“And some emergency kits,” Meea added. “We have several that are unused. But what about things of sentimental value?”
Matakh smiled. “Remember that jumagium container Mom and Dad purchased several years ago? They said they were going to put some of their old things inside of it one day and bury it somewhere for people to find in the future, a time capsule. I think it’s time we used it.”
Meea grinned back. “You’re right! As hard as jumagium is, it’ll be able to withstand things like bomb explosions. And when this whole mess is over, we can just come back here and dig it up again!”
Excited at the prospect of preserving at least some possessions of value, the two lions raced towards the stairwell, Shartha and Timirza close behind them. Meea reached it first, clearing the first several steps in a single leap. But just as she prepared to spring again she heard an ominous groan, a tremor running through the boards beneath her feet.
“It’s collapsing!” Matakh yelped, jerking himself backwards from the step he had been about to take. “Meea!”
The lioness didn’t respond, bracing herself against the railing and tensing her arms before launching herself forward again. The board she had been standing on snapped as she pushed off, and within moments the remaining stairs had begun to fall like dominoes. Fortunately the push-off had given Meea enough of a head start, and she made it to the safety of the upper floor just as the final pieces fell away.
“Well, we won’t be getting up that way,” Matakh observed, nudging a board with his toe. He looked up at his sister. “Any ideas?”
She nodded. “I’ll get the emergency ladder in my room and feed it through my window. If you head out back, the rest of you should be able to climb in.” She turned and darted into her room, a cloud of dust rising behind her footfalls.
Matakh and the cheetahs made their way to the rear sliding door of the house, stepping through the openings left by the shattered glass panels. They were just in time to see a rope ladder tumble down from Meea’s window. Timirza quickly scrambled up the rungs and slipped through the opening, followed closely by Matakh and Shartha. The boys had a more challenging time, as their larger frames were harder to squeeze through, but they managed it in the end.
As he looked around, Matakh was a bit surprised. Despite the fact that just meters away the front of the house was all but destroyed, Meea’s room was virtually untouched. The force of the explosion had shaken things up, and several of her more fragile possessions had broken, but otherwise there was no sign that anything at all had happened. He could already see that his sister had recovered her data pad, which had been knocked into a cluster of stuffed animals, and from the looks of things they would be able to salvage a good deal more.
“You really were blessed,” he told her as she tucked her data pad away into its travel bag.
“Definitely.” She reached over to retrieve her E-Z Comm, which had somehow remained in its charge port. “Timirza and I can handle getting my things packed up if you and Shar want to check out your room.”
Matakh nodded and stepped towards the door, motioning for Shartha to follow. Upon stepping outside, he was struck by the stark contrast between the cheeriness of Meea’s room and the foreboding gloom of the hallway. The door to his room was only a few steps down, black scorch marks blazing across the surface like massive scars. Taking a deep breath, he put his hand to the knob, twisted, and pushed.
Instantly, he was assaulted with the harsh scent of stale smoke, a faint haze billowing out to meet him. Flecks of ash and soot drifted through the gap, some settling onto his jacket like ticks, while others tried to find their way past the hand he had clapped over his muzzle. A horrible sinking feeling settled into his gut, and he shoved his door the rest of the way, the wood of the door frame splintering with the force. What met his eyes within was not the place of comfort that he remembered, but a scorched and tangled ruin. Charred clumps of drywall and plaster coated the floor, intermixed with stone fragments- all that remained of the fountain panel he had worked so hard to save up for. A fallen rafter had obliterated his desk, crushing it in half, and what remained was scorched almost beyond recognition. His bed had fared no better; the mattress had been incinerated, and the frame had been reduced to charcoal and lumps of molten metal. Not even his treasure chest had survived, the hardwood box now no more than a twisted ruin, its contents utterly destroyed.
A crushing weight fell on Matakh’s shoulders, and he fell to his knees in shock. It was insult to injury; not only had he lost his parents, but now everything that he had ever owned, all the reminders of better times. Tears began to leak from his eyes once more, but amidst the grief was a flash of rage, anger at the injustice of it all. He felt Shartha lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it did little to ease his mind.
A growl ripped from his throat, and he slammed his hand against the floor, only to feel a sharp spike of pain in his palm. He winced and pulled back, hissing in pain and frustration as he cradled his hand. But as he glared down at the floor, his eyes suddenly caught a faint metallic gleam amidst the dust. Curious, he swept his hand over the ground, blowing gently to dispel the cloud that rose up. What he saw made his heart leap with joy. It was a picture case that his mother had given him, one which held a photograph of his family that they had taken a few summers ago.
As he lifted the case up with reverence, he felt a brief flash of worry. What if the picture inside had been destroyed? But as he opened the lid, he was met with the smiling faces of his parents. The caprium alloy, famed for its resistance, had held, and the photograph within was undamaged. A giddy laugh escaped his lips as he pressed the case to his chest, giving a silent prayer of thanks for the small but bright light of happiness that now burned in his heart.
Shartha patted his shoulder. “That’s great that you still have that photo,” he said. “I’m happy for you, man.”
Matakh nodded and tucked the case into his pocket before turning to the wreckage of his room. “I guess we should see if anything else managed to survive this.” Shartha nodded, and the two began to search. It was far from easy; a layer of soot had settled onto virtually every surface like a dark grey blanket, and trying to brush it away soon proved a risky task. Shards of glass and ceramic were scattered throughout the mess, and within minutes their hands were riddled with cuts, crimson blood mixing with the dust to form a muddy brown grime that seeped into their fur. They would need to clean the wounds later on, they knew, but for the moment they simply wiped their hands off on their clothes and soldiered on.
Their work was not in vain. Shartha managed to recover Matakh’s data pad from within the ruins of the lion’s bed, and to their relief it had escaped with only a few slight scratches. His E-Z Comm was similarly undamaged, and Matakh quickly tucked it into his pocket. But the true surprise came when Shartha began sifting through his friend’s ruined desk. As the cheetah let a handful of ash slip through his fingers, he saw a flash of silver, one which he quickly realized was a coin.
“Hey Mat!” the cheetah called. “Come look at this!” He held the treasure up for the lion’s inspection. As the dim light of the room flashed across the coin’s lustrous surface, Matakh gasped in amazement.
“I-I don’t believe it. It’s the Centennial Anniversary of Peace Commemorative that the fox gave me!” He lifted the coin from Shartha’s palm and held it aloft. Even through the faint patina of dust, the beautiful engravings seemed to shine brightly, and the sight sent a surge of warmth through Matakh’s soul. “That makes two special things that made it through the fire.” He slipped the coin in the same pocket that held the picture case, smiling as he felt it settle.
“Well, I haven’t found anything else out here,” Shartha told him.
Matakh smiled. “It’s alright. What I do have is more than I expected, and all that I need.”
Dusting off his shirt, he walked over towards his closet door, which was buried beneath a mountain of wooden beams