Free Wanderers by Susan Kim

was, how capable.
    The thought made her glow and giggle, as if he had really said it.
    Asha avoided the first few buildings on the street. They had collapsed against one another, and while they were still standing, barely, she didn’t much like the look of them. Humming to herself, she continued down the street, walking with one foot on the curb and one in the gutter. Behind her, she could tell the townspeople had begun cooking a meager supper; there was already the scent of wood burning and the faraway clatter of metal spoons and fire bowls.
    The building she chose lay a distance from the road, at the end of a small, curved driveway. It was a good-size brick building, with long windows and a strange fixture on its roof, a long, white beam that tapered to a point high overhead. The setting sun revealed a sign in the midst of the overgrown grass; beneath the cracked glass front were crooked white letters spelling out words Asha didn’t understand.
    Inside, Asha found a high-ceilinged room set with orderly rows of wooden benches. By now, it was so dark, it was almost impossible to see. Vaguely, Asha was aware it was probably not a good idea to keep going. Yet she continued to inch toward the front of the room, where a round window was crisscrossed with two white planks, one long and one short, that formed a sort of T. In front of it, a separate stall of benches faced long metal pipes on the wall that gleamed dully in the waning light. Asha put her hands in front of her as if trying to feel her way through the velvety evening air.
    She was not prepared for the stairs that suddenly appeared beneath her feet.
    Screaming and windmilling her arms, Asha pitched forward. As she fell, she grabbed onto a flimsy wooden banister that snapped off in her hand. At the same moment, her left foot broke through a step and kicked free. With a groan of ancient wood, the entire structure collapsed beneath her in an explosion of dust and splinters.
    In pitch-blackness, Asha found herself half sitting on the pile of rubble. Uncertainly, she pulled her foot out from underneath her and attempted to stand. She could feel a hot stickiness on her leg and her ankle felt funny. But standing on tiptoe, she could sense a gaping void where the staircase once stood. Above her head, her waving hands brushed the splintered end of a faraway board. Beyond it, she could imagine the open doorway, which at that moment seemed as far away as the moon.
    Asha didn’t know how long she shouted. After a while, her throat was ragged and still no one came. Finally, she gave up. In the dark, she sat on the lumber and hugged her knees, whimpering to herself as she rocked back and forth. As she wept, she could taste the salt of her tears, and it reminded her of supper, of companionship and comfort.
    Then there was a sound from above.
    It was the murmur of voices, male voices. Hoping against hope, Asha quickly got to her feet.
    â€œEli?” she called in a harsh croak.
    The voices grew louder. Without warning, a lit torch suddenly thrust down toward her, nearly setting her hair on fire. With a squeal, Asha attempted to bat the nasty thing away; the flaming rag tied to the end of a stick reeked of gasoline. When she looked up at its source, the doorway at the top of what had been the stairs, Asha was blinded by the light. Squinting, she held up an arm to block it.
    â€œWell, look what we got here,” said an unfamiliar voice.
    Another person—a boy? a girl?—snickered.
    Asha, still covering her eyes, waved her other hand. “Help,” she said. “I fell down.”
    The torch withdrew; the room grew dark again, and the girl felt a stab of dismay. Were her rescuers abandoning her? Then something hit her across the face.
    â€œHey!” she exclaimed.
    It didn’t hurt. Whatever it was bumped against her face again, and this time, she grabbed it. She was holding a piece of rope that dangled from above. The beam of light found her once more,