Page 121 of Burn It Down

“I hear you, but you need to hearme. Jake wouldn’t do this. He’s losing even more than we are. ”

She stands on her toes and kisses my cheek. “I know. It was just a thought. I’ll see you at home.”

When the door that leads into the office closes, I walk out front, slip into Mr. Jenkins’ M3 and pull it into the open bay. The sun is going down and the air has a bite to it so I lower the bay door after getting the car situated, locking it into place. I hate how uneasy I feel in my own space these days.

I crank up Beautiful Deceit on the speaker as I start the familiar, if tedious, process of checking fluids, belts, and hoses on the old M3.

I’ve been at it about an hour when I get a whiff of gas and start checking the lines to the tank of the car. I might have jostled something that exposed a leak somewhere. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time.

But I come up empty. Everything looks good.

The scent slowly grows stronger so I wonder if my dad or I accidentally left one of the cans open and the fumes are starting to build since lowering the door.

But as I check the cans, they’re all tightly closed. I pull on the door to the office to see if anything is amiss inside, but the door’s locked.Why would Cassie lock this door?

Grumbling, I walk over to the bay door and throw the lock before leaning down to hoist the door up. The slide lock gives easily, but the door doesn’t budge.

“What the hell?” I mutter, walking to the back bay door only to find the same thing. Both doors are unlocked from the inside, but neither will open.

Because the front and back of the shop are gigantic garage doors, the only windows are fourteen feet in the air. They let sunlight in, but are usually useless since the doors are open ninety-five percent of the time we’re in here.

“Well, shit.”

I’m headed to grab my phone when I start to smell smoke.

“Oh,fuck.”

Placing the back of my hand on the door to the office, it’s warm, but I remember Jake had reinforced fire doors installed as part of the upgrade, so hopefully that’ll buy me some time to get the bay doors open since I won’t be able to break through to get to the office.

Jake asked for them.

Don’t fucking go there. Focus on getting out of the shop.

I call 9-1-1 and am connected to the dispatcher when I notice the floor under the garage door is wet. That’s when I see it, flames are blocking that exit as well. Not that it even counts as an exit right now. The worst part? We keep all of our flammable liquids next to the bay doors. Because they tend to be noxious, we keep them in the most well-ventilated area.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“My building is on fire and all the exits are blocked. I’m locked in and can’t get out.”

I’m standing in an oven.

Falsely, I think I have a little bit of time because concrete doesn’t burn particularly fast, but just as I have the thought, I watch a blue can of acetone explode, sending a shower of sparks out to neighboring cans.

I rattle off our address and ask them to hurry, reiterating that I can’t get the doors open and smoke is starting to fill the space.

Not one to allow death to claim me easily, I try throwing anything I can find through the windows at the top of the doors, but quickly realize I’d need to do it from a ladder and smoke is billowing in the space above me.Stop, drop, and rollnoticeably does not include the phraseclimb a ladder and get as high as you can.

We have a sink in the shop that I turn on full blast but the flames are spreading faster than the water is filling up mybucket. I quickly wet a shop towel and tie it around my face to try and screen some of the smoke.

With flames now coming under both bay doors, I call Cassie.

“Cass, I need you. The shop’s on fire and I’m locked in.”

“What!?Locked in? That doesn’t make any sense. I was the last one there. I never lock the door to the garage.”

“I called 9-1-1, but I can’t get the bay doors open.”

“I’m coming. Get down low.Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I hear her mutter. “Stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

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