“Fallon!” I scream, louder this time.
A door slams open down the hall, and she stumbles out, coughing. Her eyes are wide and terrified when they lock on mine.
“What’s happening?” She chokes out.
“Fire. We need to get out. Now.
She nods and we move together toward the front door as flames spread across our bedroom doors like they’re racing to trap us.
We reach the front door and I grab the handle without thinking.
Pain explodes across my palm.
“Fuck!” I hiss, yanking my hand and cradling it against my chest.
The metal is scorching. Blistering. The skin of my palm, already hot and angry.
“There’s fire on the other side,” Fallon says, grabbingmy other arm and pulling me away from the door. “We need to find another way out.”
She’s right.
I look around, desperate, but Fallon’s already two steps ahead of me.
“The patio.” She says, jerking her head toward the living room.
Right.
As we stumble toward the sliding glass door, my lungs scream for air, but there isn’t any to be found. Just heat and smoke and the crackling sound of everything we own turning to ash.
Fallon reaches the door first and tries to pry it open. “It’s stuck.” She gasps, giving me a panicked look.
I step beside her, and we both pull. Still, the door doesn’t budge.
Melted, probably. Or warped from the heat.
“Move!” Fallon yells, grabbing a chair. I jerk out of the way, and she hurls it at the window with full force.
The glass shatters outward in a violent spray, and cool air rushes in. Beautiful and clean, everything my lungs are screaming for.
We both rush onto the patio, gasping. For half a second, relief floods through me.
We made it. We’re out.
Then, the fire inside roars to life.
The fresh oxygen feeds the flames, and they surge forward with renewed hunger. Heat intensifies so fast it singes the hair on my arms and burns through my clothes.
Fire crawls up the wall. Spreads across the side of the building like something alive. Something hunting.
“Fuck!” Fallon scurries back, slamming into me.
I pull her away from the doorway, and we both keep moving until our backs hit the patio railing.
Trapped.
Again.
“What do we do?” Fallon asks, her voice cracking between coughs.
