WHEN HE THOUGHT all he could hear was the sound of the aeroplanes approaching again, Fermín registered the voice of the girl by his side. He opened his eyes and saw Alicia. The child was tugging at him as hard as she could, yelling in panic. Fermín turned around. What remained of the building was crumbling away like a sandcastle in the tide. They dashed off to the edge of the terraced roof and managed to jump over the wall that separated it from the adjacent building. Fermín tumbled over as he fell, then felt a sudden sharp pain in his left leg. Alicia was pulling him again and helped him back on his feet. He felt his thigh and noticed blood seeping through his fingers. The glow from the flames lit up the wall over which they’d just vaulted, revealing a crest made of bits of sharp, bloodstained glass. Nausea clouded Fermín’s eyes, but he took a deep breath and kept moving. Alicia was still pulling him. Dragging his leg, which left a dark, shiny trail on the tiles, Fermín followed the girl across the terraced roof until they reached the wall separating it from the building that looked down on Calle Arco del Teatro. He managed to clamber up a pile of wooden crates stacked against the partition wall and look over into the neighbouring roof terrace. An ominous-looking structure rose before him, an old palace with sealed windows and a majestic facade that looked as if it had been submerged for decades in the depths of a swamp. The building was crowned by a large frosted-glass dome, its top shaped like a lantern tower, above which a lightning conductor held the quivering silhouette of a dragon.
The wound on Fermín’s leg was throbbing, and he had to hold on to the cornice of the partition wall to avoid collapsing. He could feel the warm blood inside his shoe and again felt nauseous. He knew he was about to lose consciousness. Alicia looked at him, terrified. Fermín did his best to smile.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a scratch.”
In the distance, the aeroplane squadron had already circled over the sea and flown over the breakwater in the port on its way back to the city.
Fermín held his hand out for Alicia. “Hold tight.”
The girl shook her head slowly.
“We’re not safe here,” he said. “We need to cross over to the next terrace and find the way down to the street, and from there to the metro,” he added with little conviction.
“No,” mumbled the child.
“Give me your hand, Alicia.”
The girl hesitated, but in the end she gave him her hand. Fermín pulled her up firmly, setting her on top of the wooden crates. Once she was there, he lifted her to the edge of the cornice. “Jump.”
Alicia held her book against her chest and shook her head. Fermín heard the rattle of the machine guns riddling the rooftops behind them and pushed the girl over. When Alicia landed on the other side of the wall, she turned to stretch a hand up to Fermín, but her friend wasn’t there. He was still holding on to the cornice on the other side of the wall. He was pale, and his eyelids were beginning to droop, as if he could barely remain conscious.
“Run,” he snapped with his last breath. “Run.”
Fermín’s knees gave way, and he fell backwards. He heard the rattle of the aeroplanes flying right above them, and before he closed his eyes, he saw a cluster of bombs falling from the sky.