As Leanne walked down the jetty, she could see a red glow in the sky, but she was more interested in the light coming from inside the boat. She wondered if Lois had decided against going to the theatre after all. They needed to have a serious talk, and the sooner the better, which was why Leanne had stopped off at the petrol station to pick up a box of Ferrero Rocher and a bottle of wine. She was ready to say sorry and admit she was in the wrong.
Closing the hatch, she noticed the paintings on the back of the doors. Lois had been working on her fish again, but when Leanne called out her friend’s name, it echoed through the empty boat. Damp paintbrushes were resting on the drainer and, as Leanne picked one up, she felt a lump in her throat. She didn’t often give in to the urge to cry, but tears pricked her eyes.
Ever hopeful, Leanne checked her phone in case Lois had sent a message since their argument. Nothing. She checked Instagram next to see if she had posted photos of the ballet. Leanne’s timeline was filled with images of a roof engulfed in flames.
Racing back through the boat, Leanne flung open the hatch and tumbled onto the deck. She fought with the awning, and the boat rocked as she jumped on to the jetty and turned towards the glow on the horizon. She had assumed it was the sun going down, not registering that it was in the wrong place. It was really happening. The Empress was on fire.
Rex Russell refused to look at the falling embers as he and his wife stumbled between rows of seats to reach the other side of the auditorium. The fires at ground level were nothing compared to what he had glimpsed raging above their heads. He should have acted sooner.
Carrying his granddaughter, he called over to the writhing crowd that surrounded the main exit and begged people to stop pushing. Things were getting desperate and he could see a child being lifted over heads and passed along. Between ragged breaths, he urged those closest to him to follow, but they wouldn’t listen, or didn’t hear.
Rex paused before beginning their final journey. They would have to step out into the open to reach the last accessible exit. His heart felt like it was about to give in.
‘Put me down, Granddad,’ his granddaughter urged him. ‘I can walk.’
Rex did as he was told, knowing they could move faster, and they did move fast. In no time at all, they were halfway across the auditorium, getting closer to safety. His family were going to make it, but before relief could lighten his step, guilt slowed Rex’s pace. He cast his gaze across the damaged stalls. Was he thinking of that little girl again, or had movement caught his eye?
Through the swirls of smoke and dust, Rex watched a grey figure rise up from the carnage like a statue coming to life. When it struggled to move its limbs, he realised there were two figures, the smaller draped in the other’s arms. He couldn’t turn his back. Not this time.
‘You go ahead,’ he said to his wife, pressing their granddaughter’s hand into hers.
‘Wait, what?’ His wife was aghast, then realised what had caught his attention.
‘I’ll be right behind you. Please. Just go!’
Rex didn’t wait for a response. If his wife had held his gaze a moment longer, he would lose what little courage he had. He cut across the rows of seats and climbed over debris, vaguely aware of water droplets falling onto his bald head. High above him, there was the hiss of water turning to steam. The fire brigade was tackling the blaze, but this was not the time for Rex to stand down.
‘Help me!’ the living statue called out.
Rex realised it was a woman imploring him. Darker roots peeked beneath hair layered with dust, but he could discern little else about her, not even her age. If he took in any detail at all, it was the torn nails hanging from her bloodied and blackened hands as she gripped the child.
The girl looked to be around the same age as his granddaughter. Could she be the very one he had seen earlier? If that were the case, it would almost be better living with the torture of not knowing her fate. The child’s lifeless body was covered in dirt and blood, her head was tilted backwards and her little mouth gaped open. She made no response when she was thrust into his arms, and he was grateful that her eyes were closed. He was too afraid to look death in the face.