“No, no,no.” Panic claws at me, but I shove it down. Panic means Queenie dies, and that’s not a fucking option.
Think. THINK!
The window.
I spin toward the window, still cradling Queenie tight against my chest. The window is small, too small, but it’s hope.
I don’t know what’s on the other side.
Could be a garden bed.
Could be a concrete drop.
Could be certain death.
But staying here guarantees death.
I shift Queenie higher in my arms, bracing her weight against me with one arm and my chest. My legs plant wide, steady as I can manage in the smoke-thick air.
Then I raise my boot and kick the window.
The glass cracks but doesn’t give. I grit my teeth, adjust my stance, and kick again, harder.
The pane splinters, a spiderweb of fractures spreading across it. “Come on, come on…” My lungs burn, my eyes sting, Queenie wheezes weakly against my neck.
I haul in one more breath and slam my heel into the center of the glass. It explodes outward, shards raining down like jagged hail onto whatever waits below—a rush of cold night air blasts into the room, sweet, sharp, and life-saving.
I don’t hesitate.
I hook one arm under Queenie’s legs, hold her tight to my chest, and step toward the open frame, toward our only chance.
Below, I can see people. Firefighters and my brothers. They’re setting up something, an air cushion, maybe, or a net. I don’t wait to see. There’s no time.
The ceiling above us groans. A deep, ominous sound that I feel in my bones.
“Heads up,” I scream down at them. “We’re coming out!”
I hitch Queenie higher against my chest, one arm wrapped securely around her. She’s so still. Too still. But I can feel her heartbeat against mine, and that’s all that fucking matters right now.
“Hold on, Queenie. Just a little longer.”
I haul myself onto the window ledge, glass grinding into my skin, slicing a sting across my back, but I don’t care. I don’t stop, I can’t. Heat lashes at us from behind, a searing force that feels as though it’s reaching for my spine, hungry to drag us back in.
The air shifts, a booming exhale as the fire surges into the bedroom we just escaped, the air from the window fueling the fire and devouring the bedroom whole. The walls crack. Something collapses behind me with a sound that shakes the frame under my feet.
There’s no time left.
I tighten my hold on Queenie, feel her frail fingers curl weakly against my chest.
“Hold on,” I whisper, though she may not even hear me.
The heat snaps at my heels, and I push off the ledge, hurling us into the dark. For one horrible moment, we’re suspended in midair. Falling. The ground rushing up to meet us.
Protect her, protect her, protect her.
I twist my body, making sure I’ll hit first, making sure she’s cushioned against me.
We slam into something, the air cushion the firefighters deployed. It’s not a gentle landing. My back hits hard enough toknock the wind out of me, stars exploding across my vision. But Queenie is on top of me, protected from the impact.
