By the flickering light of the flames he could see her sitting huddled in the farthest corner of the room, covering Davey with her arms.

“Shh . . . shhh . . . don’t cry. Davey, please don’t cry.”

The boy was rigid with fright. His eyes were squeezed shut and he clung to Sylvia so hard that Ron knew he must be hurting her.

“Sylvia!” he called.

She looked up. “Oh, Ron, what’re we gonna do?”

“Come on. They’re all going up to the roof.”

He helped Sylvia to her feet. “Give Davey to me,” he said.

She shook her head. “Naw, I’ll hold him.”

Ron stroked Davey’s hair as they headed for the doorway. “It’s okay, Davey. It’s me, Ron. We’ll be okay. Don’t be scared.”

The fire was roaring two flights below them and licking up the stairwell. Ron could feel its searing heat on his back as they started up the steps. They passed his own floor and were heading up the last flight of stairs that led to the roof when the shooting started again.

This time the shots came from the roof. The screaming and swearing was almost as loud as the gunfire. Ron heard heavy machine guns blasting the night air. They were waiting up on the roof for us! It’s a trap!

The door burst open and two warriors staggered down the steps, bleeding, limping, hands empty and eyes glazed with pain and shock. Then a girl stumbled through the doorway, covered with blood. She collapsed and tumbled halfway down the stairs. Sylvia buried her face in Davey’s dark hair. Two warriors pushed past Ron and headed down the steps in panic.

“My room, quick!” Ron whispered to Sylvia. Numbly, she followed him. The fire was only one floor below them now. The stairway and landing were lit by its hungry red glow. More shots rang out from the roof.

The only window in Ron’s room opened onto an air shaft. There was a chance that they could get down to the bottom of it and sneak into the next building, then hide there until the battle was over.

In the flickering shadows, Ron slashed blankets and mattress coverings and knotted them together with shaking fingers into one long rope. Looping one end around Sylvia’s shoulders, he lowered her and Davey out the window and to the bottom of the air shaft.

The fire was licking at his doorway, evil and hungry. The smoke was making him cough, blurring his vision. Ron tied his end of the makeshift rope to an ancient steam radiator that hadn’t worked for twenty years. He hoped it wouldn’t fall apart under his weight. Then, coughing and teary-eyed, he crawled out the window and edged down the side of the building.

He almost made it all the way before the rope broke. He landed hard, but on his feet, then sank to all fours. Looking up, he saw flames spurt from his own window.

He turned and saw Sylvia kneeling a few feet away from him, still clutching Davey close to her. Without a word he grabbed her and led them across the grimy, garbage-slick shaftway to the next building. Ron kicked in a window and stepped through into a pitch-dark room. He helped Sylvia and Davey through.