CHAPTER 26: NIBELHEIM

They were passing over Corel when the smoke became visible. At first no more than a black wisp, curdling in the sky to the west like a drop of poison in a glass of clear water, it grew with frightening rapidity; by the time they had crossed the mountains roiling grey billows of ash filled half the sky. Swarms of glowing cinders swept past their windows, rattling against the glass. Reno was forced to swing upwind, bringing the helicopter in low and wide to keep the engines clear. Hot updrafts buffeted them from side to side. The Turks gripped their seats with both hands to avoid being thrown against each other. Hunter looked as if she was going to be sick: the colour had drained from her face, and she was shaking. When a gust of wind parted the dense smoke to give the Turks their first glimpse of the wall of flames, she whimpered like an animal and tucked her head between her knees.

They came to earth with a teeth-rattling jolt. Everyone unbuckled their seat-belts. Tseng threw open the cargo bay door, and at once the noise and the heat hit them like a blast furnace; Hunter was thrown back, or threw herself backwards, into the furthest corner of the hold and immediately curled up into the foetal position, face to the wall. Tseng called her name two, three times, ordering her back on her feet. He got no response. Reno heard him curse under his breath, "Why'd I bring her? I'm not thinking straight…."

Turning back to the others, Tseng took a bottle of water from the cooler, soaked his pocket handkerchief and tied it over his face. Those who had handkerchiefs of their own did likewise; those who did not, improvised. Reno tore a strip from his shirt. Tseng passed round more water, and gestured for them to pour it over their heads and their clothes.

"Search for survivors!" he shouted.

The thickness of the smoke made it impossible for the Turks to see more than a few metres in front of their faces. They quickly became separated as they blundered up the hillside and into the burning town. Reno found himself in front of a door and pushed it open. As soon as he set foot inside it he recognized it as the item shop where he'd bought Cissnei a silver bangle. Behind the counter the grandmother who had sold them the trinket sat slumped in her rocking chair, eyes closed as if she was sleeping. The back half of her head had been removed by a single clean cut.

Showers of sparks and liquid flame fell around him. He looked up, and saw that the ceiling was about to give way. Running outside, he stumbled over the body of the innkeeper lying face down in a tangle of his own entrails and veered away, across the square, into a house whose door had been ripped from its hinges. "Hello? Hello?" he called out. There was no answer but the voice of the fire, hissing, crackling. Tongues of flame were licking down the stairs. Bent almost double, he ran into the kitchen and saw a family huddled together beside the stove. The father had his head bent close to the two children. The mother was staring at Reno.

He pulled the wet strip of shirt from his mouth and shouted, "Hey!"

They did not move.

He could see no wounds, no blood. Sephiroth appeared not to have touched them. They must have suffocated when the firestorm sucked the oxygen from the room.

Reno himself was finding it hard to breathe. He ran back outside and looked around, straining to catch sight of the others. The smoke was blurring his vision. He rubbed his stinging eyes. When he looked again, he saw a naked, headless doll with rigid limbs lying near his foot. Some child's toy –

No. It was a baby.

Stop looking at it!

Tearing his eyes from the broken thing, he ran, shouting for Rude, for Tseng, for anyone.

When Tseng had told him on the helipad that they were going to Nibelheim, Reno had nearly refused. Now, he wished he had.

Despite the cloth tied across his nose and mouth, he could feel the lining of his lungs blistering. Under his feet the ground was so hot that the crepe soles of his boots had softened and become sticky. Worst of all, though, was the smell, the oily, sooty, sweetish reek of charcoal and burnt flesh that made him gag on every breath he took.

From across the square he heard Rude's voice calling, "Help me!"

Reno ran to him. "There's a kid under there," said Rude, pointing at a heap of smoking rubble. "He spoke to me. Help me lift this -"

Together they heaved a couple of fallen beams aside. Rude dropped to his knees and brushed the ash from the boy's nose and mouth. The right side of his face had been badly burnt, but Reno recognised him: it was Cissnei's weird kid, the one who saw ghosts everywhere.

"I got you," Rude rasped. He slipped one arm under the boy's shoulders, the other under his knees, and tried to straighten up. The boy's chest convulsed in a spasm. His head dropped sideways; his eyes rolled back; his limbs tensed and then grew slack.

"No," said Rude. "No – Reno, help me – "

Stooping, he laid the child back on the ground, knelt beside him, took a deep breath and blew into the boy's mouth. The limp body heaved. "Do his heart," he said to Reno.

