Embers

Embers

Smoke choked his lungs as he sprinted down the hall of the Pokemon Center. He needed air. He couldn't breathe.

Around him, flames licked the plaster walls of the pokemon haven, gorging themselves on the innocent flesh of the building. Molten beads of pastel paint oozed to the ground, amassing in boiling puddles along the length of the floorboards. The once stainless white tiled floor was now charred, the toasted hue just barely visible among the scattered debris of crumbling walls and shredded portraits as they crumpled to the ground, defeated. Everywhere he looked, the building was engulfed, and he was its next target.

They had done the headcount. Twenty-four frightened trainers crowded desolately around a large oak just down the road from the flaming center. People were still missing.

A scream echoed ominously from a closet midway down the hall. A diagram of the evacuation plan for the Pokemon Center in case of emergencies fluttered to the ground, Corridor A and the Intensive Care Unit missing from the rest of the page, leaving only a blackened scar in their place. Two pairs of sooty sneakers crumpled the singed map as they raced toward the source of the desperate shouts, roaring flames following their wake.

"Get out!" Ash yelled as Brock extended his hands to the two petrified girls huddled among the buckets and bottles of ammonia cleaner stashed within the supply closet. They eagerly clutched his wrists as the older boy pulled them quickly out of the room.

"We've got to get away from here now," Brock shouted to his partner. "The chemicals in here are going to explode as soon as the fire reaches them."

A faint cry from deeper within the burning building reached their ears, drawing an anxious glance from Ash, but he heeded the warning with a nod of consent. "Let's go."

The party of four raced down the hall to the center's main entrance, against the tide of the flames that blazed beside them. The shattered glass doors soon came into sight, and Brock  hopped through a large hole in the overheated doors before extending his hand to the two girls that had followed him closely. He looked questioningly up at Ash, but was only met with the cheek of his turned, distracted face.

"Go." Ash faced the man on the other side of the glass, his view distorted by the waves of heat that roiled off of the doors. "She's still in there. I'll lead these two to the others. Go!"

The wailing sirens of the approaching emergency vehicles were quickly drowned out by the crackling of the malign flames, but those in turn by the pounding in his ears as he dashed down the corridor, turning this time to the right when he reached the fork instead of keeping straight. To the right, in Room 12A, was where they had been staying.

Her name was a chant, the pace of his steps as he approached the marked door.

"Mis--"

His right foot hit the ground, propelling him another step further.

"--ty."

Left foot now. How could they have lost her?

"Mis--"

Right. She had been right behind them.

"--ty."

Left. Her hand on his shoulder. Her sweaty grip slipping down his arm.

"Mis--"

Right. Her hand in his. Gone.

"--ty."

Room 12A waited patiently in front of Ash, untouched yet by the billowing flames. The hall was eerily quiet.

"Misty?"

No reply.

His fist battered the door. "Misty!"

No reply.

"Misty!" he screamed again, and his right hand reached for the doorknob.

Heat seared his palm as he grabbed the handle, and his hand jerked away from the source of the pain reflexively, against his will. The skin not covered by his glove was red and agitated. He couldn't give up, though; he wouldn't give up.

He grit his teeth, bracing his mind for the pain to come. "I'm coming." His hand approached the doorknob, and before he could back down, he gripped the handle, twisted, pushed, and released.

The door creaked portentously as it opened, exposing a sliver of the room within. With a shove, it continued its sway until the entire expanse lay before him.

And there she was. Swathed in black smoke, body crumpled across the floor, but there. One outstretched hand tightly clutched a solitary object, and if his breathing hadn't been threatened by the poisonous air, his breath would have caught in his throat.

Delicately, he plucked the hat from her hand and placed it on his head. His old cap fit smugly, and the worn brim brushed familiarly against his hair as he twisted it backwards. She had gone back to save his hat. But now was not the time to feel sentimental, and he blinked to clear the smoky air from his watering eyes before bending down to pick his unconscious friend up.

They were heading down the hall now. The extra weight on his back made him acutely aware of how frail inhaling the toxic smoke had made him. Her head lolled on his shoulder and her chest heaved weakly against his back. He reached the end and turned the corner, stumbling upon the familiar wreckage of the fire's malevolent destruction. Down the corridor, across the lobby and through the flames, the entrance awaited him. All he had to do was make it there. All she had to do was keep breathing.

