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“Help us!” she yells to Marge, who’s backed away from the flames, stunned.
Lost in a daze, Marge either doesn’t hear her or refuses to listen.
Charlie pulls the final bit of rope from her legs and goes to Josh, who remains silent and motionless. Without thinking, she grabs him by the ankles and begins to drag him away from the fire. Their progress is marked by a streak of blood on the canvas that’s quickly devoured by the flames trailing them.
Soon they’re off the drop cloth and sliding across the lobby’sparquet floor. Not safe from the flames. Far from it. But away, which is all that matters right now.
Marge has also made her way toward the front of the lobby, staring at the growing fire with an agonized look. The pistol’s still in her hand, still extended, and for a surreal moment Charlie thinks she’s going to try to shoot at the flames. But then Marge swivels, aiming the gun right at her.
Charlie raises her hands.
“Please,” she says. “Please don’t do this. He needs help.”
Off to the side, the fire gets larger. Both the chair and the stool now burn, flames leaping from the spot where Charlie had been sitting minutes earlier. All but one set of drapes has fallen away from the windows, revealing more flames reflected in the glass and making the blaze seem even bigger. Smoke spirals toward the ceiling, accumulating at the peaked roof and exposed beams.
Charlie sees all that wood above and thinks one thing: this fire is only going to continue to grow.
“Please,” she tells Marge. “Let me go. Let us both go.”
Charlie thinks she might be getting through to her. Marge looks genuinely torn over what to do. She even starts to lower her arm, the gun barrel tilting toward the floor.
But then the last of the drapes falls, taking the curtain rod with it. An end of the rod smashes through the window, and the sound of shattered glass makes Marge change her mind. Again, Charlie sees it. Another internal snap.
She raises the pistol.
As Marge pulls the trigger, Charlie feels a hand wrap around her ankle, jerking her downward. She hits the floor as the bullet passes overhead, inches away. Beside her is Josh.
Still alive.
Eyes open.
Mouth opening to form a single word.
“Run.”
INT. LODGE—NIGHT
Charlie sprints toward the first place she sees: one of the lodge’s unlit wings, the entrance hazy with smoke. She hurtles through it, hacking out a cough before throwing herself into the unknown black void of the hallway.
Once there, she hurries through the darkness, still twisted up in rope. A length of it clings to her waist and flaps behind her as she runs. She doesn’t know what’s down this hallway. Away from the fiery lobby, she can’t see a thing. She lets instinct be her guide, hoping it doesn’t fail her.
The wall of windows continues here, their curtains shut tight. Charlie senses them rustling in her wake as she moves. And although they’re still intact for now, she knows it’s just a matter of time before the flames also reach them.
The whole lodge is going to burn.
There’s no doubt about that.
For Charlie, the only question is if she can find a way out before it does.
Or before Marge catches up to her.
Charlie didn’t stick around to see if Marge followed her down this part of the lodge. She doesn’t think so. She assumes she’d sense a presence.
So she runs.
Blind.
Arms thrust out in front of her, fingertips brushing the walls, feeling for a door.