Floor 199, Cloud Tower, Dubai
Steph explained what was going on to the 13 survivors. They took in the information with a mixture of reactions. Many of them simply nodded, some uncomprehending, others looking hopeful.
Saeed had regained some of his former composure and offered a cynical smile. ‘Captain America to the rescue,’ he said without expression.
‘I’m Australian, actually,’ Steph retorted and gave the man a dark look. ‘Right,’ she turned back to the others, ‘we all need to move to the middle of the floor, fast. Everyone okay with that? Mohammed, Craig, Geoff? Can you help me with Chloe, please? The rest of you follow on close behind.’
Steph and Mohammed took one end of the stretcher, Craig and Geoff the other, and between them they lifted the injured woman. Chloe groaned and opened her eyes. She was sedated and the painkillers were working on overdrive. Steph and Mohammed led the way, picking a path through the rubble and piles of debris. The other 10 sur- vivors formed a bedraggled collection following in pairs and small groups.
In the centre of the level there was a raised triangular-shaped area. A fountain had once stood there but it had been knocked over. Water had shot into the air for half an hour after the missile had struck the tower until the main feed had fractured somewhere out of sight on a different floor. The area was saturated. In places, the rubble had become so sodden it formed a slurry the consistency of wet cement. It caked their shoes and splashed up their calves.
All around the demolished fountain lay the usual collection of smashed-up furniture, sheets of metal and plastic, computers, piles of soaked paper and clothes. Dotted around this there was the depressing sight of human body parts washed clean of blood, pale lumps of pink flesh like uncooked chicken.
They all pitched in to construct a makeshift barrier on three sides. This was made from desks, panels of wood, old doors and a couple of massive plants that had stood around the fountain.
‘Almost there,’ Steph said as the last of the pieces of barrier were pulled into place around the gathered survivors. They all stank, they were all filthy, streaked in dust and oil and blood.
Steph crouched down beside Chloe and pulled the thermal blanket tight around her friend, tucking it under her chin. ‘How you bearing up?’ she whispered. Chloe opened her eyes; they swam a little from the effects of the sedative. ‘I . . . I feel amazing actually, Steph. You should try this sometime.’
Steph smiled down at her and moved a few strands of auburn hair from Chloe’s face. She leaned into her comms.
‘Ready.’