“You look just like her,” she says.
And then everything goes black.
TEN
Zayne
1998
Smoke pulled me out of sleep.
It slipped under my bedroom door, crawling along the floor. Beyond the walls, something cracked and popped, and a sharp scream cut through the noise.
I swung my legs off the bed and crossed the room. I reached for the handle, and a wave of heat stung my palm. I yanked my hand back with a gasp, skin already stinging from the burn.
I took the sheet from the bed, tore it free, wrapped it around the handle, and twisted. The metal burned through the sheet, and the door gave way, opening.
The hallway was chaotic.
Two of the patients my father used to work with staggered past me, shrieking. Their arms were on fire, flames rolling up their sleeves, skin blistering and blackening as they swung wildly at the air. My eyes widened. My chest seized as smoke poured into my lungs.
I coughed hard, pulling my sleeve over my mouth.
A chair burned near the doorway, flames eating through the legs. I backed up, then ran and jumped over it, heat snapping at my feet when I landed. I spun in place, searching for my father through the haze.
He was still behind his desk.
I saw him through the smoke, bent over his computer, his hands moving fast as he collected the papers that were scattered across the desk. Tapes piled at his feet in a paper box.
I ran toward him, but something yanked me back.
I turned around, noticing one of the nurses clutched my arm.
“You have to run,” she shouted, pointing toward the exit. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Dad!” I screamed.
She tightened her grip, but I shoved her aside and stumbled forward. My shoes skidded on the floor as smoke burned my throat. I reached him just as he swept more papers into his arms.
He was coughing, but he didn’t stop.
It was always like this.
He grabbed tapes and folders, stuffing them into a box as his hands shook. The nurse seized me again, pulling me back.
Finally, he turned, but not towards me.
“To the boy,” he shouted at her. His voice cracked. “Protect the boy. Protect the boy.Seven. Five. Thirteen. Nine. Fourteen. Nine.Protect the boy.”
He shoved the box into my chest.
“Go.”
The nurse dragged me backwards. I reached for him, but he had already turned away. He was back at the desk. Flames crawled up the walls, devouring shelves, papers, names, and dates. Faces trapped inside curled and vanished as fire spread.
And he didn’t look at me again.
The ceiling groaned, and something collapsed behind us. The nurse swore and shoved me toward the hall. Heat instantly hit my back. Smoke clawed down my throat until every breath felt like glass. I clutched the box to my chest. The cardboard was already warm, already softening in my hands.
