THE DOOR TO the terraced roof was a solid oak panel, but the blast had blown it off its hinges and Fermín was able to kick it open. Once he was on the rooftop, he set Alicia down and collapsed against the edge of the facade to catch his breath. He inhaled deeply. The air smelled of burned phosphorus. For a few seconds Fermín and Alicia remained silent, unable to believe the sight unfolding before their eyes.
Barcelona was a mantle of darkness riddled with columns of fire and plumes of black smoke that swayed like tentacles in the sky. A couple of blocks from there, the Ramblas formed a river of huge flames and clouds of smoke, snaking towards the town centre.
Fermín seized the girl’s hand and pulled her. “Come on, we can’t stop.”
They had only taken a few steps when a new roar filled the sky and shook the structure beneath them. Fermín looked behind him and noticed a powerful brightness rising near Plaza de Cataluña. A bolt of red lightning swept over the city’s rooftops in a matter of seconds. Then the firestorm died away, turning into a downpour of ashes through which the roar of engines could be heard again. The squadron flew very low through the thick, swirling smoke that spread over Barcelona: Fermín could see the reflection of the city’s flames shining on the bellies of the aircraft. He followed the planes’ flight with his eyes and saw clusters of bombs raining over the rooftops of the Raval quarter. Some fifty metres from their terraced roof, a row of buildings exploded one after the other, as if they’d been attached to a load of dynamite. The shock wave smashed hundreds of windows into a rain of glass and uprooted everything it found on the neighbouring terraces. A dovecote on the adjacent building collapsed onto the cornice, then fell onto the opposite side of the street, knocking down a water tank that plunged into the void and burst with an enormous bang when it hit the pavement. Fermín could hear cries of panic in the street.
Fermín and Alicia were paralysed. Unable to take another step, they remained immobile for a few seconds, their eyes glued to the swarm of aeroplanes that kept battering the city. Fermín sighted the docks of the harbour, sown with half-sunken ships. Huge panels of blazing diesel spread over the water’s surface, swallowing those who had jumped into the sea and were trying desperately to swim away. The sheds and hangars on the quayside raged with flames. A chain-reaction explosion of fuel tanks demolished a row of enormous cargo cranes. One by one, the huge metal structures crashed down on the freighters and fishing boats moored to the quayside, burying them underwater. In the distance, through the sulphur and diesel mist, Fermín could see the aeroplanes turning around over the sea, preparing for another pass.
He closed his eyes and let the dirty, hot wind drive the sweat off his body. “Here I am, you sons of bitches. Why don’t you damn well hit me, once and for all.”