United We Stand (12 page)

“Right. And it keeps coming after them, and finally, somehow, they manage to kill it, and everybody takes a deep breath.”

“Which is always a mistake,” James added.

“Yeah, because it’s not dead and they’re not safe.”

“And somebody else is killed,” James said. “Usually one of the secondary characters. Either the not- nice guy or the girl who isn’t quite as hot as the others.”

“Exactly.”

“Standard horror/slasher movie. But how does this relate to you?”

“I was in my father’s office yesterday. What could be safer or more boring than that?”

“And then the plane hit the tower.”

“The
other
tower. We saw the monster, but we were fine. We weren’t in any danger. They even told us that over the P.A. Then the second plane hit our building. But it didn’t kill us. And after that we had to go through the fire. But we survived that, too. We got all the way down and out of the building.”

“You escaped the monster. You were safe,” James said. He
did
understand where I was going with this.

“Then it came after us,” I said. “The building collapsed and almost got us.”

“But again you escaped.”

“Next, the second building collapsed, and we had to run again to escape the cloud of debris that was hissing out and chasing us again.” I paused. “And finally, everybody kept talking about another plane, or car bombs, or maybe something else. We just kept looking over our shoulders for the monster to reappear.”

“And now you’re back, and you see the dead body of the monster, but you’re still wondering if the monster is really dead?”

“Stupid, huh?”

“Not really. I think it all makes sense. I remember seeing this homemade video on one of those TV shows and there were these four guys who caught this gigantic shark. They hauled it out of the water and it was lying there on the dock. It had probably been out of the water for over an hour, and it sure looked dead to me. And that’s when it bit one of the guys. Right on the butt.”

I laughed. I was surprised, but I did.

“You know,” James said, “if this
is
like a monster movie, you must be the one guy who never gets killed.”

“Me?”

“Sure. You’re the guy who lives to tell the story. You’re Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stallone, Wesley Snipes, and Mr. Mission Impossible all rolled into one. You’re bulletproof.”

“Do you think?”

“Why not? They have to keep you alive for the sequel.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid that today is the sequel.”

“We won’t let that happen. Besides, I should be more worried than you.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because in those slasher movies it’s always the slightly more handsome, funny best friend who gets it in the end. And, of course, that’s me.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“Oh, and here’s something else. In those movies the bad things happen only when people leave the group and go off somewhere all by themselves,” James said.

“That’s so true! Don’t you feel like yelling at them, ‘Don’t go into the basement by yourself, you idiot! You’re going to die!’? But they won’t listen.”

“So, here’s the deal. You keep an eye on me, and I’ll keep an eye on you,” James said. “Let’s make sure that neither of us is alone. Now, you ready to get going?”

I nodded. I was ready. We started walking again. I was keeping an eye on James, but I was also keeping an eye on the carcass of the monster. I looked at the collapsed buildings, getting bigger and bigger as we moved toward them. Actually, there was no way I could have looked away even if I’d wanted to.

“There’s a lot of damage to all the buildings on this street,” James said.

He was right. In the buildings we passed, more windows were broken than intact. Some were blown completely out, and curtains billowed in the breeze. Many of the lower windows had already been boarded up, but the ones higher up that still held shards of glass looked as if they had jagged teeth glistening in the light. What would happen if those fell when we were below? We’d be cut to ribbons, sliced open, maybe even decapitated. I moved off the sidewalk and onto the street, pushing James with me. It wasn’t like we had to worry about traffic.

On the road was a thicker layer of the same dust we had passed through earlier. It was like walking through snow—gray, dirty snow that fluttered up as we passed, swirling into the air. This was the same stuff that had spilled out of the buildings and into my lungs when that cloud overwhelmed and engulfed us after the collapse. Again, I didn’t want to think about it.

Ground Zero was covered in a haze of smoke that both clung to the ground and rose up into the sky. The rubble was still piled high. In some places, the skeletal remains of the towers—twisted metal girders and the latticework of the facing—stood seven or eight or ten stories high. What had been distinct buildings were now just jumbled, tangled, and twisted pieces all stacked on top of each other. It looked so much larger than on TV—but that’s how I had to think about all of this, like I was just watching it on T V, not standing here in person. I had to try to put a filter between me and this place. But could I do that?

We moved off to the side of the street when we heard a vehicle, another one of those big crane trucks, come up behind us. As it passed I noticed the license plate—it was from Pennsylvania. I’d heard that they were getting extra police and firefighters and paramedics from all over, so it wasn’t surprising that construction people were coming from all over as well.

All around the site there were dozens of vehicles. Some were on the move—with flashing lights and beeping back- up signals. Others were just hulks that
had been smashed and burned and were still covered in debris. We passed a gigantic fire truck covered with ash and dust; the front windshield was cracked, the roof caved in, and it looked as though it had burned. How ironic was that? I noticed that James deliberately kept his eyes averted so he couldn’t see it.

Police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks were outnumbered and outsized here by dozens and dozens of dump trucks and gigantic cranes. There were still a lot of police and firefighters, but many, many more people were wearing yellow or white construction helmets. It was those hard hats that stood out. They looked like little white and yellow dots moving through the wreckage.

“This way,” James said, taking me by the arm. We turned to the right and our view was obstructed now by smaller buildings that were close to the site but seemed to have escaped the damage. I just wished I’d been sheltered by their walls when the South Tower fell. Between the buildings I could still catch glimpses of Ground Zero, just for a second or two, and then it would disappear again. I liked it when it was gone.

In front of the church, St. Paul’s, there were dozens and dozens of vehicles. These were mainly the usual assortment of emergency vehicles, but among them, tucked in beside the church, were three big motor homes. One of them had “COMMAND CENTER NYC PD” written on the side. There were also at least ten or eleven transport trucks neatly parked at the curb.