"Ash!" Startled, the trainer glanced up. Brock waited for him across the foyer, another boy slumped across his shoulders. But Brock's expression was not endearing or thankful. It was hard, worried, as if--

A prolonged groan flooded his ears, and with a final crack, a charred beam nearly as tall as the younger boy plummeted to the floor, smacking against the tiles with a resounding thud at his feet. Sections of the beam were still alight, embers smoldering deep within the wooden block. Ash took a step backward; the escape that had once been so close was now unreachable. He faced two options: he could try to climb over the still blazing beam, or plunge back into the fiery depths of the burning building in search of another way out.

The smoke was thicker now, killing him more quickly than before. His strength had been zapped from him, and Brock was out of sight. But it mattered not how weak he was; Misty was weaker, and if he didn't try, neither of them would make it out alive.

One hand grabbed the two arms draped limply over his shoulders, securing her body to his, and another tested the decaying wood before him. It was fragile, but it would hold.

His free hand gripped a handhold, his foot pressed on a foothold, and his body left the ground. Another reach, another step, and he was almost over the obstacle.

Sweat rolled down his cheeks and his breaths were shallow. He was weak--so weak--and tired.

His hand reached the plateau, and his vision clouded.

He pulled his torso onto the top of the smoldering wood.

His eyelids drooped, and the world disappeared behind them.

One leg draped across the beam.

His muscles were no longer tense, but loose.

The other foot scraped the side of the wood as it attempted to join the rest of his body on the other side of the wooden beam.

And then he knew no more.

Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, a year. All units of time passed by him at once, and he knew not how long he remained in that state of nothingness. He was aware of only two conscious matters: the feel of hands along his body, and an extreme concern for Misty. The former was but a trifle compared to the latter, and he later convinced himself that it was only this that drew him from that nothingness back to reality.

He sucked in a breath of cold air, its freshness surging through his body like a shot of adrenaline. Never had air tasted so sweet. He sat up, invigorated, and blinked precisely three times before he became aware of his surroundings. Twenty-seven trainers gathered around a large oak tree, now reassured as officers directed the scene. Far to his left, the Pokemon Center was a burned wreckage, no longer alight. Two medical personnel stood on either side of him, one breeder kneeled beside him, and one female trainer lay on his opposite side.

"How are you feeling?" One of the personnel, a young woman with curly blonde hair, peered questioningly down at him, but her voice was too familiar. Too much like Misty's.

Misty looked up at him from her position on the ground. Covered by a blanket, the extent of her damage was unknown to him, but her face, dirty and weary, told all. Yet, in spite of her looks, her eyes glowed as brightly as they did whenever they were attracted to something cute, something flashy, something pretty. As brightly as whenever she watched him battle or compete in any kind of tournament. As brightly as whenever they argued, talked, or were simply together.

"Fine." His voice was hoarse, his throat raw, his head pounded painfully, his arms and legs were weak, and his right hand, now securely wrapped, still seared from the burn it obtained earlier, but he was fine. She was fine, and so was he.

He couldn't help but smile.

***

Brock removed the damp rag and dipped it once again into the bucket of cool water at his feet before placing it back onto Ash's forehead. The young trainer's eyebrows furrowed as he tossed back and forth, clearly troubled, but never awakening.

"You think he's got a fever?" Misty asked quietly. She kneeled close beside him and her hand brushed through his hair soothingly.

"That, or he's just having a bad dream," Brock answered. He stood up, and with a stretch of his legs, he left the disturbed boy to tend to the small campfire.

Ash's shouts had startled the both of them awake, and after a night of fitful sleeping, neither Brock nor Misty had been able to leave the boy's side long enough to get any rest of their own. The sun had begun to rise only minutes ago, and with day almost upon them, attempting to return to bed now would be futile.

Misty stifled a yawn as she continued stroking the boy's hair. The aroma of coffee wafted daintily through the air, perking her senses ever so slightly. With a fretful moan, Ash twisted again, burrowing his face against her knees, and as suddenly as his fitfulness had begun, everything stopped. His muscles relaxed, his expression shifted into one of peace and his ferocious grip on his sleeping bag loosed, and he slept as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"Pi pika pi?" the Pikachu that squatted beside Misty questioned, gesturing to its now still master.

"Maybe he's better now," the girl softly replied. Gently, she grabbed his blanket and tugged it up over his shoulder.

A hand lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. She gasped, startled by the sudden movement as the sleeping boy dragged her arm closer to his chest, pulling her forward with it. With an adjustment and final snort, he settled and was still, trapping her to him.

She couldn't help but smile.