Page 93 of His to Burn

I thought it was overkill.

Jack reminded me that in this world overkill was survival.

I grabbed the bag, which held a weapon, some ammo, and a couple of days’ worth of dried food.

“I—I’ll head to the basement?—”

I was already moving but stopped.

“It’s…”

I started to speak, but soon doubled over in a fit of heavy coughing. Smoke was rising, thick, acrid, billowing from the basement.

I wasn’t sure how we didn’t it before, but now, looking down, I saw heavy plumes of gray-white smoke filtering into the house.

“That’s our way out!” I shouted.

“Not anymore,” Jack said.

He grabbed his own bag, pulled his weapon, and checked it with calm precision.

Like this was just an ordinary day.

“We’re going out the front,” he said.

“But…”

“There’s someone waiting. The fire was designed to push us that way,” he said. “They want to catch us off guard. We’ll catch them first.”

Jack looked at me calm and focused.

Seeing his steadiness gave me what I needed to go on.

I nodded and gripped the gun in my hand. It felt familiar over the last few days. Now, I was grateful for that.

Even though my heart raced, I was strangely calm.

We just talked about how we wouldn’t be able to stay here.

Ironic that decision had to fruition so quickly—but that didn’t matter. I was as resolved to live now as I had been in that elevator.

“Let’s go,” Jack said.

He moved fast, and I tried to match his pace, glad I wore my boots. I only paused long enough to grab one of the judge’s oversized flannel shirts. The man had never hunted, fished, or camped a day in his life, so I could only assume the clothes were a part of his prepping.

I shoved the thought aside.

I was spiraling.

If I didn’t shut this down now, shock would set in, and I couldn’t allow that.

I had to stay focused.

I threw the flannel on, gripping the gun even tighter, and then followed behind Jack.

“Who’s gonna open the door?” I asked as we approached the front.

“You are,” he said.