Page 136 of End Game

Elsie’s fury.

Marco’s anvil-like fist slamming into the side of her head.

Lights out.

Now, smoke billowed through the room, causing her eyes to water and her lungs to rebel. She tried to cough, but whatever paralytic Elsie had given her suppressed her ability.

“Mama!” Her scream came out more as a croaked whisper.

The woman lying face down didn’t stir.

Wind pushed at the fire from the outside, feeding the voracious flames. They rounded the wall and headed straight for her mother.

“Mama!”

Kayla fought against her paralysis. Strained to reassert control over her body. Her heart skipped a beat when her fingers flexed and her shoulders shifted.

Hope surged.

She worked her way down her body.

The rest of her mass remained still as granite, except for her feet.

Fear extinguished her small spark of hope.

“Jillian!”

Had her scream been a little stronger?

Her mother’s body jerked, as if startled, then settled again.

Coughing, Kayla attempted to roll off the sofa, get to lower ground, where the smoke was less dense. But her body sat like a boulder at the bottom of a hill, heavy and immovable.

Tears streamed from her eyes—part from smoke, part from frustration and fear.

“Jillian Helene Krowne, get your ass up!”

This time, her mother lifted her head, coughed.

“Mama! Run!”

Jillian raised up on an elbow and turned toward the great room. Her expression was one of confusion until she saw her daughter lying helpless on the sofa. “Kayla?”

“Mama, get out of here, now!”

Jillian shook her head and her fingers touched her temple to ease what was no doubt a raging headache.

Kayla concentrated on her neck muscles. Slowly, she angled her head until her neck hooked over the side of the seat cushion. The fingers of her right hand grabbed the edge of the middle cushion. She forced her right leg to move a few inches until her toes anchored against the front of the armrest.

Through tearing eyes, Kayla watched Jillian crawl toward her on hands and knees, hacking against the poisonous air filling her lungs.

Three, two, one?—

Kayla commanded every available ounce of strength into her neck, fingers, and toes. They pushed against the side of the sofa. With frustrating slowness, the leverage elevated her body up and onto its side, like a sail catching a stirring breeze.

She just needed a little . . . more . . . to tip . . . her over.

But gravity’s talons held tight, and her body stopped its forward momentum.

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