Sugar and Spice

Chapter 11

I read somewhere that the way homes and buildings are made these days make fires more dangerous. People use PVC and drywall, particle board cupboards and plywood to lay floors. All of these things make houses light up like matchsticks, making something that starts as a small flame turn into a raging fire that consumes your home in under 6 minutes an almost everyday reality. The clock for us, so it would seem, has already started ticking.

Jason looks at me, not quite panicking but definitely on guard. He grabs my arm and I snap to attention, coming out of my inaction.

"Is there another way out?" he asks me again. I shake my head.

"No, not from here. There's no door that leads outside from down here. We're trapped."

I don't sound as desperate as I feel, which is odd to me. Because inside I'm running around and screaming my head off.

Jason thrust the gun in my hand and stepped into the bathroom, quickly emerging with a dripping bundle of towels.

"We aren't trapped. We can leave now as long as we leave NOW," he says, thrusting a drenched towel in my arms. I drop the gun and give the towel back to him as I run into my room. He stands there, watching me in confusion.

Inside the door, I dive onto my stomach and grasp under my bed, the bag I had packed as soon as I moved in my home. Survivalists call it a Bug Out Bag. In it holds a fireproof, waterproof, tamper-proof case with all my important paperwork inside, and $18,000 in cash. The bag holds a 3-day supply of food, clothing and toiletries, along with some pictures and childhood memorabilia that I could never part with. It seems that following my father's words of wisdom about having such a thing was a good idea, no matter how I teased him about it when I was younger.

Having no time to think of such matters, I jump onto my feet and bolt out the door to meet Jason. I throw the book bag onto my back and grab the dripping towel from him, throwing it over my head and gesture to Jason to follow me up the steps.

I do a quick one-two-three count with Jason before grabbing the doorknob, which I immediately let go of and scream in pain. The heat of the fire has already made the knob just short of glowing red, a detail I missed in my hurry. Flipping my hand over and clutching my wrist, I watch my palm start to blister grotesquely and blackness clouds my vision as the pain send me to shock.

Jason grabs the doorknob with a corner of the drenched towel, flinching in pain as the heat sears through the protective barrier but he is unharmed as he quickly lets go as, with a push, the door flings open and our breath is taken away by the sudden flash of heat. He grabs my by my wrist and pulls me with him, trying to keep me out of the shock that threatens to take over my senses.

I falter when we take our first steps out onto the barroom floor. It's too much, I think. This is too impossible. We won't make it out alive. But Jason holds his grip on my wrist and wraps his face in the towel, looking to me to do the same. I follow suit with my good hand and lower my head, watching each step I tentatively take.

The flames shoot up behind the bar and the heat is so intense the bottles containing liquid begin to explode from the pressure and the heat building outside them. We duck and scurry quickly towards the door, flames on either side of us. I notice the smell of gasoline as we pass by burning chairs and tables, tipped over and broken to pieces all over the floor. Luckily the fire hasn't gone towards the door, they kept it clear so they could get out, allowing us to walk the same path.

My lungs burn with every breath I take, my eyes blur with tears to fight back the smoke and ash that envelopes us. I watch as all around us the flames climb the walls and begin to lick the exposed wooden beams on the ceiling, and I begin to take the last few steps toward the gaping hole that is my doorway faster.

A loud crack causes us to look up at the ceiling once again and terror grips my heart like an invisible hand as I watch one of the beams break loose and fall. We dive out of the way, and I lay onto my back, clutching the wrist of my injured hand up against my chest and I breath fresh air, looking up into the cloudless night sky.

A cry brings my attention back into the bar. That's when I notice, Jason isn't by my side.