Akira just stood there for a moment, looking down at the man by his side—but he had his back to me, so I couldn’t see his expression. A few seconds later, he turned around and walked back over to where I stood waiting.
“…Let’s go,” he said, his voice exhausted.
I looked up at him, and he smiled weakly back at me. It was his usual, gentle smile, but this time, his eyes betrayed his feelings of deep sorrow and powerlessness. I could tell he was racked by regret—blaming himself for not being able to save the man.
He had to be the most kindhearted person I’d ever met. But the kindness came at a price; he was so full of empathy, it was like he felt the pain and suffering of total strangers as if it were his own. If he couldn’t help them, he’d consider it a failure on his part.
Perhaps that was part of the reason he’d become a kamikaze pilot. Perhaps to him, his life was a small price to pay if it could help him save as many people as possible.
“…Akira,” I whispered hoarsely, taking his hand in mine.
It was black with soot and covered in burns. A hand that never hesitated to reach out, to do all that it possibly could to save a fading life, one that did not tremble at the thought of piloting an aircraft directly into oncoming enemy fire, one that was prepared to extinguish itself to help others.
The thought made me so unbelievably sad, I couldn’t help but weep.
“…Yuri?” said Akira, his voice full of concern.
I held his hand up to my cheek, and watched my tears roll down along his slender fingers as if to wash away the soot.
“…You’ve got a good heart, Yuri,” he said, rustling my hair with his other blackened hand. “Anyway, come on—we’re almost to the river.”
I climbed up onto Akira’s back again, and we hurried off.
As we approached the river, the roads grew more and more crowded. All around us, I could see people with severe injuries and burns. There were kids crying by the roadside, ones who’d been separated from their families. Everyone was too focused on saving themselves to even give them a second look.
Not Akira, though. The moment he spotted one such little boy, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out a helping hand.
“It’s not safe here,” he said. “You should come with us. I’m sure your mother and father are already down at the river, wondering where you are.”
The boy bawled and bawled, but he took Akira’s hand all the same. And so the three of us headed for the river—me on Akira’s back, and the little boy holding his hand.
A huge crowd of people had already formed around the bridge that spanned the river. Some of them were down by the banks, using the river water to slake their thirst or soothe their burns. Some were face down, motionless as the river carried them away.
But the little boy’s family was nowhere to be found.
We waited by the riverside until the fires died down a bit, then headed for a nearby elementary school that had been designated as an evacuation site. Word among the crowd was that the area around the mess hall was still ablaze, so it wasn’t a good idea to head back there yet. I was still beside myself with worry for Tsuru, but I knew I probably couldn’t get there on my own two legs right now, and I didn’t want to burden Akira any more than I already had either. All I could do was pray she’d made it out alive.
Dozens upon dozens of corpses had been laid out in lines on the elementary school’s sports field, all of them with sheets of cloth over their faces. There were also quite a few people going around from body to body, lifting up the cloths one by one to see whether their family members were among them. I shuddered at the thought that we might find the little boy’s parents there—but Akira simply walked right through the field without stopping to look and headed into the wooden school building instead.
All the classrooms were already filled to the brim with people, but by some minor miracle, we at last managed to find an open spot where we could squeeze in and sit down. There were infants crying all around us. Children whimpering in pain. Families whispering to each other in hushed tones.
After sitting there idly on the floor of the room for a while, I suddenly heard a voice call out, “Yoshio-chan!” from the doorway. I looked up to see an older lady in singed, tattered clothing looking right at us with a wide-eyed stare. According to the little boy, this woman lived in his neighborhood. Immediately, the boy started bawling again, relieved to finally see someone he recognized. Akira walked him over to the lady, and they exchanged a few words before he entrusted the boy to her care. Finally, he walked back over to where I was sitting.
“How’s your leg, Yuri?” he asked.
“Feeling a lot better,” I said. “The burns are pretty mild, honestly.”
“I see… We really ought to treat those ASAP, but it sounds like nobody’s got enough burn ointment to share…”
“I’ll be fine, silly. It really doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“Oh… Are you sure?”
He still seemed a bit worried, but I could tell from his expression that he was feeling utterly exhausted himself, so I grabbed his hand and urged him to sit down with me.
“Akira, you should rest for a bit,” I said.
“Right…” he said. “Thanks.”
He gave me a little smile, then leaned back against the wall, folded his arms, and gently closed his eyes. Good, I thought to myself. That’s what I like to see.
Hugging my knees to my chest, I finally took a good look around the room.
I could see people with bloody bandages wrapped around their arms and legs. People with blood trickling down their faces who had passed out from exhaustion. People with burns all over their bodies. Someone staring dazedly down at their legs, which had been mangled and twisted at strange, unnatural angles.