Trouble

Chapter Eleven

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*Harry*

            Smoke.  I awoke to the undeniable smell of smoke and began coughing painfully.  Sliding out of bed, I jumped back as I saw the orange flames inching up near my window.

            “Jaz!” I yelled, scared out of my mind that she was caught in a worse position than I.  “Jaz where are you?”  I ran out of my room, breath catching in my throat at the sight of the fire spreading closer to her bedroom.  Without thinking, I sprinted into her room and to the side of her bed, shaking her sleeping frame roughly.  “Wake up,” I muttered harshly.  “C’mon Jaz you have to wake up!”

            “Mm,” she mumbled, stretching her arms above her head before curling closer to me.  At any other time, I would’ve been freaked out about how fast my raced, but now I was too preoccupied to think correctly. 

“Fire!” I screamed, hoping that the one word would have enough power to wake her up.  I wish I could’ve taken a moment to see how relaxed she looked when sleeping:  Her arms wrapped slightly around herself with lips open to let small puffs of breath escape them, and the way her hair fell around her head like a cloud.  I’d never seen her look so peaceful. 

            Her eyes snapped open, and just like that, she was back to herself.  “Out.”  She said.  “Get out of the house.  There are keys under the flowerpot in the front hall.  Grab everything else under it too.  I’ll meet you outside.”  I had already turned to leave when she said.  “Oh, and Dimples?  Try not to get killed.”

            I graced her comment with a nod before running out into the smoky kitchenette.  Dodging flames and cursing myself for getting stuck in this situation, I repeated flowerpot, flowerpot, where is that stupid flowerpot like some ridiculous mantra.  I held in a yelp as a curtain fell to the ground encased in an orange-red glow.

            “Jaz!” I called, nervously. “What happens if we don’t make it out of here?”  When she didn’t reply, I breathed out deeply to steady my erratic heartbeat.  She told me to get the keys and meet her out back.  I could do that.  Jaz knew how to work her way out of sticky situations…  I had absolutely nothing to worry about.  The flames in front of me seemed to rise higher and looked even more menacing as they ate everything in their path.  Nothing to worry about, I thought wryly to myself.  Right.  In a minute of courage (or stupidity if you considered the other option), I ran through the impending flames and slid down next to the desired flowerpot.  Deftly swiping a bag and keys from underneath (the bottom was higher up than it seemed leaving more room beneath), I lunged out of the way of a burning wood support as it, too, crashed to the ground.

            Finally escaping the house, I walked around to the back, checking over my shoulder ever so often to make sure no one had chosen to follow me.  Now, all I had to do was find Jaz and see if she had any idea how that fire happened.  I saw a person by the back shed jiggling a rusty padlock on the door.  When the figure turned around, I ducked down trying to blend in with the grass. 

            “Dimples,” she drawled.  “I can see you.  And you look ridiculous like that.”

            “Oh,” I mumbled standing up and walking over to Jaz.  “Well, at least I tried.  Anyway, can you tell me how that fire…?”

            “Do you have the bag and the keys?” She asked, interrupting me.  When I handed the said objects over, she dug around in the backpack before producing a key with which she promptly opened the padlock.  “There we go,” she mumbled.  I followed her inside of the shed, letting my eyes take in the various knick-knacks dotting the rotted shelves.  In the middle of the shed was a car covered by a canvas sheet.