His entire body was covered with red welts, burns, blisters, and ash. A piece of shrapnel had struck his right arm, the arm with the wounded hand that had pounded out note after note. He crouched, wavering, facing the man who had killed my husband, the man who was going to kill my brother. But Ernest should know—didn’t he know?—he was not Yamazaki’s match.
But recklessly, he drove himself toward Yamazaki like a spear, knocking him to the ground with such a force that both folded over, slammed into the overturned tank, and crashed in a heap. Ernest, to my greatest joy, got up on his feet first. His face bathed in blood, he struck my enemy with his left fist, again and again; it was hard to believe, but every delicious blow from Ernest made Yamazaki groan until he finally lay flat on the ground. Panting, Ernest fell to his knees. He looked utterly spent after having been powered on a spurt of energy to kill Yamazaki. But Ernest didn’t see that, behind him, Yamazaki was crawling to a long rifle near the rubble. He grabbed it and sat up.
“No!” Gathering all my strength, I heaved; inch by inch, I pulled myself out. I was close to swinging my legs out, close to freeing myself and helping Ernest. But suddenly a rush of air swept my feet, and I dropped through the crosshatched boards to the bottom of the rubble.
From outside my prison of detritus came the sound of the world ending.
Gunshots.
Then silence.
I saw nothing; I heard nothing. I was beyond tears.
With the last of my strength, I crawled. Through the burrows of splintered piles of wood, through the cavern of dark smoke. The sharp shrapnel rent my skin, the ragged edges of stones and bricks crunched against my bones, and the smoldering metal coils ensnared my flesh. I kept crawling.
The air outside was pungent, scalding, and chalky like ashes. The earth burned, sticky like blood, soft like melting skin. The sky ruptured, a crimson, bleeding wound. Where was he?
A hand grasped mine, and I looked up, ready to spit on Yamazaki.
“Aiyi?” said a voice, faint, but exploding in my ears.
I gripped him with two hands. Ernest!
His eyes were swollen and bruised and his cheeks were coated with blood and ash, yet it was the most beautiful face I had ever seen.
“I thought . . . I thought . . . What happened?”
He gave a wan smile. “Your brother.”
Behind him, in the shower of dust and sparks, I saw Ying, a silhouette, holding a machine gun. He had shot Yamazaki before he could fire at Ernest.
And Yamazaki, the murderer, my nightmare, was finally dead, half of his face blown away by the bullets.
“I didn’t know you were in the rubble, Aiyi. How did you get there?” A trickle of blood flowed down Ernest’s face.
I had many questions too. How had he ended up with Ying, how had the two come across Yamazaki, and what had they done with the tanks? But I only nodded and nodded.
“I thought I would never see you again . . . I thought . . . I’ve missed you.” He wept.
I put my hand on his face. So close he was. So real he was. It was as if he had never left me.
“Get out of here. You two, get out.” Ying was shouting. His face was ruined, blood gushing from behind his ear.
“What is it?” I asked.
I didn’t hear Ying’s reply, for his voice was swallowed by the noise of a bomber emerging in the sky and from the warship on the river as its machine guns blasted. Ying shouted again, “Ernest, Aiyi, you need to get out of here before the bombing starts. I’ll take care of this.”
I tried to get up, but my feet were weak and painful. “Ying, let’s all go together.”
“I can’t, Aiyi. Go; go with Ernest. I must destroy the warship.” He steered the gun motor on the tank and fired at the warship. A detonation boomed somewhere. A fountain of sparks and water bloomed; the sky roared with a downpour, soaking us from head to toe. Ying laughed hysterically—the tank’s shell had struck the warship. One of the three funnels, like a smoky finger, slowly bent.
But sparks flashed from another gun turret on the warship. The American fighter that could end the war wobbled in the sky like a kite, leaving behind a trail of smoke. The Japanese warship had shot the fighter.
“Damn it!” Ying fired another shell. “Aiyi! Go now before it’s too late! Go!”
I crawled to Ernest. “Let’s go, Ernest.”
He had slipped to the ground, and his voice was so feeble I could barely hear it. “Aiyi, I did all I could, and now I don’t have anything left in me. You must get out of here while you can. I’ve seen you for the last time. I can die happy. Go. Go before it’s too late.”