The church was old and worn and tucked in among the tall buildings. A large tree on one side had been shattered, almost split in two, and it was leaning now against the wall of the church. Strangely, remarkably, the big stained- glass windows of the church were intact. How could that be? Buildings all around the church, and some a lot farther away from Ground Zero, had
all
their windows smashed. Were stained- glass windows stronger? Or was it some sort of religious thing, like God protecting the church? If it was, why hadn’t He chosen to protect those people in the towers instead?

We circled around the church, and I caught sight of the graveyard that sat at the rear. I’d known it was there, but I’d forgotten. Old, worn tombstones were surrounded by a wrought- iron fence. I’d always thought it was strange to have a cemetery in the middle of the city, dead people trying to sleep in the hustle and bustle of the Financial District. Now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

We walked up the path toward the church door. This was clearly a place where the volunteers helping at Ground Zero were gathering. Some were sitting on the steps, some were slouched down against the wall. Many of them were wearing overalls or uniforms, with hard hats or police caps or firefighters’ headgear on their heads or resting beside them. They all either wore masks or had them loosely lowered onto their necks. Some were eating, others were drinking. Their faces were uniformly dirty. Strangest of all, without exception, not one person was talking. They were all
just there, silent, staring, or eyes closed. It was so eerie to walk down the path among them.

We went through the open door of the church and were instantly greeted by a different scene. The pews had all been pushed to the sides and the church had become a command center. People in suits and uniforms were standing in groups talking. There were boards and maps and a bank of telephones, all in use or ringing, needing to be answered. In the back corner was a lineup of people, bowls and plates in hand, waiting to be served a meal. The odor wafted across the room—it drove away all the other smells and I suddenly felt hungry. Other than breakfast, I hadn’t eaten anything today. But I knew I couldn’t just line up for food. Those guys had done something to deserve it.

Up against the wall there were two gigantic television sets, both turned to CNN. On the screen were images of the scene right outside the door, and people were sitting or standing and staring at those images. How bizarre. They could have looked out the door and seen the real thing, but they were transfixed by those electronic images that anybody could see, anywhere in the world. Maybe that was the attraction. They were protected, the reality safely behind the glass screen. They could pretend that it was happening somewhere else, or that
they
were somewhere else. I could certainly understand those feelings.

The scene on the screen changed to a completely different image. It was a replay of a speech given by
the British prime minister, Tony Blair. I’d already seen it. I was too far away and the volume was too low for me to hear, but I remembered what he had said—that this wasn’t just something that had happened to us, wasn’t just an attack against Americans. This was an attack against all people who believed in freedom, and his country was standing with us. That meant something. We weren’t alone. We had friends. We had allies. His speech ended, and the scene shifted again to an interview with a firefighter.

That was the other thing about watching the news. It was like when my dad and I had been in the stairwell, yesterday. We hadn’t really known what was going on, and here, now, we still knew only a little slice of the reality. The news was showing us more than we could see with our eyes.

“You two here volunteering to help?” a man asked.

“Yes, sir,” James said.

Volunteer? I’d thought we were just coming here to watch, to see what was going on, and—

“You two look pretty young.”

“We’re eighteen,” James said, very definitely, looking him straight in the eyes.

The guy furrowed his brow like he didn’t really believe us, but I guess they weren’t looking to turn away fresh, rested volunteers. “Okay, sure. Go through that door and get gloves and masks and goggles. And you’ll both need safety boots before they’ll let you on the site.”

“We don’t have boots!” I pointed out. Finally, a reason why we couldn’t go any—

“No problem, they’ll fit you with boots as well.”

“Great. Thanks,” James said.

“Those shoes of yours—they look like they’d be good for basketball, but they’d just melt out there.”

“Melt?” I asked.

“There are a lot of hotspots in the debris. Rubber-soled shoes like you’re both wearing would turn into hot rubber goo. Get your equipment and come on back, and you’ll be assigned to a work gang.”

“I want to thank all of you for coming down here to offer your help,” the man said. He was wearing a suit, with a tie hanging loosely around his neck, and he had a yellow hard hat perched on his head. He was an older guy, and he looked dead tired.

James and I were standing in a group of about twenty people. We now all wore masks, gloves, boots, and overalls that they’d given us. My new, expensive Adidas were in the trailer where we’d changed. Those trailers were filled with donated supplies for the people working at the site. I looked around at the group we were standing in—we were clearly the youngest
people there, but considering that volunteers were supposed to be at least eighteen that wasn’t a big surprise.

“Let me start with the basics. Once you leave this building you all
must
stay together as a group. You
must
go only to the assigned areas. You
must
listen for instructions at all times.” He paused and took a sip from a water bottle he was holding. “You’ll be working in two- hour shifts. At the end of that shift you’ll come back in here, eat and hydrate, and rest.”

“What if we want to stay out longer?” one of the men in our group asked.

“That’s not an option. You’ll have a chance to go back out, but only if we feel you can handle it. We can’t have people out there who are tired.

“Now, to the best of our knowledge, it is presently safe on the site, but that does not mean there aren’t some possible dangers.”

“What sort of dangers?” one of the men asked.

“The debris pile is not completely stable. As we are removing materials it could become increasingly destabilized. That’s why it’s important for you to stay on the line, exactly where you are placed. If you think you see something important off the line, then you call for assistance, and a rescue crew will be dispatched to investigate.”

I was convinced—I’d make sure to stay exactly where they put me.

“There is also a danger that one or more of the surrounding buildings could, potentially, collapse.”

James looked over at me. I knew what he was thinking.
The monster might not be dead
.