"He's gone, Rude."

"No – "

For several minutes, while Reno watched, Rude fought to breathe life back into the dead child. Then he sank back on his heels, coughing. He spat black phlegm onto the ground, took off his sunglasses, wiped his watering eyes. "OK," he said to himself, "Keep going." Standing up, he plunged into the thickening smoke and was lost to sight before Reno could follow.

Reno turned round. Not far away he saw Tseng standing alone, staring into the smouldering ruin of the water tower. A pair of giant metal barrel-hoops, all that remained of the tank, were clearly visible glowing white hot among the orange coals. Tseng appeared to be mesmerized by the sight. His hair had come loose from its ponytail and was blowing about in the hot wind. His arms hung like dead weights at his sides. Falling sparks had eaten holes in the shoulders and sleeves of his dark jacket; through these little holes the pristine white of his shirt could be seen.

Reno went over to him. "Boss, it's hopeless."

Tseng did not respond. Reno had to repeat himself, leaning forward to shout in Tseng's ear.

"Yes," said Tseng. His voice was flat, his eyes elsewhere.

"Well, what should we do?"

"I don't know what to do."

He's zoning out, Reno realized.

Panic seized him. Grabbing Tseng by the arms, he shook him and yelled, "Don't do this to us, Boss! Not now! C'mon! Snap out of it!"

A familiar voice rang out in the distance, "Tseng! Reno!"

At the sound of his name Tseng's stiff body came to life in Reno's hands. Reno sagged with relief. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Commander Veld solidify out of the smoke and come striding towards them, closely followed by about thirty of Heidegger's troopers, several dozen technicians in lab coats, and Professor Hojo.

"Oh god," Tseng muttered, "Him?"

Veld walked straight up to them. Tseng and Reno stood at attention. Their Commander wasted no words. "Where's Sephiroth?"

"At the reactor, sir – "

"Why aren't you there?"

Should we be? Reno wondered. Why?

"But…everyone's dead there, sir," said Tseng. "And Zack's up there… Zack Fair went after him. He can deal with the General. Mozo's up there too. I thought we could do more good here – "

"Why are we wasting time?" Hojo cut in. "Veld, I need one of your people to escort my technician into the mansion and confirm that the equipment in the lab is functioning. You – red-head – "

Reno's entire body tensed with the violence of his internal No. Then he felt Tseng's steadying hand on his arm, and realized that the Boss had managed to pull himself out of his funk, thank god, and was stepping in.

"Let Cavour go," Tseng said, calling the younger Turk over. Veld briefly described to him where to find the master switch for the backup generators and how to get down to the basement lab; Hojo gave him a key. Cavour and the technician ran off, and Hojo turned back to the others, chuckling.

"Who would have thought I'd ever work in my first lab again? Just like old times, eh, Veld? Well, let's get a move on, we haven't got all day. You can bring the boy with you if you like."

It took Reno a couple of moments to realize that, by 'the boy', Hojo meant Tseng.

"Where are we going?" Tseng asked Veld.

"Up to the reactor. The Professor has a valuable sample stored there and he wants to retrieve it. The troopers are here to ensure its safety during transportation."

"All of them? What about the rescue? We -"

"The people of this town are not our priority," said Veld, cutting him short. "Company property is."

He glanced across at Reno – and Reno saw, in his face, that same look he remembered so well from the day they first went up together in the helicopter seven years ago, the suggestion that more was going on with this iceberg of a man than met the eye.

Hojo now spoke again. "This one," he pointed at Reno, "And that one – " he swung round to indicate Rude, who was walking towards them, "Can carry on searching for survivors. If they find any they must take them to the mansion."

"Mink's up there with a few already," said Tseng.

"Just a moment," said Veld, as if he were thinking of something entirely different. "Reno, a word with you. And you, Rude." He cupped one hand under Reno's elbow, put the other hand on Rude's shoulder, and drew them a little aside. In an undertone meant for their ears only, he said, "It would be better if there were no survivors. You understand me?"

Reno and Rude looked into their Chief's eyes, and nodded.

"Tell the others," said Veld.

"Chop chop," Hojo called out. "We're wasting time here. Let's go."

.

It would have been better for me if there were no survivors, thought Reno to himself an hour later.

He was climbing over a mess of broken bricks and charred timbers that had once been a house, looking for somewhere to sit. He needed a cigarette badly. His legs were shaking like a rookie's and he was furious with himself for being so weak, but there seemed to be no help for it.

