The woman had no name. She had no recollection how she came to stand outside in the hot, searing wind. Her head throbbed, straining to remember, but black oily areas of her brain had formed, blotting out memory. Humidity leapt up from the ground and knifed at her throat. She hoarsely coughed it clear. She spit but no phlegm came out. With her eyes feeling like they were welded shut, she was blind and couldn’t move. With great difficulty, she managed to crack them open a slit. She realized she was standing in front of an anonymous building, its walls fractured, crumbled in part, and charred by fire.
She lifted her arms and saw that her skin was black and scaled; it crackled with every further attempt to twist them for inspection. She was in pain but in so much pain that she suspected she could no longer feel how bad it was. She felt herself crying but there were no tears. With difficulty, she touched her hair, crinkling it; the smell rising around her told her it was burnt to a crisp. Her legs ached with every attempt to move. When she was finally able to shuffle forward, her joints cracked loudly. The skin split open here and there. But no blood, just a raw red interior, like a lava flow beneath the surface. The ragged, singed material of what was left of her clothes was plastered against her body; it was part of her now, a new layer of skin. Her eyes slowly opened fully. She noticed how blistered her skin had become. Yellow and clear pus seeped out and covered her arms. It acted as momentary relief. She then became aware of her surroundings.
The sky was thickly overcast burying her in an anonymous grave. The sun was gone, gone nova; that, she recalled. The end of the world: the landscape barren, grey, scraped down to its stone and clay foundation. Lumps of debris everywhere. The surrounding buildings were flattened into piles and piles of rubble. Nothing was familiar, all the landmarks gone. She turned to see the half-standing building behind her. Words sputtered in her mind.
I know this place. What is it? It’s a…it’s a…I know it…It’s a hospital…Shima…Hospital
Faces whirled around her, but they remained nameless. Except: a captain…there was a captain…
A glimmer of recognition that soon faded.
***
Water gushed somewhere, but she couldn’t tell where. She was alone, no one was anywhere, yet she heard a choir of cries, moans and then screams of agony or fearful distress. Somewhere a woman wailed incessantly, her voice torn to shreds. But nowhere to be seen.
A roar suddenly vibrated the air. She lifted her gaze and even managed to turn around. It took some doing but she finally realized the sound came from a gigantic approaching fire and the voices came from underneath the debris. The gun-metal clouds changed into a blazing red. People were trapped and could not extricate themselves.
“Tasukete!” they cried weakly or loudly. “Tasukete.” Save me. The dissonant choir continued unrelentingly. Cries of desperation, cries of fear, cries of capitulation. The pathetic cries for Mama…Okaachan…
But she couldn’t help; she couldn’t save them. Too weak and damaged to even lift a finger. She could barely walk.
The fire approached like an invading army carried by strengthening breezes. It was a Fire-Wind. And as the unstoppable flames conquered areas of the wreckage, the screams intensified until abruptly silent. The horror was palpable. She thought she saw a hand or leg jutting out of the rubble, trembling as the entire pile caught on fire. The Fire-Wind crackled with sadistic glee.
Something crept along the ground. A current of air, carrying a toxic swirl of smoke within. It wrapped around the legs and crawled up the body. The smell made her gag, her body convulsed, and she nearly toppled from the new pain. She realized it was the smell of bodies roasting within the rubble maybe only a few feet away.
She steadied herself and willed herself to shuffle forward, easier now that she was getting used to moving again. She put the victims out of her mind. Despite being in a daze, dizzy with every movement, words entered and randomly floated across her consciousness. Screams of agony, screams of sorrow, squeals of joy and delight…
Kuniya…Takeshi…
Who were they? She couldn’t remember, except she knew they were young boys, babies really. That glimmer of recognition sparked again and suddenly ignited into full-blown images.
Kuniya…Takeshi…my babies. My babies.
Were they beneath the collapsed hospital or some other building? Were they twisting and writhing to get away from the devil flames? Were they held tightly for sacrifice? No, they are alive—well and safe. I’m sure of it. She felt the weight of their little bodies against her chest—the comfort and warmth of it. She suddenly wept. Streams finally poured down her cheeks. The ground at her feet turned red.
She moved forward instinctively. Her legs were held down by what seemed like sacks of wet, burnt rice, kome. The throbbing ache was now indescribable, but she endured...she endured. She had to find them, find the familiar, find hope. She must find them. But how? The trolley tracks were torn up, misshapen and broken apart. She knew she had to drag herself to the edge of town. To safety.
Mizu, mizu. Please give me some water. Chikuso, bring me water! Damn it!
She ignored the pleas, weak voices growing weaker, as she approached the Aioi-bashi, the closest bridge to her, its distinctive t-shape intact save the buckled asphalt and the cracks in the foundation. The Yokogawa Bridge came to mind, but it was too far away. Her limbs barely obeyed her commands as she stood before the mangled structure. On the ground to the sides of the road across were piles of twisted, black corpses. They looked like the ants that Hideki tortured and burned into contorted masses with a magnifying glass back when he was a boy.
Hideki? Another name. Her brother. But what of her sister? Her name gone...erased. Where is she? On a ship sailing somewhere, so long ago. But to where? Far away from Japan. Is she safe? How could she be safe in this world? Her sister’s face a smooth blank surface, like a demon, a noppera. The memory of her blacked out.
She gingerly stepped past the piles, keeping her gaze straight to the other side, though she caught glimpses of some bodies impaled by glass shards or pieces of jagged wood, some decapitated, some with rubbery and stretched limbs, some with melted faces, their features distorted into monsters. Some still alive, most dead, she guessed and hoped. Each body spoke of the abject terror and utter agony of the day. Death patiently awaited them.
She came to a standstill. Another intense pure white light ignited before her eyes. She was blind again; her mind burned with memory:
Akamatsu…my name is Akamatsu…Chiemi. I am Akamatsu Chiemi.
A cool breeze came down from the distant mountains, and her sight came back. She turned to see the horizon. Though not understanding anything more, she intuitively knew the way.
Follow the river…follow the Motoyasu River…to the Ota…to home.