That’s why I’m crouched on the floor beneath the window, three wet towels in a pile beside me. That’s why I haven’t dared leave the bathroom, even though instinct is urging me to make a run for it.
Mitch told me to stay here,I keep reminding myself.He’s a firefighter. He knows what to do. If he said this is the safest place, I believe him.
But safest is subjective, isn’t it?
Safest doesn’t mean much when I’m trapped on the third floor of a burning house. It just means it’ll take longer to die.
Oh, God.
Tears burn my already stinging eyes. I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. My chest aches with the effort of trying to contain my terror.
I take a shuddering breath in hopes of calming myself down, but all it does is make me cough. Glancing at the bottom of the bathroom door, and the wet bath towel wedged beneath it, I spot several wisps of dark smoke sneaking their way inside.
Panic clutches at me.
The fire. It’s almost here.
How long ago did I hang up with Mitch?
How long ago did I call 911?
It feels like it’s been hours. Days, even. But a glance at my phone tells me it’s been less than two minutes.
Will the fire department get here in time?
But it’s not like they can rescue me right away. There are ladders to set up. Hoses to run. Even if the trucks get here right this second, which I doubt they will, it’ll still take time for them to arrange for a rescue.
Or what if they decide it’s too dangerous,a voice in the back of my head asks. Sometimes that happens. They won’t put the firefighters’ lives at risk if the odds of injury or death are too great. And I wouldn’t want them to. Not when I know most of the people who volunteer there and consider many of them to be my friends.
They have wives. Husbands. Kids. And then there’s me—kid-less, pet-less, stupid Penny who pushed away the only man who actually cares about her.
I don’t want to die,that little voice moans.I want to live.
I want to give things with Mitch a real try instead of keeping him at arm’s length. I want to go on trips with him and call him my boyfriend and the next time he’s invited to a wedding, I want to be his plus-one. And I want all of that to just be assumed, because we’re together. Not as friends, but as a couple.
From somewhere beneath me, there’s a loud, cracking sound.
The house shakes.
I suck in a sharp breath and start coughing again.
Fresh tears wet my cheeks.
Oh, God, I’m so scared.
Popping up from my crouch, I peer out the window again, and immediately wish I hadn’t. Flames aren’t just coming through the second floor windows now. They’re licking at the walls, turning the once-cheerful yellow black.
Rather than dropping back down to the floor, I look up and down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of fire trucks approaching. But they’re not close enough yet. All I can hear is a distant siren, which may or may not be for me.
I see my neighbors grouped in small clusters on the street below, and while I’m looking, one of them spots me. “Penny!” Mrs. Everts shouts. “Penny’s still up there! Someone needs to help her!”
Well. Thatwouldbe nice. But help isn’t here.
I lean over the windowsill to look at the ground beneath me, trying to judge the distance. Logically, I know each floor has to be about eight feet high, plus there’s the foundation, so I must be… twenty feet up?
Could I survive the jump?I ask myself again.Do I have another option?
Then, in a squeal of tires, a car whips around the corner and comes to a screeching stop in front of the house.