Always before, when he'd killed someone, he'd been able to look them in the eye while he did it.

Some had gone down fighting. Some had begged to live. Some of them had pissed themselves. None of them had died willingly. Not like the one he'd killed just now.

A white gleam caught his eye, and he turned his head to see a toilet, of all random things, standing shiny and solid in the midst of the wreckage, not a crack or chip anywhere on it. It's weird how that happens, he thought. It seemed like in every disaster there was always some unlikely object, like a crystal vase, or a newborn kitten, that somehow survived unscathed.

Turning away from the toilet, he continued to pick his way across the hot, shifting rubble until his feet touched earth. Ahead of him was a low stone wall, relatively undamaged. Here he sat down, and took out his packet of cigarettes. The sweet smell of the tobacco alone was enough to begin calming his nerves. He drew one, put it between his lips, and fumbled in his pocket for his mako lighter.

Why should it have been so hard to kill for mercy's sake, when killing to order had always come so easily? He had had to force himself to look at that raw, burnt face, its eyes and teeth a terrible white against the blackened skin, and he had taken great care to make sure the shot was clean, though his stomach was rising in his throat and his hands were shaking and he wanted nothing more than to run away. And afterwards it had felt wrong to him to leave the body like that, open to the elements for the flies and the monsters to feed on, so he had done his best to cover it up, piling the chunks of concrete with his gloved hands until he had built a sort of little funeral mound out of the ruins of what had once been someone's house.

And when he was done he had pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket and turned and walked away until he had come to this wall, where he was sitting now, trying to light his cigarette, but his damn clumsy fingers just would not do what they were told; he kept flicking the lighter and getting nothing, and suddenly it all seemed so fucking ridiculous to him that here he was, unable to raise one tiny spark while all around him an entire town was in flames, that he burst out laughing.

He wished Rude were with him to share the joke.

He wished this laughing didn't have to hurt so much. All that smoke he'd inhaled. Felt like his ribs were splitting.

He sure as hell hoped there'd be no more survivors.

.

But there were survivors. Mink had managed to save about a dozen, right at the beginning of Sephiroth's rampage, and had taken them to safety up at the mansion. As night began to close in Reno made his way there and found them scattered on the front lawn: Mink was kneeling over an badly-burned teenager who might once have been pretty; Rude was helping a old man take a drink from a bottle of water, and Cavour was re-bandaging a deep sword cut on a woman's arm.

Mink jumped to her feet when she saw Reno approach, and ran over to him. "Give me your Cure materia," she demanded. "We're all out." She was as tall as he was, and equally broad-shouldered.

Reno shot a hard look at the back of Rude's head, but Rude didn't turn round. "The Chief said there should be no survivors," he told her, keeping his voice low.

Mink's jaw tightened. "Just hand over the materia, Reno. They need it." Her eyes dared him to challenge her.

The last thing Reno felt like doing right now was getting into fight with one of his colleagues. Or maybe that was the second last thing… because the very last thing he want to do right now was to take out his gun and shoot that old man, or that injured woman, or that dying girl, in front of everyone's eyes. No, he couldn't do it. Let the Chief sort this one out. Reno had had enough for one day.

Popping the materia from its slot, he gave it to Mink. "That's all I've got."

"Let's hope it works," she said, running back to the unconscious girl, whose breath had begun to rattle in the back of her throat.

Reno walked over to Cavour and crouched beside him. "What does she mean? Materia always works."

Cavour shook his head. "That's what I thought, too. But I'm starting to wonder. It's like they don't want it to work. Like they'd rather – "

"Here comes the Chief now," said Rude.

Troopers had run ahead to hold open the iron gates. Veld and Hojo led the way; Tseng walked at their heels, followed by Hojo's technicians carrying two laden stretchers. Mozo was with them, dragging what looked like Angeal's sword. The rest of the troopers brought up the rear.

"What are you doing out here?" Hojo asked the Turks. "I told you to take the survivors into the mansion."

Rude began, "The monsters – " but was cut off by Mink saying, "They don't want to go in there, sir. They think the mansion is haunted."

"What they think is of no importance," said Hojo. "I need them for my experiments."

Mink's face stiffened. "What?"

"You're not serious?" exclaimed Cavour.

"These people have done nothing to Shinra," Mink declared. "You can't treat them like criminals."

