They groped in the flame-lit dimness away from the fire. For the first time, Ron realized that the monstrous blaze was roaring; the sound had just not penetrated his consciousness until that moment. Over its hideous roar, he could hear more shots and screams.

They made their way down to the basement and hid behind an old, broken-down furnace. Things scuttled across the floor in the darkness. Ron wasn’t worried about roaches or mice, particularly. He saw the red glowing eyes of big rats, though, and knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Not that he could have, anyway. From outside he could hear more shots, then nothing for a long time except the gradually diminishing roar of the fire. Then came a huge crashing groan that Ron guessed was their building caving in from the gutting flames. He heard shouting and laughing.

In the darkness, Ron couldn’t see Sylvia’s face or Davey’s. But he heard the boy whimpering, a high-pitched thin crying sound of pure terror. Sylvia kept whispering, “Shhh . . . shhh” and tried to hold Davey close to her, so that his voice would be muffled. But Ron could still hear it.

As morning came, Ron saw that there were windows in the basement, set high up in the walls. He went to one of them and carefully peeked outside, standing on tiptoe.

The street outside was covered with bodies. Warriors mostly, but there were several girls among them. Some of them were blackened with burns. Others were torn by bullets. All of them were dead.

A group of warriors was slowly coming down the street, rifles in their hands. Ron recognized one of them as a member of the Chelsea gang, a kid who had stayed with him whenever he went through the Chelsea warehouses. Striding down the street beside him, grinning happily, was Dino.

Ron’s insides suddenly felt as if someone had lit a fire in him. He gripped the edge of the basement window ledge so hard that his fingernails bit into the dust-caked cement.

If only I had a gun . . . Then Ron thought of Sylvia and Davey, still huddled behind the furnace. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch.

The Chelsea warriors stopped at one of the bodies. It was lying face-down on the sidewalk. Dino nudged the body with the toe of his boot. My boot! Ron thought furiously.

Dino pushed the body over onto its back. It was Al. Ron sagged against the gritty basement wall.

“That’s him,” he heard Dino say. “Good.”

Sick with anger and sadness, Ron made his way back to the furnace. Sylvia was sitting against its sooty black metal side, half-asleep. Davey was still in her arms, his eyes still squeezed shut, still whimpering.

Sylvia opened her eyes as Ron sat on the floor beside her. She looked completely exhausted.

“It was the Chelsea gang,” Ron said quietly. “Dino’s with them.”

She didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

“They got Al. He’s dead.”