A child coughed. Tiny, wet, and close.
“There,” I said.
We pushed into the rear bedroom. The window had cracked but held. The curtains smoked, and one corner of the duvet had started to char where embers drifted in from the hall. The whole room was a box of heat.
“Milo!” I swept under the bed and found nothing but trainers, a plastic dinosaur, and enough dust to knit a second cat. Another cough. Not under the bed, then. I turned slowly, forcing my pulse down. Kids hid in small places. Under things and behind things.
The wardrobe.
I yanked the door open, and two terrified eyes stared back at me from between the hanging coats. The boy had one armwrapped around the orange cat, who looked ready to bite everyone involved.
“There you are,” I said, friendly as anything, as if we’d bumped into each other at the shops instead of in a room getting ready to flash over. “Milo, I’m Darcy. That is an excellent cat. Very orange. We’re going outside now.”
He shook his head, choking on a sob. “No. He’ll run.”
“The cat?”
A jerky nod and a sniffle.
I considered the animal. The animal considered me. Neither of us trusted the other an inch.
“Hassan. Bag.”
He passed me the small rescue sling, which the cat vigorously objected to being put in it. I got one claw straight through my glove for my trouble.
“Lovely,” I told it. “We’re all having grumpy feelings right now.”
Milo made a tiny sound, not quite a laugh, but close enough to give me hope. I secured the cat and opened my arm to the boy. “Your turn. Face in. Hold on to me and don’t let go.”
He crawled out, shaking so hard I could feel it through my turnout gear. He weighed next to nothing as I tucked him tight against me, shielding his face, and that was when the room changed. It was subtle, the kind of subtle that killed people who didn’t respect it. A low, hungry pulse. The smoke drawing in at the doorway. The glowing edge of the duvet brightening. Air was feeding the beast.
“We’re leaving now,” I said.
Hassan was already at the door. “Hall’s worse.”
“Window?”
He checked. “Drop to the conservatory roof, then ladder. Manageable.”
Manageable was firefighter for awful but not deadly yet. Then the hall outside flared orange, and there went our route down the stairs.
I shifted Milo higher on my shoulder and his arms locked around my neck. “Listen to me,” I said, calm and firm in his ear. “You’re going to close your eyes and pretend you’re a koala.”
“What’s a koala?” he whispered.
“Very clingy. Excellent at not arguing.”
Hassan smashed out the rest of the window glass, cleared the frame, and leaned out. Rain blew in, blessedly cold. I keyed the radio.
“Rear bedroom, second floor. Primary stair compromised. Need ladder to rear, conservatory roof access. One child, one firefighter, one cat with a criminal temperament.”
“Copy. Ladder coming.”
The ceiling behind us cracked again, louder this time. Hassan looked at me, and I looked at the window. No sense waiting around to find out which one gave out first.
“Go,” I said.
He climbed out, boots finding the narrow roof below. I passed him the cat sling, then maneuvered Milo toward the sill.
