“I plan to run an honest campaign, but I won’t pull any punches.”
Corrinne pursed her lips. “If you attack me, I’ll bury you. If you play nice, I might have a cabinet position for you when this is over. For your sake, I hope you choose wisely.”
Naomi smirked. “I’m touched that you’re so concerned for my well-being.”
37
Derek and the First Cold Morning
His breath condensed in the cold air. It was the first cold morning since last winter. Derek drove his tractor to the mailbox, his crutches by his side. He climbed down from the tractor, one-legged, opened the box, grabbed the mail, and climbed back onto the seat.
He sat there in the cold morning air, flipping through his mail. One was a past due notice from the Bank of China. He was late on his mortgage. He wasn’t surprised. He’d already been dinged five points on his social credit score. His score was still a respectable 73, but, with his future mortgage default and repossession, he expected to lose at least thirty more points.
When that happened, he’d lose the farm, and his only remaining income would be UBI, which would be reduced to reflect his diminished SCS. A score of 43 was low but about average for the poor, and yet still above subsistence level … barely.
Derek shoved the mail in his jacket pocket and turned the tractor. Midturn, he stopped, something in the distance catching his eye. Smoke. It looked like it was coming from Hillside Grove, the apartment building where Carlos and Ricky lived. He drove on the road, toward the smoke.
As he moved closer, his initial concern was correct. The six-story Hillside Grove Apartments building was on fire. Wood furniture crackled, and glass shattered, and smoke poured from the broken windows. Thankfully, the outer walls were concrete. People clustered on tiny six-by-six balconies, screaming and begging for help.
The balconies were supported by steel cables attached to the building, and the railings were wrought iron, but the balcony floors were wood. Derek knew those balconies would eventually catch fire, burning the people alive or forcing them to jump.
About fifty people stood in the parking lot at a safe distance, in various stages of dress, some wearing their pajamas and stocking feet; others had the wherewithal to step into their boots and to grab their jackets. Parents held their crying children. A few adults sobbed, watching what little they had burn. Some coughed from smoke inhalation. Some hugged themselves, shivering from the cold.
Derek scanned the crowd on the ground and the residents stuck on the balconies, looking for Ricky and Carlos, but saw neither. He stopped his tractor next to two young men wearing sweats and hopped down one-legged. “Where’s the fire department?”
One of them, a swarthy and stocky man, shook his head. “They said they got three other fires.”
The other, a muscular bearded man said, “It’s fuckin’ bullshit.”
The stocky man continued, “I guess they’re comin’. I think the furnace blew. Fire started in the basement. People on the ground floor got out, and some people on the second floor jumped off their balconies. I was on the second floor.”
Desperate calls for help came from the balconies. Derek noticed that the remaining people on the second-floor balconies were elderly, but the upper floor balconies had men and women of all ages and were much more crowded.
“We need to help them,” Derek said.
“The fire department’s comin’,” the stocky man said. “We can’t do nothin’.”
“Is there a ladder here?”
“If there is one, it’s in the basement.”
Derek thought about his fourteen-foot orchard ladder. “My farm is over there, on the hill. With the gravel driveway and the deer fence.” Derek pointed to his property. “I have a ladder leanin’ against the barn. Anybody drive a pickup?”
The bearded man raised his hand and said, “I do.”
“Drive over there and bring it back.”
The bearded man didn’t move.
“Go!”
He hurried off, leaving the stocky man.
Derek looked at the stocky man, thinking he looked strong enough for the job. “How are you with heights?”
The man cocked his head in confusion.
Derek pointed to the front-end loader on his tractor. “That goes up about twelve feet. We could get those old people off the second-floor balconies easy. You up for it?”
He looked around, apprehensive. “What about the ladder?”
“That’s for higher up.”
“I thought we’d run up there and put the ladder in place, let people climb down on their own. I don’t think it’s safe to get close to the building.”
Derek glanced at the flames and the smoke pouring from the windows, also thinking that it wasn’t safe to be near the building. Derek stood up on his tractor and shouted, pointing toward the balconies, “I need someone strong to help get those people down.”
The people in their pajamas looked at Derek like he was insane. Many of them huddled with their families, comforting each other, still reeling from their brush with death, not interested in tempting fate again.
“What the hell’s wrong with you people? Your neighbors are dyin’,” Derek said.
“I’ll try,” the stocky man said, his shame overpowering his primal need for safety.
They drove toward the inferno in the tractor, Derek in the captain’s chair and the stocky man on a running board.
“What’s your name?” Derek asked.
“Gino.”
“I’m Derek.”
Gino nodded, his face pale.
Derek stopped the tractor near the building, below a second-floor balcony. An elderly couple called out to them for help, their eyes bloodshot. Despite the cool morning, it was scorching and smoky near the apartment building. The smoke was infused with the acrid smell of melted and burned plastic.
“Sit in the bucket, and I’ll raise you up,” Derek said, “but don’t stand until the bucket’s in place. Then help those people into the bucket and make them sit down, and then I’ll bring you down.”
Gino nodded again and hustled to the bucket, his head down.
The second-floor balconies were roughly fourteen feet off the ground. Each floor was ten feet, but the basement level rose four feet above grade. Derek raised the young man twelve feet in the air, almost level with the second-floor balcony. The old couple climbed over the railing one by one, and Gino helped them down the two-foot drop between the balcony and the tractor bucket. They all sat, and Derek lowered them to the ground. The couple thanked Gino profusely, then hurried toward the parking lot. Gino smiled wide and started to crawl from the bucket.
“Stay in there. There’s more.” Derek pointed to the next set of balconies. Each floor had twelve balconies, three on each side of the building. Approximately half of the second-floor balconies were occupied. Nearly all of the third floor and above balconies were occupied by terrified residents, and the sight of others being rescued only heightened their desperation. Every resident with a view of Derek shouted and begged for help. The snapping and crackling of the fire played in the background.
Derek ignored the chaos and focused on the task at hand. He repositioned the tractor to access the nearest balcony. The obese woman refused to climb over the railing, swearing she couldn’t do it. Gino climbed onto the balcony and tried to help the woman over the railing. They struggled, Gino finally reaching between her legs and hoisting her over, like a wrestler attempting a body slam.
Once she was over the railing but still standing on the balcony, Gino dropped into the bucket and told her to take a big step backward, and down, his hands outstretched to catch her. It was only a two-foot drop, but the woman fell on Gino, nearly knocking them both off the tractor bucket.