Page 97 of Burn With Me

What idiot handcuffs a prisoner to a chair that can move?

My eyes catch on a piece of wood next to Brian’s motionless body. It miraculously hasn’t been touched by the fire yet, and I know it’s stupid to think one piece of wood will help me, but I have to try.

Behind me, I hear, “Oh, no, you don’t.”

Without thinking twice about my next move, I swing around with the chair as hard as I can, and the leg breaks as it connects with the side of his head.

Pain shoots up my arm from my wrist, and I watch as he falls backward and hits the ground.

I guess I didn’t need that piece of wood after all.

The gas can dropped out of his hand, and when I look down, gas soaks into my shoes.

With a cough, I spin to check my surroundings.

The smoke is so thick, so I do the first thing I can think of and drop to the floor awkwardly since part of the chair is still connected to my wrist.

Heat warms my feet.

I feel around as I crawl to see if I can find a door when my hand touches something sticky. Bringing my hand up, I don’t fight the whimper that escapes my lips when I see the red on my palm.

Blood.

Brian’s blood.

I shake my head. I can’t think about it. I need to focus.

Knowing I can’t waste any more time, I try to look around. I crawl in the general direction of a door, and a spark of hope hits me when I find one.

Reaching out, I grab the handle but cry out, finding it already too hot to the touch.

I close my eyes, defeated.

Pulling air into my lungs is a struggle. Everything hurts, and I’m coughing more, fighting to catch my breath.

My heart breaks knowing that the only other exit is jammed shut because Leo and Brian blocked us in.

The heat licks my skin as the fire closes in, and I’m out of ideas.

This is how it ends.

I won’t get to hug my animals anymore or have any good home-cooked meals from Farmer Joe and Ann. Pam will never forgive herself because she’ll find some way to take the blame. And Luke.

Luke . . .

My heart breaks even more because I’ll never be able to tell Luke how I feel. I fought my feelings and then hid them because they scared me, and neither of us deserved that.

That is when I hear it. A pump running. And it hits me.

The spare tank we brought in here once we got the levels back to normal ran on a totally different water line, just in case the pH levels had something to do with the main water line. We just emptied the fish back into the other tanks last week.

My limbs feel heavy as I fight to stand, trying to keep my weight off my injured wrist.

I awkwardly shuffle toward the sound of the tank kicking on. My toe hits one of the legs, and I work as quickly as I can to get my hoodie off around the obstacle of the chair arm connected to my wrist. I step in, and the cool water soothes my skin. I maneuver the chair leg so it supports my wrist and dip my head under the water, bringing my hoodie with me. Sitting up, I cover my nose and mouth with the hood to try and filter the smoke as much as I can.

I don’t know how long it’s been, but someone has to be on their way soon.

Please.

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