THE HEAT hit Darian hard, a stifling punch that had him gasping and made him want to turn around and do the sensible thing. Instead he gulped in some air and pushed ahead, into the hall of what had been the original house.
He shouted, “Simon, where are you?”
He had hoped that Simon had left the window and made his way to the stairs, trying for the front door, but there was no sign of him. Instead there was smoke and, pushing out through a door at the top of the old stairs that led toward the new extension at the back, fire. He had to move fast because the exit was seconds away from being closed off to him. Darian had been in the house before and that gave him a chance. He went right through the door to the empty room, little chance of fire in there because there was nothing to burn except Darian. He ran through to the extension and saw the beast waiting for him.
The huge room was full of it, rich in fuel with the collection of a life lined up on shelves just waiting for their chance to burn. The smell was of plastic and something else, something chemical he couldn’t identify, and the smoke seemed to be running back and forth across the ceiling in rippling waves. This was a room a smart person would stay in for seconds, a minute if they were brave and two if they were stupid, only staying longer than that if they wanted to share the fate of the crackling items that filled the place.
Darian chose the less sensible of the two options and ran toward the stairs when the smart choice would have been to turn around. He ran through smoke trying to choke him and found himself in a section of the room where the items seemed to be mostly metal and little of it burning, just wavering under the heat. Darian inhaled deeply there and instantly regretted it as his lungs filled with a sharp taste he wanted rid of but would have to live with. He ran on and up the stairs.
It was worse on the first floor, thicker smoke and more fire. This wasn’t the growing crackle that downstairs had been but a full-on roar, a fire that had as much control as it could want and was ready to make hay with it. Here there were clothes and magazines and bits of cardboard, a selection of items that almost seemed to have been picked with flammability in mind.
There had already been times in his life when Darian had felt very afraid, had been threatened, but he’d happily admit that to that point the fire was the scariest thing he had ever witnessed. Something about fire separates it from other threats. Perhaps it’s the relentless and thorough nature of it, but to Darian it was the slowness that scared him most. A bullet or a knife are evils either to be dodged or which provide very brief suffering, but fire likes to take its time, to make the experience as agonizing as possible, as if it’s reveling in the power it holds, drowning you in heat. Flames were climbing from the top of the shelves to the ceiling, tendrils jumping out from the sides and trying to get at anything it hadn’t yet cornered, always looking to spread, to claim more. In the middle of it all stood Simon Sutherland, eyes wide with terror, motionless.
Darian half shouted and half coughed, “Simon, come on, we have to go. Simon.”
He ran to him, a hand over the side of his own face to try and protect it from the ferocity of the heat, feeling the back of his hand burn red as he went. He reached Simon and stopped, putting his hands on the young man’s shoulders.
He said, “Simon, move, you have to move.”
Simon Sutherland was tearful as he said, “I do want to.”
This was more than just the memories of his life, this was his whole world burning around him, every part of who he was and who he intended to be turning to ash, and the same instinct that made him collect it all was convincing him to stay and turn to ash with it. He wanted out, but on his own he wouldn’t have been strong enough to fight for the exit.
Darian said, “We’re leaving.”
He moved behind Simon and shoved him, not so hard that he might knock him over but enough to force him to take the first step. Darian kept his hands on Simon’s back but it was hardly necessary now, Simon moving freely when he felt the choice was no longer his to take. He had needed someone to break the spell.
They could both feel their clothes begin to melt into their skin as they got to the top of the stairs and the rage followed them down. Darian was struggling to hold his breath and he could hear Simon cough and gasp, but they didn’t slow down, not until they were across the floor and into the empty room. There was smoke there now but still no fire. Darian could feel his shoes sticking to the tiles as the soles melted, and through the door he could see the corridor ablaze.
Simon, his voice a wheeze, said, “We can’t get out.”
The fire blocked the front door, carpets and wallpaper and banisters helping it along. They were going to have to run through it, which would certainly cause them pain, but it would be a few seconds and Darian felt sure he could make it. Simon didn’t seem convinced. Darian was about to try and talk him into running when he heard the noise outside and noticed the flash of blue coming in through the front door and windows, puncturing the orange and grays. The fire engine was at the front door and people were shouting, getting themselves into position.
There was a lull, and above the fire and the movement, through the burst window closest to them, Darian heard Sholto’s voice straining at its highest as he screamed, “Don’t just wave it around, get in there and get them out.”
Darian was about to shout back, to let them know they were close, but then a strange thing happened. It started to rain in the house. Out in the hall water started to fall into the fire, the hose shooting in through windows burst to pieces by the heat and in through the front door. This was the moment to move.
Darian shouted, “Now.”
He grabbed Simon by the arm and held particularly tight as he pulled him out and across the hall to the exit. As they reached the door two figures in sand-yellow outfits and with breathing apparatus covering their faces came in and they all but crashed into each other. The firemen grabbed them and helped them out, beyond the smoke and the fire and back into the world of air and life.
Darian and Simon stumbled out, coughing and retching, Sholto running to Darian and holding him by the shoulders until he got his breath back, both of them relieved.
A fireman ran up to them shouting, “Is there anyone else in the house?”
They all looked at Simon and he said, “No, no one else.”
Darian was breathing in lungfuls of cold air like a man dying of thirst diving into a pool of water, so it was only at the last moment that he saw the figures running up the drive toward them. Vinny and Phil were in uniform and both looked panicked. Phil ran to his cousin to check on him while Vinny stopped at Darian.
Above the roar of the fire he shouted, “Someone get a bottle of water, he needs water.”
Darian nodded and Phil shuffled away to find something for them to drink. Darian said, “Thanks.”
Vinny said, “Thank Christ you’re all right. Do you know what happened, how it started?”
Darian looked at Simon and then across to the figure of Harold, still standing on the grass, looking uncertain, moving slowly toward them. Darian said, “I don’t.”
Vinny looked at Simon too and said, “Do you know who did this?”
Simon nodded sadly. “I do, I know. And Freya Dempsey, I know where she is.”