The Zero Game

I dart for the open door of the stairs – but instead of heading down, I go straight up, toward the source of the smoke.

“What’re you doing?” Viv calls out.

She knows the answer. I’m not leaving without Pasternak’s records.

“Harris, I’m not doing this anymore…”

An older woman with jet black dyed hair and reading glasses around her neck comes down the stairs from the fourth floor. She’s not running. Whatever’s burning up there is more smoke than threat.

I feel a sharp tug on the back of my shirt.

“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Viv asks.

Again I stay silent, pulling away from Viv and continuing up the stairs. The thought of Pasternak working against us… Is that why they killed him? He was already involved? Whatever the answer, I need to know.

Leaping up the stairs two at a time, I quickly reach the top, where I squeeze between two more lobbyists just as they enter the stairwell.

“Hey there, Harris,” one calls out with a friendly laugh. “Wanna grab some breakfast?”

Unreal. Even in a fire, lobbyists can’t help but politic.

Twisting and turning through the hallway, I head toward Pasternak’s office and follow the smoke, which is now a thick dark cloud that fills the narrow hallway. I’m blinking as fast as I can, but it’s burning my eyes. Still, I’ve been coming this way for years. I could make it here in pitch dark.

As I make a sharp right around the last corner, there’s a crackle in the air. A wave of heat punches me hard in the face – but not nearly as hard as the hand that reaches out and clutches my arm. I can barely see him through the smoke.

“Wrong way,” a deep voice insists.

I jerk my arm to the side, quickly freeing myself. My fist is clenched, ready to take the first swing.

“Sir, this area’s closed. I need you to make your way to the stairs,” he says over the screaming alarm. On his chest is a gold-and-blue Security badge. He’s just a guard.

“Sir, did you hear what I said?”

I nod, barely paying attention. I’m too busy staring over his shoulder at the source of the fire. Up the hallway… through the thick oak door… I knew it… I knew it the moment the alarm went off. A tiny burst of flame belches through the air, licking the ceiling tiles in Pasternak’s office. His desk… the leather chair… the presidential photos on the wall – they’re all on fire. I don’t stop. If the file cabinet’s fireproof, I can still…

“Sir, I need you to exit the building,” the guard insists.

“I need to get in there!” I call out, trying to rush past him.

“Sir!” the man shouts. He extends his arm, blocking my way and ramming me in the chest. He’s got four inches and over a hundred pounds on me. I don’t let up. And neither does he. As I shove him aside, he pinches the skin on the side of my neck and gives it a ruthless twist. The pain’s so intense, I almost fall to my knees.

“Sir, are you listening to me?!”

“Th-The files…”

“You can’t go in there, sir. Can’t you see what’s happening?”

There’s a loud crash. Up the hallway, the oak door to Pasternak’s office collapses off its hinges, revealing the file cabinets that run along the wall just behind it. There are three tall cabinets side by side. From the looks of it, all of them are fireproof. The problem is, all of them have their drawers pulled wide open.

The papers inside crackle and burn, charred beyond recognition. Every few seconds, a sharp pop kicks a few singed black scraps somersaulting through the air. I can barely breathe through all the smoke. The world blurs through the flames. All that’s left are the ashes.

“They’re gone, sir,” the guard says. “Now, please… head down the stairs.”

I still don’t move. In the distance, I can hear the orchestra of approaching sirens. Ambulances and fire engines are on their way. Police won’t be far behind.

The guard reaches out to turn me around. That’s when I feel the soft hand on the small of my back.

“Ma’am…” the guard starts.

Behind me, Viv studies the burning file cabinets in Pasternak’s office. The sirens slowly grow louder.

“C’mon,” she tells me. My body’s still in shock, and as I turn to face her, she reads it in an instant. Pasternak was my mentor; I’ve known him since my first days on the Hill.

“Maybe it’s not what you think,” she says, tugging me back up the hallway and toward the stairs.

The tears run down my face, and I tell myself it’s from the smoke. Sirens continue to howl in the distance. From the sound of it, they’re right outside the building. With a sharp tug, Viv drags me into the dark gray fog. I try to run, but it’s already too hard. I can’t see. My legs feel like they’re filled with Jell-O. I can’t do it anymore. My run slows to a lumbering walk.

“What’re you doing?” Viv asks.

I can barely look her in the eye. “I’m sorry, Viv…”

“What? Now you’re just giving up?”

“I said, I’m sorry.”