Dishonoring Jack

Chapter Thirty Five

"No," Jack whispered under her breath.

No. They were too close--she and Donovan were going to escape, they were going to leave everything behind, they were going to have each other. Jack's heart burned in her chest as she stared wide-eyed at Margaret.

Max Slate was going to burn Donovan, the Bookers' house, and the deed to Soka's land to the ground all in one fell sweep.

"When?" Jack demanded, clutching Margaret's scrawny arm between her fingers. "When, Margaret? Now? Tonight?"

"Now." Margaret panted, trying to extricate her arm from Jack's grasp. "That's why I was trying to catch you. It's gone too far, Jack. I didn't want anyone else to die. I swear."

Rage blinded Jack for a moment--rage at everyone who had allowed all this meaningless death to continue unabated, but she had no time to punish Margaret for her stupidity. The girl was trying to save Donovan's life, and that was all that mattered.

Jack released Margaret and dropped her lunch box on the ground. "I have to go. Margaret, please. Tell the town. Tell the firemen, the mayor, Dr. Benjamin, and the Bookers--they need to know. Tell everyone--I'll need help."
Margaret nodded, her hazel eyes still wide, and she pushed Jack's bicycle towards her. "Take it. I'm sorry."

Jack accepted the bicycle, her hands forming around the handles. She knew she should thank Margaret for her belated warning, but her heart was threatening to thump its way out of her chest and she had no more time to lose, so she just nodded and hopped onto the bicycle, her skirts falling behind her. She kicked off of the ground leaving a trail of dust in her wake and pedaled furiously towards the Bookers' house.

Was she too late? Had Max Slate already burned the house, along with Donovan and the deed, to ash? No. She couldn't be too late. She couldn't be.

Jack struggled for breath as she pedalled faster and faster, lungs and legs aching. The bicycle skipped over rocks, teetered on the edge of a ditch, and sumitted the final hill when she saw it--smoke. A huge cloud of smoke rose into the sky, angry and dark. Jack tossed the bicycle to the side and started to run, half bent over by the cramp aching in her stomach.

The Bookers house was in flames. The conflagration engulfed the house in angry flames of red, orange, and gold, leaping up the walls of the house. Jack sprinted towards it, shielding her face from the heat. Donovan's car. She found it parked to one side, but it was empty.

"Donovan?" she screamed, running forward.

Maybe he wasn't inside. Maybe he was hiding somewhere, watching everything for fear that Max Slate would show up to finish him off. Maybe. But the automobile was empty, and no one emerged at Jack's frantic cries.

The heat and the flames brought Jack back to the day the factory had burned down in a huge explosion; Jack remembered the heat searing and melting her skin as she dragged people from the wreck, burns on her arms and legs. She couldn't go back in there. She couldn't try to save him, but there was no one else to help. Margaret had given Jack her bicycle, and the firefighters would not get her in time to save him.

One of the walls collapsed, and Jack shrieked as the siding and shingled roof slid into the yard, surrendered to the flames. She scampered back as a flaming shingle landed at her feet.

She had to save him, and the house was falling down as the fire took over. The Bookers were with their daughter Esther, and no one else lived for miles around. There was no one but Jack to save him.

Half of the house appeared to still be intact and the flames were weaker in the back; perhaps Donovan was still alive, passed out by the toxic smoke and fumes. Perhaps he just hadn't heard her through the roar of the fire. Perhaps he was dead, and Jack would have to drag his body so it wouldn't be incinerated.