He laughed about such things. He laughed about a lot of things. Even when we put too much pressure on the machinery and blew the fuses, he laughed. It’s just as worn out as I am, he said, chuckling.

But Anna wasn’t laughing any longer. She cried when I came home from work. She was startled by the tiniest noises. She just sat on the tiny balcony in our apartment, vigilant. It was as if she knew something was going to happen.

Both of us knew that something was going to happen.

I had just eaten lunch that day, a chewy croissant I had taken out of the freezer in the break room. The last one. I turned off the freezer but didn’t unplug it.

The croissant had tasted like mold. I had nothing to put on it. The taste of mold was still in my mouth.

I was on my way out with the trash—it was my turn to take it out. We had to take turns. The cleaner, an Algerian refugee who had lived in Argelès since long before the five-year drought, had quit many weeks ago. He didn’t understand how we dared to stay. He had already fled from another drought many years ago.

The trash bag was half-full. There weren’t many leftovers any longer; we ate every last crumb. The garbage cans were located a short walk away from the plant. I had to go all the way out onto the main road. The cans stunk in the heat. Nobody had emptied them for months.

The bag of trash in my left hand, white plastic against my palm, a knot. I held on tight. And then I noticed the smell of smoke.

I turned around. At first I saw only whitish smoke rising into the sky. Like a fog.

But it quickly grew darker.

Then the flames came, small tongues over the buildings.

It was only then that I moved. Thomas, I thought. He hadn’t had lunch with me. He ate on his feet, not taking time for breaks.

The last time I had seen him, he was standing by the control and monitoring panel. There was something that wasn’t working, he said, something that had broken down again, yet another overloaded mechanism, another broken part. But he would figure it out, the way he always did.

I started running toward the building. Smoke rose toward the sky, toward me. More and more smoke billowed out all the time. Toxic smoke. And Thomas was inside.

It was only then that I dropped the bag of trash.

I ran, but the fire was spreading quickly. The flames blocked the main entrance.

I ran around the building to the rear. But the door was locked.

Back to the front. Spun around. Time passed.

The flames took hold. Ashes were already falling to the ground like snow. On me.

Water. Water. I needed water. A hose.