Page 170 of Capturing You

“Here!” She was standing beside the compartment where she’d hidden days before. Her eyes were wide. “What was that?”

“Fire! The house is on fire. We have to?—”

A loud crack, and the ceiling between them collapsed.

Brooklynn screamed.

The room filled with smoke and flames. How much gasoline had been poured? How fast would the place be reduced to ashes?

“Where are you?” He had to shout over the roar.

“Here!” Her voice was faint.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. I just…I can’t…get…”

“What? What is it?”

“I’m… I’m stuck!” Her tone pitched high and panicked. “I can’t get out!”

“Okay. It’s okay. I’m coming.”

Her back had been to the concrete wall. Beside her, the basement stretched the length of the house, but there was no escape that way, even if she weren’t stuck. The only way out was behind him.

Soon, the entire first floor would come down. She’d die of smoke inhalation long before the flames took her.

Small favors.

He bent low, assuming she knew to do the same, and looked at the obstacles between himself and her. A rafter, and above it, furniture aflame.

But the rafter was at an angle. If he could get beneath it, maybe…

He searched for something, something…

The laundry.

He turned on the washer, filling the tub, then grabbed all the dirty linens he’d dropped down the chute from the second floor. He dipped them in the water and squeezed them out over his clothes, then wet them again. He covered his head and shoulders with a wet sheet, tucking another in his waistband.

“Hang on,” he shouted. “I’m coming.”

The rafter smoldered, thick black smoke wafting off it. He covered his mouth with one of the wet garments and climbed over the rubble until he reached it. He ducked low and passed under it, brushing his hand on the burning wood.

He ignored the pain.

On the other side, he caught sight of an expanse of fiery, smoky…junk. An upholstered chair. A table angled onto its side. The whole living room had slid between them.

Brooklynn was on the floor on the far side, a thick piece of wood over her.

She was trapped, her back to the wall, the board over her lap.

He moved toward her, smacking at flames that licked his ankles.

It was so hot. Sweat dripped in his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see past the smoke.

Finally, he reached her, though she was hard to make out past the haze. He bent to lift the board. Its heat scorched his skin. He pulled layers of the wet sheet over his hands and tried again.

He could barely budge it.