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The scaffold poles are rough from rust and the wear of usage. The air is damp,
moisture lining the bars, making them slippery to handle. JT moves steadily
along the pole, making sure every move is deft and deliberate. He keeps a tight
grip and pushes his weight down into his feet. There’s no safety net – a mistake will result in a plummeting, forty-eight-storey fall, and there’s no coming back from that. The breeze that seemed gentle on the roof garden is
stronger out here on the side of the building, powerful gusts buffeting them as
they climb.
JT glances up towards the others. Johnny’s doing okay; he’s tall like JT so he can reach between the poles and get good holds for his feet
and hands. Even with the alcohol in his system, his athleticism means he’s navigating the scaffold with relative ease. Carmella’s a different story. She’s petite and lean, and too short to be able to get secure hand- and footholds at
the same time. JT can see she’s tiring as she alternates between pulling herself up with her upper body
strength, and then resting for a moment, crouched with her weight in her legs.
Every movement down is riskier for her, and every drop to the next bar an
over-extended stretch. JT can’t fathom why she didn’t choose to wait on the roof.
As they descend no words are spoken; the silence of the night broken only by the
noise of their breathing and the occasional grunt of effort. Through the gaps
in the scaffold JT sees the city stretching out below like a sleeping dragon.
It looks still, dormant, but he knows that’s not true. In a blackout people can lose their perspective, sometimes their
humanity. He hates to think what horrors are happening below on those darkened
streets. He hopes Lori is staying safe.
He reaches the bottom of the structure. This is the hardest part. The scaffold
sticks out over the staircase; to get back onto the steps he needs to manoeuvre
himself around the bottom of the poles and a couple of yards back towards the
stairs. There’s no easy way to do it. He figures the best option is to use the scaffold pole
like a gym bar, and use his upper body strength to swing himself along the pole
and onto the first step.
JT takes a breath. He plants his hands firmly onto the lowest pole and swings
his legs clear so that they’re dangling free. Doesn’t look down. Can’t. Mustn’t think about the drop below. Instead he focuses on his breathing, on keeping a
steady rhythm – one hand over the other – and pictures Lori and Dakota’s faces in his mind. He can’t let them down. He won’t.
His palms are getting sweaty. His breath is coming in gasps. The muscles in his
arms and shoulders are screaming out from the strain of supporting his 220
pounds of bodyweight. He ignores it all – thinks about Lori, about Dakota, and how he will not fail them – keeps going.
Finally he’s hanging over the top step. He can’t reach it from here, guesses the drop down to it – from his feet to the stairs – must be a little over a yard. Not far in the usual scheme of things, but
sixty-eight storeys up, with nothing to catch him if he misjudges the jump, it
feels like a hell of a lot more.
JT lets go of the scaffold.
He’s falling. Flying. Making a leap of faith.
Adrenaline races through him. Air rushes past him.
He lands with a thud on the first of the stairs. Helicopters his arms, fighting
for his balance. He feels the steps below him move from the sudden addition of
his weight. Crouching down, he lowers his centre of gravity, and waits for the
stairwell to stop shaking.
He takes a breath. Feels relief flood through him. He’s made it.
That’s the moment he hears Carmella scream.