Ada had never felt more relieved and more useless. Take the door off its hinges. Of course. It was petty to feel resentful. James was going to save all those people. The ones she’d failed to get out.
A tense minute or two stretched into hours in her mind, as she watched James and a few helpers take tools to the hinges to dismantle the door. A bigger crowd of spectators was gathering. She couldn’t bear to look into the lobby again.
First one side of the double doors gave way, then the other, bursting into the street like a cork from a bottle. People previously pinned to the doors flopped onto the cobbles, and there was a desperate rush to stop them from being trampled. Ada could see people fainting, some not moving at all, their lips blue and faces bruised. She yanked herself back inside, watching them pour outside away from the cloying smoke.
Al had already slunk down a few steps, and Ada followed him. The lobby was empty, but for the bodies strewn there. James was inside, sleeve over his mouth, coughing, pulling people out with the help of others. Despite the burning in her lungs, Ada stopped to help him. To her surprise, Al did too. Once all the bodies, moving and still, had been pulled into the street, Ada finally let herself collapse and give in to the cough that threatened to tear her apart. A hand touched her back, then someone was pressing water into her hands. She gulped it gratefully, shaking as shock began to set in. Al had slumped beside her, head in his hands.
James appeared and shook her shoulder.
‘Ada? Are you okay? Where’s Cam?’
She blinked up at him, rubbing ash from her eyes.
‘Cam? She wasn’t with us – she was backstage.’
‘Oh my god – I can’t leave her in there.’
Ada stared after him as he disappeared into the smoke, rooted to the spot by too many thoughts at once. It should be her rescuing Camille, not James. She was the one Camille loved, the one she trusted, not him. But she would never have thought to. That’s how it worked with Camille, with the battalion. You took responsibility for yourself, and you trusted the rest of the battalion to do the same. They all knew the plan. They knew what they were supposed to do. If they started making changes, it was dangerous. No one knew what James was doing now, where he was, where he was going. No one could help him. It was a risk, a huge one. An unnecessary one. Camille wouldn’t have come after her.
She won’t choose you.
Her father’s words stayed with her, as she watched flames dance out of the windows of the theatre. She thought she’d done what Camille wanted. But maybe she’d got it wrong.
Maybe James was getting it right.
17
Backstage at the Théâtre Patriotique
Dorval loomed above Camille, wreathed in smoke. She pulled herself upright, feeling the jangling pain in her ribs and the burning in her throat.
‘I choose,’ she gasped, ‘to tell you no.’
A frustrated sneer crossed Dorval’s face.
‘Stupid girl.’ He stepped towards her – then lurched sideways as someone crashed into him. Camille blinked, taking in tousled blond hair and broad shoulders.
‘James?’
As he grappled with Dorval, a cloak closed around her, and she looked up, startled to see Guil on her side of the wall of fire. She understood how he’d done it, when he wrapped the cloak around himself as well, and bowled them both rapidly through the flames into the passage beyond.
‘Camille.’ Guil’s hands were on her cheeks, giving her a light slap. ‘Can you walk?’
She nodded. He pointed down the passage. ‘I sent Olympe that way. Follow her. You have to get out.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice broke, and she let him take the weight of her in his arms. ‘I’m sorry I made you do this. I don’t think you’re wrong for still believing in your principles.’
The hand on her cheek caressed her hot skin for a moment. ‘Enough of that. You sound far too much as if you’re saying goodbye. No one dies today, didn’t you hear yourself?’ He lifted her so she was standing and almost steady on her own two feet. ‘Now go.’
Wrapping the cloak around himself once more, Camille watched in terror as Guil flung himself back through the flames and into the fight. Fresh air and freedom were so close. But Guil – and James – were still in the heart of the fire. She could see them, weaving back and forth as they traded blows with Dorval, dodging the wild swipes of his knife. She couldn’t help them, she knew she was beyond that. But she couldn’t bring herself to walk away when they were in there.
Guil made another play for Dorval’s knife. But Dorval was fast, and clever. He used his low centre of gravity to anchor himself, grabbing Guil’s foot when it made contact – sending him tumbling. Dorval stabbed the knife at James, who stumbled back, towards the flames. In a move after her own heart, Guil surged up and slammed his knee between Dorval’s legs, sending him crumpling to the floor.
But as he went down, he caught Guil. His blade glittered gold in the firelight, before it sank into Guil’s kidneys. He twisted the knife, then pulled it out to stab the artery at the top of the thigh.
Camille felt her throat close, horror overwhelming her. A groan rolled around the back of the stage, and it took Camille a moment to realise it hadn’t come from any of them. Sparks cascaded over them in a beautiful, sick imitation of rain. The gantry broke free from its burning supports and crashed down onto Guil, James and Dorval in a huge, unbroken wall of burning wood and metal.
She screamed, throat raw.Move, she told her legs,run. Help. Dosomething.
