The Last Nightingale by Anthony Flacco Read Free Book Online Page A

tears from rolling, he managed to wipe them off with his shoulders while he kept on working. He was almost certain that no one spotted him.
    The task got him all the way to lunchtime before the work ran out. He took another helping of bread and soup, and had just enough time to choke it down before being drafted into another small crew. They were to reset the gravestones around the Mission's old cemetery, a small plot of land that was packed full with San Francisco's earliest settlers. It was relatively easy work, so the crew alternated their graveyard labor with spells of firefighter duty within the surrounding neighborhood. When the flames came and burned through, Shane saw that there wasn't much to be accomplished against the fires. Somebody said there was a rumor about hoses that were going to pump ocean water all the way up from the pier, but there weren't any to be seen.
    It seemed to Shane that they were all only there to witness the destruction. There was no way to do battle with it, other than helping to pull trapped people out of the fire's way, or by helping to move important belongings. The thick adobe walls of the Mission and its clay-shingled roof were easy enough to save from the fires, however, and while the city founders’ gravesites had taken some damage, the cemetery struck Shane as basically unscathed and beautifully peaceful. He immediately understood why the "Committee of Fifty" included this place on their list.
    The physical work was perfect for him, easing his tightened muscles and numbing his scrambled emotions. Meanwhile, the food line stayed active and a few more trips carried him through the rest of the day. By evening, the little cemetery almost looked as if nothing had happened there.
    Shane's team of exhausted conscripts finished for the day just as thick rain finally began to blow in off the sea. The workers sent up a spontaneous cheer. Shane even felt the gnawing ache lift off his chest for a few seconds, borne up by the sound.
    Most of the drafted workers were allowed to leave at that point, but Shane dawdled around. He hated the thought of leaving the food line before they took it down. One of the grateful Mission friars noticed that Shane was making it a point not to leave, and askedif Shane wanted to lay down on a sleeping blanket there under the Mission's strong roof. The simple generosity of the question caught Shane so off guard that his throat seized up. He couldn't bring himself to risk an answer without breaking down, and he was grateful when the friar accepted that Shane could only nod. The man handed him a sleeping roll and pointed to an isolated corner.
    Shane eagerly rolled out the mat and lay down. The padding was just thick enough to soften the floor; he could still feel the cold stone beneath. That did not matter. It was a kingly luxury to remain sheltered in that dry and quiet place, while outside the Mission a forgiving rain gradually began to quench the city's smoldering ruins.
    Blackburn smelled the thick char in the air before he heard the words.
    “You awake? Come on, now, Sergeant—you awake?”
    He opened his eyes and looked up into the face of another young SFPD lieutenant. The lieutenant's face glowed orange and yellow in the light of his field lantern. He repeatedly jabbed Blackburn's bare foot with his boot heel.
    “I'm
wp\”
Blackburn groused.
    “You
sure,
now?”
    “Wide awake.”
    “You don't
look
wide awake, Sergeant. You know what day it is? It's Saturday evening, almost seven o'clock. You been out cold, all day long!”
    “God's sake, Lieutenant! I went straight from digging graves the first day to fighting the fires when they came through here.”
    “Are you being insubordinate, Sergeant?" the lieutenant asked with a sneer.
    “No. Sir. I am trying to say a man has to have some rest.”
    The lieutenant clucked his tongue in the way he reserved for men of lesser rank. "Now, them volunteer ladies over there got a cof-fee wagon set up. Go get yourself