Page 45 of The Promise
"This is all a pretty big stretch, Pete." He stopped as a shard of fear pierced his gut. "But if there's any truth in this at all, then Loralee could be in real danger." Patrick swung his horse around.
"Whoa there, boy. Where ya goin'?"
"Back to town, I've got to warn her."
Pete leaned out and grabbed the reins. "Not tonight. Save your heroing for tomorrow. I told you before, ain't safe out here at night, especially for Macphersons."
Patrick clamped his jaw shut and glared at the older man.
"You told me yourself Striker's gone. So your Loralee will be safe until morning."
"She's not my Loralee." He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he could ask Michael what to do. God, how he needed his brother.
12
She couldn't breathe.
Cara opened her eyes, then blinked trying to clear her vision. The room was full of fog, orange fog, and it was choking her. She coughed violently, trying to clear her lungs, struggling to make sense of the swirling haze.
She couldn't move, something heavy was holding her down, partially blocking her vision.
Above her, she could see nothing but the fog. Light flickered through it, almost as if it were alive. She fought for another breath. It was hot. Really hot.
She tried to clear her mind, to remember what happened. Everything was eerily quiet, too quiet. The light continued to dance against the fog. Her brain scrambled to find logic where seemingly there was none. Suddenly it clicked.
Fire.The dancing light was fire. She sucked in a breath, the acrid stench of smoke filling her lungs and stinging her eyes. Oh God, the fog was smoke.
She tried to stay calm, to hold her panic at bay, but she could feel her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her chest.Closing her eyes, she forced her breathing to stay shallow and even, trying to remember what she was supposed to do.
Stop. Drop. Roll. Stop. Drop. Roll.
The words ran through her brain, a sing-song phrase, taunting her with the impossible. Stopping and dropping seemed to befait d'accompli, but rolling was evidently out of the question. Unless someone could move whatever it was that was pinning her down. Where the hell was the bionic man when she needed him?
Hysteria welled inside her, threatening to take away the small thread of sanity she had left. Digging her fingernails into her palms, she fought to calm herself. She had to think.Think.
A sharp popping noise, followed by shattering glass broke the stillness. The light intensified, and with a low whoosh, flames shot out above her head, building quickly until a canopy of fire billowed across the ceiling. Fascinated, she stared as it spread, and then almost instantaneously vanished again.
Perversely, the fire itself calmed her as nothing else had and she forced herself to take inventory of the situation. She could feel her toes. And if she strained she could even see her left arm. Her fingers wiggled reassuringly.
One of the crates was lying on her arm. Gritting her teeth, she pushed against it as hard as she could. It rose a little and then toppled over, leaving her arm free. She lifted it gingerly, flexing the muscles, relieved to see that it wasn't injured.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes, surprised to see her hand come away covered with blood. Even little head wounds bleed like the dickens, a voice in her mind soothed. She crinkled her forehead. It didn't hurt. Surely that was a good sign.
The canopy was back. She watched mesmerized as the flames writhed above her.
A small explosion somewhere behind her, brought her sharply back to reality. She had to get out of here.
She tried to push against the weight on top of her, her hand recognizing the smooth metal of a filing cabinet. It was warm to the touch, but not hot. Not yet, the little voice whispered. She coughed again, grimacing. Her throat was raw from breathing the rancid smoke. At least she was trapped on the floor. There was more air down here.
She tried to look at the filing cabinet, but all she could make out clearly was the tip of her nose, the effort making her cross-eyed. She gave up. The thing must be jammed against something else. If it had landed on her directly, surely it would have crushed her.
Something was braced against her head. When she tried to move, she could feel it shift. Better to hold still. The smoke seemed thicker now. She worked to keep her breathing shallow, her eyes darting back and forth, watching for the fire, waiting for it find her, devour her.
Fear threatened to consume her again. She watched as a burning ember dropped from the ceiling onto the wooden floor. It smoldered, but didn't catch and she felt an absurd rush of relief. She tried to move her right arm, but it was securely pinned at her side. She was trapped. The only thing she could do now was wait, and hope that someone would come.
Michael.
His face filled her mind, and she felt immediately calmer, almost as if he was actually there with her. Surely fate hadn't sent him all the way through time, only to let him watch her die.
