new. Hesitating at her work, the knife poised in mid-stroke, she sniffed at the air.
There was an acrid smell, somehow familiar, but out of place.
And her eyes were stinging.
Her senses coming fully alert now, she felt tears welling in her eyes, running down her cheeks. She dropped the knife, and painfully raised her ríght hand to wipe away the tears.
The smell was stronger now, and she turned, forcing herself to look around the room.
And then she saw it.
In the corner near the door a pile of rags, stained dark with oily dyes, had burst into flames.
Amy stared at the flames for a moment, uncertain they were really there. And then she looked around.
The other children, the children she thought spent their days talking among themselves while they worked, were standing at their stations, their expressions glazed over as their hands moved in the same metronomically regular rhythm she herself experienced every day.
A few yards away, his eyes streaming, her cousin stood at one of the dye vats.
And even though he was crying, she knew immediately that he, too, had retreated into a private world where the mill could not penetrate. He, like herself—like all the children—had escaped into another world, oblivious of the world in which his body toiled.
The fire was spreading now, sending tongues of flame out across the floor as billows of smoke rose from the rags and filled the room with a choking fog.
And then, from beyond the little room, she heard the sounds of people calling out: “Fire! Fire in the cutting room!” And then the voices were cut off by the scream of the whistle, this time not signaling the end of the morning shift, but blaring out in short, urgent bursts, alerting the workers to the danger. In a moment, the fire squad would appear, and begin dousing the flames.
All around her, she could feel the other children coming alive, hear them begin coughing, hear the first sounds of their terror.
Out.
She had to get them out.
She crossed to her cousin, and took his hand. The boy, a year younger than herself, stared at her for a moment, then tried to pull away.
“Come on,” Amy begged. “Willie, we have to get out of here.” But Willie, staring beyond her, only shook his head, and tried to pull away. Turning, Amy saw what her cousin had already seen: the door, barely visible now, was blocked by the rising flames.
“Through!” she yelled. “We have to go through the fire! Come on!” Grasping Willie’s hand, she began dragging him toward the door, the heat of the growing fire searing her face, singeing her hair.
But there was no other way out. She pressed on, two of the other children following her. And then, just as she was about to charge through the flames, she heard a voice on the other side.
“Close that door, dammit! Do you want the whole place to go up?”
She froze, recognizing the voice, and knowing its command would be obeyed. Then, helplessly, she watched as the heavy metal fire door slid quickly into place. Just as it slammed shut, she saw the face of the man who had issued the order. He was looking at her, but in his eyes she saw nothing. No love, no pity, no sorrow for what he had done.
Then the face disappeared and she was trapped.
Barely comprehending, she stepped backward, then let Willie pull her away from the angry flames.
Finally, she turned away, and stared into the terrified eyes of the other children. All of them seemed to be looking at her, waiting for her to do something. But there was nothing she could do.
Finally, one of the children came to life, and, screaming, ran into the flames to pound on the closed fire door, begging someone to open it, to let them out, to save them.
Amy knew that even if someone heard the screaming child, the door would not be opened.
The child’s screams began to fade, and as the girl watched, he sank slowly to his knees, his clothes on fire, his hair burned away. Then he slid lower, and the last thing the girl saw before she turned away was his hand, outstretched, still reaching toward the safety that wasn’t there.
Willie was clinging to her now, and with the other children close around her, she stumbled to the far side of the room. But even as she moved away from the fire, she knew it was useless.