72
Carlie ran down the hall and caught up with Loretta just before she entered the bedroom. Ripping the comforter from the bed, she wrapped it around Loretta; pulling her to the floor, Carlie rolled on top of her, smothering the flames.
She needed to get Loretta out of the house—she needed to get her to the hospital. As Carlie held her tight, she heard the woman whimpering softly and could feel her starting to shake. Loretta was only moments away from going into shock.
Herding Loretta into the bathroom, Carlie opened the shower door and turned both handles on full force, soaking the comforter.
Turning around under the water, Carlie drenched her own hair and clothes.
The odor of kerosene was almost overpowering. Smoke and flames crept under the door, blocking their escape route. The blue and yellow flames consumed the saturated carpeting like a rolling wave, one foot at a time.
Taking Loretta’s hands, Carlie squeezed them into a fist on the edge of the soggy material. “Hold this tight against your face—breathe through it,” Carlie said to her. “Don’t let it fall, or you’ll suffocate.”
Loretta nodded in understanding.
The flames had advanced into the room. Spreading up and across the bed, they ignited the wooden dresser, the nightstands, and, as Carlie watched, the headboard.
Carlie’s eyes were watering so hard, she could barely keep them open; and even though she was breathing through her heavy wet shirt, her lungs burned as if they too were on fire.
Carlie hung on the drapes with all her weight until they broke loose and fell to the floor, seconds before they ignited.
Huddling Loretta under the protection of one arm, Carlie crashed through the window with her other arm.
Succumbing to the smoke and heat, Loretta dropped to the floor. Carlie had no time to waste. She smashed out the rest of the glass with the side of her right hand and arm, then bent into the flaming carpet and scooped Loretta and the comforter into her arms.
With strength she never realized she had, Carlie lifted and slid Loretta out the open window onto the snow-packed roof.
As Carlie started to follow, a voice from across the room shouted, “Wait!”
Stepping out of the heaviest smoke, the figure of a young boy stood in the middle of the burning room—the same boy Carlie had seen in her dream.
“You can’t leave—we belong together. I did everything for you.”
Carlie stood and listened to Andrew in shocked disbelief. Almost hypnotized by what she was seeing and hearing, she failed to realize that the flames had crawled completely across the floor and up the wall behind her. Her wet shirt, her pants, and even her work boots were beginning to smoke from the heat.
No sooner had she finished saying, “It’s your house now, Andrew,” than her shirt burst into flames.
Without giving Andrew or the house a second thought, Carlie jumped out the broken window onto the roof. The wind whipped the flames in every direction. Throwing her burning shirt into the wind, she took hold of Loretta’s comforter and dragged her to the edge of the roof. Carlie gently lowered her down, then Kenneth and Cecil took the bottom of the comforter and let her slide into their waiting arms.
As Carlie jumped from the edge of the roof into the snowdrift below, Andrew, backlit by the raging fire, stood in the broken window watching as Carlie disappeared into the night. “NOOOOOO!” he howled. His desperate, wounded cry was instantly absorbed into the buffeting winds and swirling snow.
Carlie pulled onto the highway, driving as fast as she could through the blinding snow. Cecil held and gently rocked his wife. “Please, Retta,” he whispered, “don’t die—I can’t live without you.”
When the heater started blowing warm air into the cab of the truck, Carlie gagged at the overpowering stench of burnt flesh and chemical smoke.
Carlie hurt so bad, she could barely stay conscious. As much as she didn’t want to, she surveyed the damage she had inflicted on herself. Her right arm, from the elbow down to her wrist, was shredded—some spots to the bone. Blood dripped from the bottom of her arm and her fingertips onto the leg of her pants and the floor. To make matters worse, there were large patches on both arms that the fire had burnt black, and the crusty surfaces had torn away with her shirt, leaving open, oozing wounds.
As they reached the emergency room entrance, Carlie slammed on the brakes, shoved the shift lever into park, and shut off the engine.
Reaching her arm from under the comforter, Loretta gently squeezed Carlie’s hand. “We made it.”
“Yeah, Loretta. Thanks to you, we did make it.”