CHAPTER 9
THE LOST HOMES
Raka ran without time to think.
He ran down the narrow road between the waste pickers' homes, past carts abandoned along the roadside, past piles of sacks that were usually an ordinary part of the scenery.
That night, everything changed.
Flames towered between the shacks.
Black smoke filled the air.
People screamed.
“Water!”
“Get the buckets!”
“My child!”
“Hurry!”
Raka stopped at the end of the road.
His chest heaved.
Right before his eyes, the place he had always called home was burning.
Not one shack.
Not two.
The fire had already spread to several buildings.
The corrugated metal roofs glowed red.
The wooden walls had blackened.
The plastic sheets covering the homes burned with a hissing sound.
“Raka!”
Jali appeared behind him.
He was gasping for breath.
Sari arrived carrying Ucup.
Bimo was still holding the laptop.
Raka pointed.
“Ucup, stay with Sari.”
“I want to help!”
“No.”
“I can!”
“Don’t.”
Ucup stared at him.
“I’m not a baby.”
Raka fell silent.
He knew Ucup was right.
But that night was not the time to argue.
“Then don’t get far from Sari.”
Ucup nodded.
They ran toward the residents.
Raka saw a mother crying in front of a shack.
“My child is still inside!”
Raka ran over immediately.
“Where?”
“In the back!”
The smoke was too thick.
Raka covered his nose with his shirt.
He stepped inside.
“Hey!”
There was no answer.
“Hey!”
A crying voice came from below the table.
Raka crawled over.
He found a small child curled up beneath it.
“Come on!”
The child grabbed his hand.
Raka pulled the child outside.
The mother immediately hugged them.
“Thank you!”
Raka didn't answer.
He went back.
Not once.
Twice.
Three times.
He helped get out the people who were still trapped.
Jali carried buckets.
Sari helped the children reach safety.
Bimo searched for a water source.
Ucup ran around carrying wet cloths.
“Big bro!”
“What?”
“Here!”
He handed over a cloth.
“Good.”
Ucup smiled.
He was no longer just a child who needed to be rescued.
He was helping.
The fire grew larger.
The wind blew embers toward the other homes.
Someone shouted,
“The fire trucks are here!”
Raka turned.
Red lights appeared in the distance.
A few minutes later, sirens filled the neighborhood.
The firefighters moved in.
The residents backed away.
Hoses were unrolled.
Water sprayed out.
Slowly, the fire began to come under control.
But several homes were already gone.
Including Raka's home.
Jali's home.
Bimo's home.
Sari's home.
And the small home where Ucup lived with his family.
The five children stood among the people who had lost their homes.
No one spoke.
The sun had not yet risen when the fire was finally extinguished.
Smoke still billowed.
The ground was wet.
Water mixed with ash flowed around their feet.
Raka walked to where his home had stood.
There were no walls left.
No mattress.
No clothes.
No place to store anything.
He squatted down.
He stirred the ashes with his hands.
He found a spoon.
A button.
A piece of plastic.
Then a bolt.
Raka recognized it.
A bolt from Bimo's old radio.
He closed his fist around it.
Bimo stood behind him.
“Find anything?”
Raka showed him the bolt.
Bimo gave a faint smile.
“Good.”
Raka lowered his head.
“I'm sorry.”
Bimo furrowed his brow.
“For what?”
“Your homes.”
“It wasn't your fault.”
“I'm the leader.”
“So?”
“I should've been able to protect them.”
Bimo sat down beside him.
“Big bro.”
Raka didn't answer.
“If a house burns down, it doesn't mean you failed as a leader.”
Raka kept staring at the ashes.
“I should've been able to do something.”
“You did.”
Raka turned toward him.
“You saved those children.”
Raka fell silent.
Sari came over.
“We all did.”
Jali followed.
“Five people.”
Ucup was carrying a small object.
“Look.”
He opened his palm.
An old toy car without its wheels.
It was still there.
Raka let out a small laugh.
“The most stubborn thing we own.”
Ucup smiled.
“See? I told you it was still good.”
They sat together among the remains of their homes.
For a while, no one spoke.
They simply sat there.
Five children.
Five sacks that were gone now.
Five homes they had lost.
That morning, Ms. Laras arrived with food.
She stood for a long time, staring at the burned-out neighborhood.
Her face was pale.
“Are you all okay?”
Raka nodded.
“No one was seriously hurt.”
Ms. Laras let out a relieved breath.
Then she looked at the remains of the homes.
“Everything's gone?”
Sari nodded.
Ms. Laras covered her mouth.
Her eyes grew glassy.
Jali tried to make a joke.
“It's okay, Ms. Laras.”
Ms. Laras looked at him.
“Why?”
“Now we don't have to worry about the roof leaking.”
Ms. Laras almost smiled.
But her tears fell first.
Jali lowered his head.
“Sorry.”
Ms. Laras shook her head.
“No.”
She hugged Jali.
Then Sari.
Bimo.
Ucup.
Raka last.
At first, Raka was stiff.
He wasn't used to being hugged.
But this time, he let her.
Toward noon, the residents began counting their losses.
Some homes were still standing.
But most were damaged.
People discussed the cause of the fire.
“A stove.”
“An electrical short.”
“A cigarette butt.”
“Who knows?”
A man said,
“The fire started on the north side.”
Raka turned.
The north side was the part farthest from their homes.
“Not here?”
The man shook his head.
“They say it started in back.”
