what she was saying as a wolf, had some uncanny ability to translate even her least expressive whines or growls (in a way strangely similar to Sonny and Skippy the Kangaroo!).
Detritus lumbered forward and followed her into the blanket of shadowy smoke. Stirred into action by their sergeants, a few more stumbled forward as well, using their sleeves to try and shield their eyes and lungs from the choking smog.
Vimes couldn't see them, he was far too deep inside his own head, at the bottom of his own, private well of despair. It wasn't until Constable Lucker accidentally brushed his shoulder that he realised they were moving into the smoke as if on unspoken order. In a dream, no, in a /nightmare/, he followed them.
*
Detritus was strong, and there were several people to shift the rubble from the top of the slab of wall that entombed Vimes's wife and child, but not even all of them together could lift it. They had tried shouting through the slab, and although there was some reply of sorts, not even Angua could understand it, it was so muted by the thick concrete (1).
Eventually Constable Dorfl was summoned, and together with Detritus he managed to lift the slab a few inches. The assembled Watchman hurriedly gathered together props from the material and wedged the slab upright.
Vimes watched all this from a few feet away. He couldn't move any closer, couldn't bring himself to get near enough to hear conformation of the death of his family. He simply stood, head full of memories, eyes full of tears he couldn't let fall to the ground, not until they retrieved the bodies at least...
He buried his face in his hands, unable to even watch anymore.
Lady Sybil, choking with the dust, blinked as the light penetrated the darkness of her tomb. Sam started to cry again and she crawled over towards the light with him still cradled in one arm. "H-Hello?" she coughed.
There was an eruption of joyous shouting from outside, and then Constable Ping's worried face, pale despite his oriental skin-tone, filled the gap. "Are you hurt?" he said.
"I'll be fine. Can you make the gap any larger? Just get Sam out..."
Vimes heard his wife's voice, and his son's cries and looked up. He saw the slab, raised, Ping crouched by the gap, and he leapt to his feet, tearing off the sling to give him two arms to use rather than one.
"Sybil!" he shouted, voice thick with emotion.
Ping, very respectfully, moved away from the gap and Vimes knelt down by the slab. "Sam!" she replied, very relieved, "Can you make the gap any wider? I'll pass you Sam."
Vimes nodded, and stood again. The assembled watchmen made no comment on his pale face, streaked with tears. Vimes didn't need to ask if they could manage to lift the slab, he didn't even need to order them to. Detritus, Dorfl, Vimes, Lucker and Ping all braced themselves against the stone. "Three, two one... ungh!" Vimes shouted, pushing with all his might against the block. It shifted a few more inches as his arm screamed in intense pain.
Angua leapt down into the gap and, very gently, took the boy in her jaws. Sam Vimes took his son in his arms, wincing at the pain. He was very red in the face from the crying, and covered in dust and dirt. There was a scratch on his cheek, but apart from that he seemed fine. Corporal Littlebottom tapped his arm.
"I'll take him out of all this smoke, sir, if you like."
Vimes nodded, despite the fact that he never wanted to let his son go ever, /ever/ again, and reluctantly handed him over.
"I'll be back soon, sir," she said.
Vimes nodded, and knelt down by the hole again. "He's safe, Sybil," he whispered.
"Good," she replied. She met his eyes, and he saw the pleading there. "Can you get me out?" she murmured.
"Yes," he answered and she smiled slightly, seeing the honesty. "I don't know exactly how, but I /will/."
"Good," she repeated.
He stood up again. "Can you lift the slab /again/?"
"Sir, someone's been sent to fetch a golem from the slaughterhouse. And Constable Flint's on his way, with Bluejohn..."
"Okay," Vimes said.
Flint and Bluejohn arrived first, and with the three trolls it was easy work to lift the slab. Sybil scrambled out of the pen into Vimes's arms. Normally incredibly self-conscious when it came to marital relations in public, he hugged his wife fiercely, unashamedly. The hard wood of his splint dug into her back but she said nothing, simply embracing him in return.
"I thought... I thought..." he tried to say.
"I know, I know," she said, tears running down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the grime.
"Come on, you're hurt, let's get you out of here..."
"Where are we going to go?" she mumbled, still sobbing into his shoulder.
"It doesn't matter! Just, please, come away from here. Before something else collapses..."
He helped her to her feet and lead her away. She was limping slightly, and there was blood seeping through her clothes. Vimes helped her back to the Yard, to Igor's ministrations and their son.
1. Um, not sure if they have concrete in Ankh-Morpork but there is /no way/ brickwork could survive such an explosion and then falling over, so it's either concrete or a really huge lump of stone, take your pick!