Reno kept his eyes trained on their Commander. Veld's expression was carefully neutral, and perhaps to the troopers and technicians it looked as if he was indifferent, as if this was just another job - but any of his Turks would have recognized the anger in those thin lips tightly pressed together, the disappointment in the almost imperceptible furrowing of his brows. His look demanded, Why did you disobey me?

Professor Hojo did not trouble himself to give Mink a reply. Flipping back the sheet that covered the body on the first stretcher, he leaned over, took hold of a tanned, heavily-muscled forearm and felt for the pulse at the wrist. Then he nodded approvingly. "Impressive. I was sure he would die on the way down here. Commander, could you shine your light on this specimen?"

The beam of Veld's torch illuminated a face blue-lipped from loss of blood. There was a scar like a four-pointed star on the left cheek. Hojo took a pencil from his pocket and pushed up one of the eyelids. "I think he may come round soon. Such resilience! Not really surprising, though, when I consider what short work he made of my finest samples only a few months ago. What a stroke of luck to get the ideal specimen – "

Mozo could keep his mouth shut no longer. "That's Zack! Mink! – Rude! - Cavs! – Reno! – Can't you see? It's Zack!"

Don't listen, Reno. Look the other way.

"And this one," said Hojo, moving to the next stretcher. "How determined he is to live! And you say he threw Sephiroth into the reactor core? Is that right, Turk?" He directed the question at Mozo, while simultaneously twitching the sheet to uncover a shock of spikey blond hair.

Veev's grunt! You weren't expecting that. Looks like his luck's run out at last. Still, he's already lived longer than he had any right to expect –

"Imagine," Hojo chuckled. "A mere nobody, overpowering the great Sephiroth. Extraordinary. Before today I would have said 'impossible'. I wonder what his secret is? What a marvelous world we live in, eh, Veld? So much to discover." He flipped the sheet back over the grunt's face. "Come along then, let's get started."

The technicians picked up the stretchers and began to move towards the front door of the mansion.

"Commander!" cried Mozo. "Stop them! That's Zack!"

"It's Zack," Mink echoed.

"Come along, Turks, to work, to work," Hojo chivvied them.

"It's Zack!" Mozo repeated desperately, as if Veld did not know already; as if saying the name enough times would somehow make a difference.

"Sir, why are you letting this happen?" cried Mink. "All these people…"

Cavour said, "Commander, no – "

Rude said, "This is too dirty…."

And you, Reno, you who are trying so hard to see nothing, to think nothing, to pretend that this isn't happening and that you aren't here… What you really think is that this is sod's fucking law. Don't you? It would have to be Zack Fair, of all people, to back you into this corner.

You've wished him dead often enough. So - you think he deserves this?

If you put your hand on that stretcher and help carry him inside to what you know Hojo's going to do to him – or if you just stand here and do nothing, if you look the other way – what does that make you?

Commander Veld was trying to explain it to them: "What's happened here today cannot be allowed to leak out. Sephiroth has always been the public face of Shinra. His image and the company's reputation are identical in people's minds. It is our job to ensure that both those reputations remain intact."

"But sir," said Tseng, "The town – "

"It'll be rebuilt. It's been done before."

"But that's not possible – "

"Nothing is impossible. Do as you're told, Tseng."

Reno, whose mind had been desperately ferreting about for a loophole, now spoke. "But Chief, it'll look weird if all the townspeople disappear. Can't have a town with no people - "

"That's been taken care of."

Mozo, meanwhile, had grabbed hold of Zack's stretcher with both hands and dug his heels in. Hojo saw this and tutted. "You are being impertinent, Turk. Really, Veld, I would have thought that over the last thirty years you would have improved your training methods at least a little. I'd like to conclude this business as quickly as possible, the way we did the last time."

"Mozo, you're out of order," said Veld. "These people are a liability. We can't leave any witnesses."

Mozo did not let go of the stretcher. "Then I'll shoot them," he said –

Too late, thought Reno, too late, too late –

"- If you order me to. Quick and clean. I'll do that. But I won't let Zack be taken in there to be tortured by this – " Mozo looked Hojo up and down, searching for the word – "Ghoul."

"There's always a fool somewhere standing in the way of progress," sighed Hojo.

"I've given you an order, Mozo," said Veld.

"I won't do it," Mozo replied.