Raka looked toward the back.
There was a road leading to the landfill fence.
Raka said nothing.
That afternoon, Arman arrived.
He looked over the area.
A camera hung around his neck.
He didn't take any pictures right away.
He stood still.
“What time did this happen?”
“Around two in the morning,” Ms. Laras answered.
“Where did the fire start?”
“We don't know yet.”
Arman looked at the remains of the homes.
Then he asked,
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Nothing serious.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at Raka.
“And you?”
Raka nodded.
“I'm okay.”
Arman looked at his hands.
They were covered in soot.
“You helped out?”
Raka nodded.
Arman said nothing.
He simply patted Raka on the shoulder.
Then he looked toward the north side.
“What’s over there?”
Raka answered,
“The road to the landfill.”
Arman stared at him for a long moment.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Raka hesitated.
Then he said,
“The fire started there.”
Arman immediately opened his notebook.
“Who said that?”
“People.”
“Who?”
Raka pointed.
Arman walked over.
The next night, the five children slept at the reading center.
Not because it was comfortable.
Because they had nowhere else to go.
The books became their walls.
A thin carpet became their bed.
Ms. Laras gave them blankets.
Ucup fell asleep first.
Jali followed.
Bimo hugged his bag.
Sari read a book beneath the lamplight.
Raka sat near the door.
Ms. Laras approached him.
“You're not asleep yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
Raka was quiet.
Then he said,
“Ms. Laras.”
“Yes?”
“Do you think the fire was an accident?”
Ms. Laras didn't answer right away.
“Why do you ask?”
“It started on the north side.”
Ms. Laras looked at him.
“There hasn't been an official examination yet.”
“What if it wasn't an accident?”
“Don't draw conclusions without evidence.”
Raka nodded.
But he knew something was wrong.
He remembered the night when two people came to the reading center.
He remembered Dimas.
He remembered the bag.
He remembered L-17.
And now their homes had burned down.
Too many things had happened.
Too close together.
Around midnight, Bimo called out.
“Big bro.”
Raka moved closer.
Bimo showed him the laptop.
“There's something here.”
“What?”
“The pictures from last night.”
He opened one of the images.
The photo had been taken from a distance.
There was a truck.
There were two people.
And behind them was a small building.
Bimo zoomed in.
The building was on the north side of the landfill.
Not far from the settlement.
Raka recognized it.
“A warehouse.”
Bimo nodded.
“Look.”
He zoomed in again.
There was something on the ground.
A jerry can.
Then a streak of light.
Like a small fire.
Raka stared at the screen.
“This was before the fire.”
“What time?”
Bimo pointed.
1:43 a.m.
The fire had started around two.
Raka swallowed.
“Could it be?”
Bimo nodded.
“It could.”
“But it's not certain.”
“Not yet.”
Sari woke up.
“What is it?”
Raka showed her the photo.
Sari looked at it.
Then she picked up her notebook.
“Write it down.”
“What?”
“The time.”
She wrote:
1:43 a.m.
Then:
Warehouse on the north side.
Bimo said,
“I have a video too.”
They stared at him.
“Why didn't you say so?”
“I wasn't sure.”
Bimo opened the file.
The video was twenty seconds long.
It was dark.
Almost nothing could be seen.
Then a light appeared at the edge of the frame.
Someone ran past.
The video stopped.
Jali, who had just woken up, sat down.
“What is that?”
Raka answered,
“We don't know yet.”
Jali looked at the screen.
Then he asked,
“Do we have to be scared?”
Raka looked at him.
He wanted to say no.
But this time, he didn't lie.
“Yes.”
Jali nodded.
“Good.”
Raka furrowed his brow.
“Good?”
“That means we need to be more careful.”
Sari smiled.
Bimo nodded.
Ucup was still asleep.
Raka looked at them.
He realized something.
All this time, he had thought his job was to protect the other four.
But that night, he began to understand that they all protected one another.
Sari guarded their memories.
Bimo guarded the evidence.
Jali guarded their courage.
Ucup kept them children.
And Raka?
He was learning that a leader didn't always have to stand at the front.
Sometimes, he only needed to make sure all five of them kept standing together.
The next morning, news of the fire began to spread.
The authorities said the cause was still unknown.
Some people said it was an electrical short.
Others said it was a stove.
No one mentioned the warehouse on the north side.
No one mentioned the truck.
No one mentioned L-17.
But Arman arrived with news.
“I found something.”
Raka looked at him.
“What?”
Arman opened his phone.
“A resident saw a car leaving the warehouse around two in the morning.”
“What kind of car?”
“Black.”
Raka and his four friends exchanged glances.
Arman looked at them.
“You know something?”
No one answered right away.
Then Raka said,
“Ms. Laras.”
Ms. Laras came over.
Raka looked at her.
“A black car.”
Ms. Laras understood.
She let out a sigh.
For the first time, there was no room left to pretend that all of this was just a coincidence.
Their homes had burned down.
The black bag was still hidden.
People were still searching.
And now there was evidence that a car had left the scene of the fire.
Raka clenched his fists.
He stared at Garbage Mountain in the distance.
That place had fed them for years.
Now the same place held a secret that was beginning to destroy their lives.
But Raka still didn't know one thing.
Losing their homes was not the end of their troubles.
In fact, after their homes burned down, they no longer had any reason to stay silent.
Because now they weren't just risking a bag.
They were risking the truth about the place they had called home all this time.