keeping Zoey busy for the latter half of the day. As the sky turned dark, she locked up the storefront and headed upstairs. She was exhausted, and between the few texts from Dawson, she knew he had been slammed at work.
She tossed a frozen dinner in the microwave and headed into the bathroom. She hopped in the shower and quickly rinsed the day off. Slipping on some leggings and a t-shirt, she headed back into the kitchen just in time for the microwave to ding.
She sat down, flicked on the T.V., and settled in to watch Grey’s Anatomy. Zoey had missed the last several episodes, so she was eager to see what had been happening.
After sending a quick text to Dawson, she plugged her phone up and set it on the counter. Settling in on the couch, she let herself doze off to the noise of the T.V. in the background.
Zoey woke with a start. Something seemed off in the apartment. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she stood and went to the sink. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Deciding to check on the store, she pulled on the door, intending to go downstairs. She was shocked to find it wouldn’t budge.
“What the fuck?”
She pulled harder, confused as to what was keeping to door sealed shut. She peered out the window, noticing a strange glow in the night sky. Squinting harder, she gasped when she realized the light was actually a fire—and it was in her shop, right below her.
She scrambled back to the door, tugging on it with all her might. No matter how hard she pulled it, it would not budge.
Zoey caught the faint whiff of smoke seeping in beneath the door’s edge. She dropped to her knees, peering under the tiny crack, only to see the same orange glow beneath the frame.
She scooted backward, panic setting in. Her shop was on fire, and she was trapped in her apartment. She stood, rushing to the counter where she’d set her phone.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“Yes… my name is Zoey Horton. I live at 2216 Court Street. In the apartment above Curvy Stitches. My store is on fire, and I am trapped in the apartment. Please… send someone.”
“Ma’am, is there any way you can get out?”
“No, the windows do not open, and the door is jammed or something. Please… Oh god… the smoke.”
“Ok. I need you to listen to me. Go into the bathroom and wet some towels. Place them in front of the door. Can you do that?”
“Yes…hold on.” Zoey set the phone down and rushed to do what the dispatcher said to do. “Ok… I did that… but it is getting hot in here. Is the fire department on the way?”
“Ma’am, they’ve been dispatched. Stay on the phone with me. Go back to the bathroom. Get in the tub, turn on the shower and cover yourself in a wet towel.”
Zoey ran into the bathroom, grabbing a towel, and turned on the shower. She set the phone down. The smoke had thickened, bathing the apartment in a cloudy haze. Zoey gaged at the atrocious smell of burning textiles. Peering into the living room, she could see flames had breached the closed door and were converging up the wall.
Closing her eyes, she prayed for someone to save her. Her lungs burned, and her head swirled with confusion. Zoey felt her eyes droop as she succumbed to the smoke filling her breath.