"It's been fun!" the killer shouted with a final smile and then the lighter hit the kitchen. The apartment had filled with gas. And Ilse only had enough time to fling herself to the ground, covering Alexandra with her body as the fire detonated the gasoline.
It was like a bomb went off. Fire exploded through the kitchen. Flames licked across the ground. Ilse was thrown back, heat against her spine. A wave of force sent her tumbling.
Her head throbbed. Pain jolted through her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lay still and die.
The terror, the fear was supplanted only by the smell of burning and ash.
Groggily, head spinning, she pushed to her feet, grateful to realize she could still move. Nothing broken then.
The heat against her spine had intensified. As she turned, she yelped, realizing her sweater and her pant leg was on fire. Not only that, though, but half the apartment was now blazing. Flames licked at the ground. Agent Sawyer, still unconscious, was being rapidly approached by a wall of orange and yellow. The killer must've covered the ground in something also.
Faintly, Ilse glimpsed the small dog dart through the door, avoiding a wave of ash, scampering out into the hall. Her fate didn't seem nearly so hopeful. Her stomach sank; the killer was no longer laughing. One of the kitchen chairs had blasted into him. A giant, jutting bar of wood protruded from his chest. He lay motionless against the wall, bleeding. Just like his would-be victims had bled.
Flames continued to spread, moving from the kitchen into the living room, down the hall. A second later, a fire alarm began to blare. Smoke filled the room as the kitchen table and the remaining chairs were caught like kindling. The flames were spreading to the sofa. Ilse heard a sound like a gunshot, and then realized her weapon was still on the couch. The fire was heating the bullets. She heard another loud bang, and ducked, furious.
She smothered her pants and sweater, and gasping, with burns along her back, pain shooting up her side, she grabbed Alexandra's arm, making sure the makeshift towel bandages were tight around the woman's wrists. Blood was still seeping through from the cuts. Ilse would just have to hope she'd done enough.
"Hang on," she yelled desperately. She pulled Alexandra to her feet, and began dragging her to the apartment door, stumbling. As she passed, she shot a desperate look towards where Sawyer lay. His chest rose and fell softly. Still breathing. Still alive. But the fire was spreading. Flames were now licking at the door, and beginning to eat through, spreading even into the hall. The smoke was thick, swirling ash from the furniture and cabinets now spilling through. The drywall was being chewed up. The whole building was going up in a blaze.
Ilse coughed, her eyes watering as she dragged Alexandra over licking orange tongues of heat in the door. She imagined it would leave more burns. She felt the searing heat against her calf. But she pressed on, desperate. She tried not to look in Sawyer's direction. Tried not to think. She couldn't just leave him there; he would be consumed in seconds by the blaze. Even now, unconscious, he was inhaling fire.
"Come on, just a bit further," she murmured to herself, beneath her breath. But then she caught any further words, holding her lips sealed as a gust of smoke swept past her face. She dragged Alexandra along the carpet, out the front door, to the stairwell. The flames were now spreading down the hall. She heard footsteps and shouting, suggesting the neighbors were now responding to the alarms or the smoke.
She paused, one foot on the carpet in the hall, the other dragging back in the apartment. Her leg was still feeling the heat of the blaze around the threshold of the door. A ring of fire had formed. Smoke billowed out, and she could no longer see Sawyer.
Ilse cursed, desperate, glancing back where the would-be victim was laying on the ground, her wrists still bleeding, her bathrobe barely concealing her modesty.
"Dammit," she spat. She could taste char on her tongue. Could see the flames reaching towards her. Still, she refused to leave without Sawyer. The fire continued to spread through the apartment, through the hall, out into the rest of the building. The smoke was now impossible to face. But Ilse refused to lose either of them. And so, gritting her teeth, desperately, she stumbled through the door. As if in one final display of contempt and violence, she tripped over the killer's extended foot. He was still motionless. Dead. But as she stumbled, she yelled. Her hand scraped against a scalding floor. Flames licked around her. Her face started to heat. Her arm was burning. Her sleeve on fire.
Sawyer was faring poorly too. Where she fell, her hands hit his shoulder. His shirt was smoldering. Smoke was clogging his airways, and he was no longer breathing. His chest had gone still. She cursed, dragging at his collar, and pulling him, desperately, ignoring the fire. Ignoring the smoke. She wanted to scream, wanted to shout, wanted to say something, but she knew she had to conserve her precious oxygen. And so, trying to keep below, she scrambled towards the door. Twice, she thought she might miss it. Even in the smoke infused room, she couldn't see. But following her internal compass, using the killer's own leg as a guidepost, she dragged Sawyer with deep groans of exertion over the threshold, and out into the hall.
But this was only the start. The flames had spread to the stairs now. The fire was rising. She could feel scorch marks along her arm, and the side of her face. She hastily slapped at flames along Sawyer's pant leg. He was still not breathing. Alexandra was bleeding.
Both of them were on death's door. She couldn't leave them here. She had to get them out of the building.