Hojo waved an airy hand. "Commander, a thought has just occurred to me. It's been quite a while since I had a Turk to work with. Another specimen, or six, would make a very welcome addition to my collection. Especially since you seem unable to do much with them. I've always thought that boy of yours, in particular, had some fascinating potentialities - "

"Don't threaten me," said Veld. His anger, which he had held back while talking to Mozo, was unleashed now.

Hojo remained unruffled. "Then get your people under control, and stop impeding my work."

Somewhere in his consciousness Reno was dimly aware that he was holding his breath. His heart was pounding so violently that he could barely hear what the Commander and the Professor were saying. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tseng and Rude reaching inside their jackets. His own hand moved towards his mag-rod -

"Let's go," said Hojo to the stretcher bearers.

The two technicians tried to move forward. Mozo held fast. "Guys!" he cried. "Don't let him do this!"

All of them – Rude, Reno, Cavour, Tseng – looked at the Commander. Only Mink stirred her foot a step, as if about to join Mozo's protest.

"I haven't got time for this," said Hojo.

He took a small pistol from the inside pocket of his lab coat and shot Mozo in the chest.

Mozo fell on top of Zack; the two technicians, startled by the gun's sudden report, let go of the stretcher. It thudded to the ground. Zack groaned.

Uttering a cry that might have been Mozo's name, Mink flung herself onto the grass beside him. With one hand she felt for the pulse in his neck; with the other she pressed down on his chest, trying to stem the rush of blood.

Hojo looked round the ring of Turk guns aiming at his head, and smiled. "So little like you, Veld, aren't they? Perhaps you need to explain to them exactly how these things are done. After all, you are the one with the experience."

Mink had taken off her jacket and was pressing it down hard on Mozo's wound. "Sir!" she called to Veld, "He's not dead. He's alive - "

The other Turks held their weapons steady. "Just give the word, Commander," said Tseng.

"You're right," said Veld to Hojo. "They're not like me. Rude, Cavour, help Mink with Mozo. Reno, go ahead and start up the chopper. Tseng, look after them. Take everyone back to Midgar. Say nothing of this."

Disbelievingly, obediently, they lowered their guns.

Hojo pointed at Mozo. "That specimen is mine – "

"No," Veld growled. "You can't have him. I'll stay. I'll do this with you. But my team are finished here. Move!" he roared at them.

.

Afterwards – long afterwards, years later, when they were finally able to talk about it - Reno said that when the Commander ordered them to move it felt like an autopilot switch had been flipped: his legs started running of their own accord. Rude said, I know what you mean, and Tseng said, we were well trained. He was the best, the Commander.

But maybe they were just making excuses, re-writing the past. The Commander had always insisted on shouldering any blame. If someone wanted to take a shot at a Turk, he'd make sure that they kept their heads down, while he put his own head above the parapet. That was the way things ran in the office. That was what the Commander was for.

Reno's lungs were bursting by the time he reached the helicopter. It was covered with a thick layer of ash. Inside, Hunter was still curled against the bulkhead. She'd gone to sleep. Lucky her. He slid into the pilot's seat and started the engine. A few minutes later the others materialized out of the drifting smoke. Rude and Cavour were carrying Mozo between them, while Mink maintained the pressure on his wound. Tseng bought up the rear.

Reno went into the back of the helicopter, found some army blankets and spread them across the floor. Hunter woke up, rubbing her eyes. Gently they lifted Mozo inside. When Hunter saw the blood-soaked jacket on his chest, she began to scream. "Be quiet," said Tseng. But she couldn't. He hit her on the side of the head and knocked her out cold. Then he went forward and took the seat next to Reno.

"Go," he said.

The heavy machine leapt into the air and shot forward.

The rhythm of the rotors had a language all its own, insistent, insidious. Earmuffs couldn't block it out completely. As the blades went round they whispered to Reno youlefthimthere, youlefthimthere, youshityoushityoushit...

Nobody spoke. The silent reproach of their consciences was deafening.

Finally, Tseng had to say something. "It's not his fault. It's my fault. I let this happen."

"What difference does it make now?" said Mink. "Can't you fly any faster, Reno? He's never going to make it to Midgar."

"We'll put down in Corel," said Tseng. "There's a man there sells materia."

"Hang on, Mozo," Cavour begged him.

The helicopter chopped through the night sky, and Mozo did hang on, minute by minute, across the moon-silvered mountain ridges and across the valleys lost in shadow, until, as they were coming down to earth in a meadow just outside Corel, he died.