Page 2 of Inferno

The elementary school sits at the edge of town, and I ride through the meager traffic that remains after morning rush hour. Living in a small town has its perks, and minimal traffic is definitely one of them.

As I get closer to the school, I notice an orange glow in the sky and smoke curling in the air.

What the fuck?

Warning bells start to go off in my head, and my nerve endings tingle with awareness. I increase my speed, no longer giving a damn about breaking the law.

When I turn onto Johnson Street, fear races through me at the sight of the elementary school. One side of the building is engulfed in flames, and the fire emits such intense heat that I can feel it almost half a block away.

I skid to a stop and hop off my Harley, letting it fall to the ground. Acting on instinct and an adrenaline rush, I run toward the building. There are several people milling about outside, none of them doing a damn thing to try and help.

“Call 911!” I shout to no one in particular.

“On with them now,” someone yells back.

Without thinking, I make my way to the entrance on the opposite side, passing students and teachers who’ve already been able to escape the blaze. When I reach the door, I yank it open and barrel inside.

One minute, I’m running like the wind to do God knows what to save people, and the next, I’m surrounded by bright white light in a space that is very… empty.

“Welcome to Valhalla.”

1

Emmy

PRESENT DAY…

“This is all such bullshit.”

I glance around the room at the individuals situated in a circle. It’s my day to lead the trauma survivor support group, and normally, I’m all for it. But today… not so much.

Eighteen years.

Where the time’s gone, I have no idea, but May twenty-third is a day that is burned in my brain for all eternity.

No pun intended.

“Why do you say that?” I ask Jack, forcing myself to remain in the present.

“Because trauma is trauma,” he snaps. “Coming here and talking about our feelings isn’t going to make it go away.”

Oh, how right you are.

“True,” I concede. Jack is new to the group, so I don’t argue with him. Getting him to see a different perspective won’t be easy. “But when we discuss our trauma with others and listen to their stories, it can help us to not feel so alone.”

“Like you know anything about it,” he mutters, his tone bitter.

“Tell him your story, Ms. Daniels,” Rachel states, always jumping into a conversation to defend others.

Sweat gathers at the base of my spine at the mention of my own nightmare. Just thinking about it for a second sends me back in time.

My lungs burn as I try to remember all the fire drills we’ve done this year. It’d be much easier if I weren’t the only one still moving, but I am.

I crawl toward the door, and when I reach it, I try to stand and grab the handle only to fall on my butt at the sting of heat that penetrates my skin.

Tears leak from my eyes, but the warmth of the fire dries them before they can roll down my cheeks.

“Hello! Anyone in there?”

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