Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [43]
At one end of it, the captain could see a gaping hole in the ceiling, where daylight tried to lance its way through a curtain of rising smoke and flames. As he approached it, following Worf’s lead, he caught a glimpse of the carnage behind the curtain.
A lanky figure was hauling smaller ones away from the blaze. He raised his head at their approach, his face smeared with soot and taut with urgency.
It was Kurn.
“There are more of them back there!” he bellowed over the roar of the fire and the screams of the injured. “Some may still be alive!”
But it was clear that some were not. The bodies of dead students littered the hallway, having come to rest wherever the explosion cast them. Their postures were painfully grotesque.
Picard wanted to rearrange them, to give them some measure of dignity in death. But there was no time. His priority had to be the survivors.
For what seemed like an eternity, the captain pulled out child after child from the burning building. Some were conscious, some were not. Some were badly wounded, others only dazed.
There were still others to be saved-no one knew how many. But just as Picard was running back inside for another survivor, an even bigger explosion wracked the building.
He was deafened by it, thrown off his feet as the floor beneath him shivered with the impact. He found himself pressed against a slab of stone, the skin of his cheek scraped and bloody.
As the captain rose and regained his bearings, he saw a huge ball of fire blossom into the sky. In its wake, all was silent. There were no screams from within, no sound of life at all. And by that, he knew there was nothing more they could do in this place.
But if he stayed, the fire would consume him. So Picard dragged himself outside, where the surviving students had been arrayed on the short, red enchula grass.
That’s when he saw Worf heading toward him, the Klingon’s countenance full of horror and rage. The captain waved his officer back.
“There’s no one left in there,” he shouted, striving to be heard over the groans of the wounded. “If they weren’t dead before, they’re dead now.”
But Worf didn’t stop. Wild-eyed, he kept on going, aiming for the burning pile of rubble that was all that remained of the academy.
“Lieutenant!” Picard cried. “Worfl”
His officer didn’t heed him. Instead, as if bent on suicide, he plunged into the maze of flames.
The captain started after him, but he felt himself grabbed from behind. Whirling, he saw it was Kahless who had grabbed him, and Kum wasn’t far behind.
“Let me go!” Picard shouted. “It’s Worfl He’s gone back into that inferno!”
“Then he’s dead!” the clone roared back at him. “You cannot throw your life after his!”
Kum didn’t say a thing. He just stared at the blazing ruin. But by the look in his eyes, the captain could see Worf’s brother had given up hope as well.
Cursing beneath his breath, Picard tried to pull away from Kahless. But the clone was too strong, and the human was too drained from his rescue efforts. In time, the captain ceased his struggles and gazed narrow-eyed at the academy building.
He could feel the heat of the conflagration on his face.
Even here, it made the skin tighten across his face.
By then, Picard told himself, Worf had to have peris hed. No one could have survived. He didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t see any way around it.
Suddenly, against all common sense, the captain caught sight of something moving in the debris. Something that made a path for itself between the flames.
Something that staggered out through a gap in what had once been a wall.
It was Worf His face was blackened with soot, his clothing full of smoke and red-hot embers. And somehow, against all odds, he had not one but two young Klingons slung over his shoulders.
Rushing to him, the captain helped relieve Worf of his burden. With Kurn’s help, he lowered one of the students to the ground. Though badly burned and bleeding from half a dozen places, the child was still breathing. He