“Keep your left hands on the iron pipe rail,” Julian ordered, his voice carrying cleanly down the wide brick cylinder of the service stairwell. “Twenty students per platoon.
If someone stumbles on the treads, grab their belt and keep the line moving.”
“Platoon One, step lively!” Hana Cho called back, tucking her wooden violin bow under her arm as she guided the youngest freshmen over the threshold.
“Varsity rowers, take the stretcher carries in the center!”
Behind Hana, two broad-shouldered varsity rowers carried a sixteen-year-old boy whose ankles had been bruised by the desk brackets. Their felt-wrapped feet moved down the wide brick steps in a steady, disciplined cadence.
Elena Rostova stood at the 4th-Floor Service Doorway with her White Chart Clip #4B in one hand. She counted each student across the sill while the orange glow of burning methanol began to lick up through the floor grates of the abandoned Study Hall behind them.
“One hundred and sixty... one hundred and eighty... two hundred!” Elena called down the stairwell.
“Julian, the Study Hall floorboards are starting to catch near Row Twenty! Once the four hundredth student clears this doorway, we bolt this upper fire door shut to seal the draft!”
