A slow fall

Chapter 9 - Caleb

    We slunk our way to the back of the Church, ensuring we kept out of sight, discrete enough to not arouse suspicion from those who did catch a glimpse.

The door to the basement, exactly where Abbie said, led into a dark, dusty room. Its musty smell a motivator to get in and out.

That was the plan.

We should've realised Shane was the worst of us to be trusted with electrical appliances. Though we couldn't have anticipated that the fuse box would catch on fire. I don't think it had been touched in years, the old rusted exterior a big red warning sign we failed to acknowledge.

The spark started small, Shane's exclaims the biggest draw of attention. Jolts of light sputtered from the box, thin bursts generating heat in small doses.

"Shit, shit, shit," Shane turned to me and Marcus, where we'd set ourselves up further in the room. Marcus stood with a brush in hand, planning to thump it against the ceiling, I was still hunting. Something about this—doing it here—felt wrong. This felt like a worse omen. 

"Guys." His voice was increasingly tense, though that anxiety in the room was almost palpable.

A large crackle overtook the box, before the lights—a singular sting light, dim and barely working—turned off, it was time to act.

A quick glance told me there was no fire detector in the basement, and also no extinguisher.

I acted fast, making my way up the stairs in search of what we needed.

Maybe if we could fix it before anyone noticed then we wouldn't get in trouble? No, we would still be in trouble, but maybe less, maybe they'd understand we weren't actually trying to burn the building down.

Idiots. 

We should've known Shane's plans always get us in trouble somehow.

The kitchen was shrouded in darkness. The main hall was loud, anxious chatter filling the room. A faint light emanated from there, phone torches I'd assume. That only meant someone would come this way soon.

I lit my own phone torch up and began to search. There was an extinguisher in the kitchen, but after checking—and as expected—it was water based; I knew electrics and water didn't mix.

Still, I swore under my breath in annoyance before rummaging through the kitchen cupboards. It took longer than I'd hoped, but eventually I came across what was needed. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I grabbed the fire blanket off the wall before running back downstairs.

I heard Shane before anything else, his voice loud, strained and shouting, "What'd we do? What'd we do?! Guyyyys!"

Shane and Marcus were still jumping around in panic when I returned.

"Shane, you're not helping," I pushed him further away from the slowly growing flames, "out the way."

The fire provided the only source of light in the dingy basement, and we were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

The fire was rising at an awkward angle, and I didn't want to get too close, but I needed to be in reaching distance. I could feel the heat against my skin as I stepped dangerously closer.

"No, Caleb, no!"

"Shane, it is NOT the time." Marcus scolded.

"But he's going to sacrifice himself! Marcus," he implored while I tried my best to ignore, "it needs to be said."

I used the baking soda I'd taken from the kitchen in a first attempt to smother the flames. The fire began simmering once it hit.

Shane carried on quoting Harry Potter.