But the whole thing was going to come down. She could no longer hear the sounds of shouts and voices. She could only hope the other tenants in the apartment had escaped. In the distance, she thought she heard the wail of a siren.
For the moment, though, all she had to focus on was Sawyer and Alexandra. But she was exhausted. In pain. Her whole body aching, half burned. And the two of them were too heavy. She was strong, athletic, but hardly strong enough to carry a man and a woman. But she couldn't leave them. The longer she hesitated, the less time she had. And so, with a shout, simply in defiance to death itself, she grabbed at Alexandra, and yanked her three feet towards the stairs. She sprinted back, grabbed Sawyer, and pulled him the same distance.
The flames lapped towards them. The ash was low, swirling. She couldn't breathe. It felt like her lungs would explode. When she tried to draw air, it was like sucking on an exhaust pipe.
Choking, coughing, she stumbled back towards Alexandra. Refusing to give in, to turn and run, she dragged the woman another three feet. Returned to Sawyer, dragged him. And like that, one at a time, heaving them like potato sacks, one of them not breathing, the other bleeding out, she yanked them to the top of the stairs.
Three floors. It seemed impossible. Three floors. The fire was still spreading. She had to pull Sawyer sharply to avoid setting his head ablaze. And still, she missed flames now eating at Alexandra's bathrobe. All of them were going to have burns if they escaped. All of them would be inhaling smoke. But there was no helping it. She refused to leave either of them. She wasn't going to make that choice.
She made up her mind. No going back. And so she went for Alexandra, dragged her down five steps. Grabbed Sawyer, dragged him down as well. One, the other, one, the other. Sweat poured down her face. She wasn't breathing. Her own eyes darted with black spots. As she pulled them down the stairs, she couldn't be gentle about it. Sawyer's head hit the steps. Alexandra's bathrobe was still singed, burning at her exposed skin.
First one, then the other. First one, then the other. It was more work, more exertion than she'd ever faced before. She wanted to quit. She wanted to lie down and inhale, and to give up. But there was no one else to help. She was the only one left. If she didn't save them, no one would. In that moment, she didn't care if she lived or died. But she refused to lose another woman. She refused to lose Sawyer. How often had he protected her?
Now it was her turn.
She grabbed him under the arms, gasping desperately and yanking him to the top of the second-floor landing. The smoke was clearer down here. The fire was still spreading. Parts of the ceiling were beginning to cave in. But down here there was air. She inhaled desperately, gulping greedily at the sweet sustenance.
She grabbed the woman, pulled her after Sawyer. Then, latching her hands into both of Sawyer's sleeves, she yanked him down the stairs. Alexandra soon followed.
Sprinting up the stairs, sprinting back. Yanking one body, hefting the other. Back and forth, sweating, gagging, coughing. Desperate.
The sounds of sirens were now a screech.
Her mind was foggy, fuzzy. Her lungs protested. But she couldn't stop. Not now. Just another step. Just once more.
She grabbed both of them now, pulling, yanking them. She tugged them towards the door. Once, even using Alexander's hair for a handle. Now wasn't the time for niceties. The flames were spreading down the stairs. The smoke billowing. She could feel herself ready to pass out.
But she refused to lose either one of them. She heard shouts. The glass door smashed, as firefighters suddenly emerged, spilling into the hall.
They were barking instructions, but she could barely hear them. She waved a hand desperately towards Sawyer's wound. She pointed towards Alexandra’s wrists.
She tried to speak but ended up throwing up instead.
Men in large uniforms, with big, thick helmets began to help. She felt a slow, rising sense of sheer relief. The men began guiding her back towards the door. But she refused to leave, not until she first saw Sawyer, and then Alexandra let out of the building. The fire was continuing to spread. She watched as fighters wrangled a hose through the door and began spraying at the stairwell.
Only then, once she was sure her two charges were safe, did she allow herself to be guided out the front door. She shook a hand free, stumbled once, twice, and then hit the sidewalk. Her head pressed against the concrete. She exhaled, a long, desperate, rasping sound.
A whimper escaped her lips. She wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. But all she could really do was sob into the concrete. She heard footsteps, and glimpsed Sawyer ahead of her, hastily being taken to an ambulance. She glimpsed Alexandra also being treated by paramedics right there on the sidewalk.
She felt hands on her shoulders. Heard something that sounded like, "Second degree burns. There. Hurry."
But the voice was lost on her. Her own mind was whirring. Her heart hammering. Her throat was tight, scorched. She hadn't breathed. She'd inhaled so much smoke. She felt something airy, breezy against her face. Felt a hand smoothing her hair.
"Stay with me. Miss, stay with me."
Her vision swam. She couldn't see. She wasn't even sure who was talking to her. The hand felt so very cold.
Her mind swam. Darkness came in, closing quickly. Like shadows. Like gray forms in the corner of her eye.
She couldn't see. She didn't want to. And then darkness came.