Page 75 of The Texas Murders

In a minute, he’s going to knock the temporary fence down so he’s shackled to one panel. Then he’s going to drag it overto the Texas Ranger’s truck and see if the door is unlocked. He’s hoping for handcuff keys, but a shotgun might do to blast the fence beam to bits.

All of that is on his to-do list, but there’s something else he has to take care of first.

He shoves his fingers into the pocket of his jeans, wincing in pain, and comes out with a Zippo lighter pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

He flicks it open and examines the flame.

It’s about a seven- or eight-foot toss to get the lighter to the wet trail of fluid leading into the doorway. In the air, the flame might blow out. Or he might miss.

But he’s going to try.

Llewellyn Carpenter isn’t the kind of man who quits. Another man would have surrendered when the Texas Rangers and FBI raided the warehouse. Another man would have given up when the Ranger showed up at the brothel.

Llewellyn had gotten away both times.

He might not get away this time, but he’ll at least make sure none of those three piece-of-shit cops live to testify against him in court.

He holds the lit Zippo sideways, like a flat rock he’s about to skip across water. He moves his arm slowly in a throwing motion, getting a sense for the movement. Finally, he cocks his arm back and lets it fly.

The orange flame soars through the air, hits the pavement, and skids toward the wet spot. The Zippo stops a centimeter outside the wetness, like a shuffleboard disc skidding to a halt just short of the scoring line.

“Shit,” Carpenter says, disappointed.

Then he watches as the dancing flame stretches toward the liquid. The wet spot flares up. A six-inch flame darts along the trail of fluid and disappears through the door of the community center. Orange light fills the hallway. He hears awhoosh, like a furnace kicking on—only a hundred times louder. Hot air exhales from the doorway, blowing against Carpenter’s face. The rectangular entrance fills with a bright fiery light, illuminating a malevolent grin on Carpenter’s face.

He laughs like the devil at the pit of hell, ecstatic that he’s just claimed three more souls.

CHAPTER 66

AVA TRIES TO run across the basement, but stumbles into a table. Her throat burns. Her lungs ache. She gags, and tentacles of white phlegm dangle from her mouth.

She pushes on, her head spinning.

She looks toward the kitchen and spots a corridor. At the end is the dull glow from another light. She shines her light and locates more stairs—and a person lying motionless on the steps. She staggers forward, finding Rory unconscious, his flashlight discarded on a step beside him.

She doesn’t bother to shake him. Instead, she goes straight for the door, positioning the blades of the bolt cutters around the link of the chain. She presses the handles together, but she doesn’t seem to have the strength to cut through the metal.

She feels unconsciousness threatening and thinks what a cruel joke it would be if she passed out now.

She heaves with all the strength she has left. The handles snap together and the chain falls away.

She pushes the double doors open to the blue morning light, getting a whiff of the most beautiful clean air she’s ever smelled.

“Wake up, Rory,” she chokes, trying to rouse him.

She hears a noise—like a jet engine starting up behind her. When she turns to look, warm wind blows against her face. The corridor blazes with a reddish-orange light.

Ava grabs Rory under the armpits and, with a strength she didn’t know she had, drags him up the stairs and out into the morning air. She jumps on top of him just as a cyclone of fire explodes out of the doorway like the breath of a dragon. A thunderousBOOMfills the air. The boards over the windows on the first floor explode outward, followed by glass shards and spouts of flame.

Ava, keeping her body pinned atop Rory, has never felt such heat. Tendrils of fire thrash above her, and then the dragon’s breath retreats into the basement door.

Black smoke billows out.

Ava quickly checks to make sure neither of them is on fire, then she grabs Rory and drags him to the chain-link fence. It’s a safe enough distance—for now. Behind them, fire crawls from the windows up the side of the building, like reverse waterfalls of red and yellow flame.

Ava shakes Rory. Tears stream down her soot-covered cheeks as she yells, “Wake up! Rory! Wake up!”

His eyes flicker.

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