Page 68 of Up In Smoke

Smoke was starting to fill the area, though luckily it rose and she was taking advantage of that. If only she had her phone, or a flashlight, or any of the things she didn't have, she told herself … Again, it didn’t matter, she would make do.

Heading down the steps, Ivy decided to aim toward the edge of the building or at least close. How much she could tuck herself up against the foundation would depend on how warm it was to the touch. That would be the safest place if anything collapsed around her.

How long could she survive here? Could she escape? She had no idea. But she moved downward, the step breaking under her foot as she put weight on it.

Screaming into nothing, she tumbled backwards. Luckily, it was the lowest step that had broken and she fell a mere matter of inches. It was still enough to twist her ankle.

Standing gingerly, putting weight on the ankle, and attempting to regain her bearings, Ivy reached up the ladder. It was much higher than she expected it to be.

How far down had she come?

She moved slowly, checking out her new space and quickly bumping into a wall and wood planking at her waist height. Confused, she reminded herself to get low. Just because the air was better here didn't mean it was good.

Reaching out, she felt her way around. Shallow shelves lined a short wall next to her. Of course, she thought, the ladder, the indoor access—It was a root cellar!

A small one, but big enough for her. She wouldn’t have to dig down into the earth and create her own hole. She clutched the knife and the spoon in the one hand, the other still feeling its way around as she shuffled on her knees.

Would it be enough?

Again, she had no answer.

She stopped and listened and still heard no sirens.

But this time, she wasn't sure if she could. The crackling of the fire above her had gotten much, much louder.

Chapter Fifty

How long had she been down here?

Ivy didn't know. She’d dropped the spoon and the knife and now hoped she didn’t cut herself. Huddling down she breathed through her still wet shirt.

With the little root cellar, she was able to be lower than she'd even hoped. Still, the smoke was swirling in, she could feel it getting denser. Opening her coat, she lifted her sweater, doubling the layer she was breathing through, but exposing her abdomen in the process. With a few awkward but quick movements, she managed to button the coat back closed.

Would it do any good? Was all of this in vain? Had she simply prolonged the time it would take her to die?

Dear God, let her die of smoke inhalation please. She did not want to burn.

She had a brief moment to be grateful that Carlos had not also doused her in whatever accelerant he'd used. She breathed in slow, shallow movements, trying not to inhale any more smoke than she needed to.

When she thought about it, there was probably no way to make it better. The air was full of smoke whether she inhaled it or not. But her body didn't want a deep inhale and right now she did exactly what her body told her.

She sat on her knees, hands in front of her face, still bound and holding the sweater tightly over her mouth and nose. She'd put her forehead into the dirt, trying to stay small and compact and breathe from the lowest point possible. As if that could help her escape the fire.

Above her, something cracked and broke. Ivy flinched.

The root cellar was open. It wasn't covered by anything. As soon as the floor caved, it would cave on her and it sounded like parts of the structure were already collapsing from the fire damage.

She wanted to turn and open her eyes and look up but knew she wouldn't be able to see anything anyway. What little light came from the flames didn't travel very far through the smoke that thickened with each passing moment. So she huddled down and waited for the sirens she still didn't hear.

She wondered if prayer would do her any good. She had long since stopped believing in a God that cared more about sin than love. A God that believed she was chattel and not a person. A God that believed self-appointed men determined right and wrong on Earth—whatever that might be.

But, as she possibly entered the very last moments of her life, she was grateful that she'd found Luke. She was grateful she'd found the town of Redemption. She was grateful for Jo and Maggie and Seline. For the Kellys and their friendship and their dead daughter-in-law’s refrigerator that they sold Jo that let her get a coffee table. She was grateful for the librarians who'd sent her on the path that she'd followed diligently. And she prayed to a God that she wasn't sure existed. She prayed to a God that shewantedto believe in and she hoped that she had done enough.

Chapter Fifty-One

Luke turned the car around. The words on the scanner changing his resignation to fresh dread. The streets of Redemption were virtually empty at this time of night. But the voice from dispatch rattled off another address he recognized.

Skidding his way around corners, he forced himself to pause for traffic lights and waited for blue lights and sirens to pop up behind him. But it didn’t happen.

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