Lisa Scottoline - Save Me

“You’re dead!” Mojo grimaced. The live wire whipped and crackled in the air. He advanced with grim purpose, his dark eyes glittering.

Rose ran terrified to the back wall. There was nowhere else to go. She was too far from the stair. The only door was on the opposite diagonal.

Mojo stood in her path, swinging the hooked stick with the power of a drive off the fairway. His loafer slipped on the tile floor, and the hook hit the stainless steel oven with so much force that it embedded itself in the side.

Rose fled to the far corner. Above, the live wire lashed through the air, showering sparks.

Mojo yanked the hook from the machine. Boiling oil leaked from the hole onto the tile floor, bubbling hot. He sidestepped it, raising the hook high over his head. He was about to bring it down on Rose, but when he whipped it back, it connected with the live wire.

Mojo spasmed as electricity coursed through his body. His eyes popped. His mouth flew open. His throat emitted an inhuman cry. The skin on his face blistered. A disgusting stench filled the air. He collapsed, electrocuted. The hook fell from his hand, breaking the circuit. The live wire snapped away, showering sparks that ignited the oil, engulfing his body in flames.

Rose flattened herself into the corner, horrified. Oil poured from the hole in the oven, spreading all over the floor. Fire raced along its stream back to the huge oven, which exploded in flames.

Whoomp! went the sound. The fire jumped from one open tray to the next, the oil as flammable as jet fuel. Whoomp! Whoomp! Whoomp! In a minute, the ovens were beds of lethal flames.

Alarms blared, deafening. Hoods over the ovens sprayed a chemical mist. Overhead sprinklers showered water. The oil on the floor exploded when the water hit it, raging higher. Any speck of residual oil burst into flame; oil lining the ducts, oil coating the machinery, and oil covering the steps and the catwalk. The room became a blazing inferno.

Rose screamed in terror. A wall of flame stood between her and the exit doors. Sprinklers sprayed water, making the grease fire worse. Smoke billowed everywhere. She couldn’t breathe for the heat. She flashed on the school fire. She never thought she’d find herself here again. She couldn’t fail this time. She couldn’t lose Eileen.

Think, think, think.

Rose knew there had to be fire extinguishers. She ran through the smoke along the wall, where the flames were lowest. She found a round metal fire extinguisher big enough for commercial kitchens, mounted on the wall. It looked like her red one at home, except gigantic. She wrenched the extinguisher off its mount, almost dropping it because it was heavy and hot.

She yanked out its pin, squeezed the handle, and grabbed the nozzle. She sprayed a chemical mist on the fire, smothering a path so she could get through the flames. She reached the doors and banged through them. She dropped the heavy extinguisher, which fell with a clang and rolled noisily away.

Thick smoke filled the hallway. Sprinklers drenched her. Fire alarms blared. She heard sirens in the distance, too far away. She coughed and coughed. Her eyes teared. Her lungs burned.

“Eileen!” Rose screamed through the sirens and the water.

Rose looked right, then left. Both hallways were identical cinderblock corridors, filling with smoke. She didn’t know which way to go. Her eyes stung. Her lungs burned. She coughed and coughed. She tried to remember the plant layout from the tour. The offices had been in the hallway connecting the pretzel to the potato chip production. She had to find that junction.

She sensed it was to the right. She ran down the hall that way, burst through the double doors, and found herself in another hallway. The window onto the factory floor showed a horrific conflagration that burned cardboard boxes, wooden pallets, cellophane shrink-wrapping, and anything else in its path. Then she realized. If it was boxes, it had to be the warehouse. She flashed on what the tour guide had said:

See all these boxes? They go for blocks and blocks!

Rose remembered that the warehouse was between the chips and pretzel production. She was on the right track. She ran down the hall. Smoke filtered the air but it smelled of something else, too. Pretzels.

Go, go, go.

She flew through another set of double doors, her lungs burning and tears spilling from her eyes. The smell of burned pretzels got stronger and stronger, and each window showed a factory on fire. The hallways twisted left, then right. She pounded through another set of doors, and she was finally there, at the hallway of offices. QUALITY ASSURANCE read the first sign, and she bolted to the next office. DIRECTOR OF SECURITY.

“Eileen!” Rose tried the door. It was locked. She looked through the window beside the door. The anteroom was filling with smoke, slipping underneath the door. No one was inside. The door beyond it was closed. If Eileen was here, she was behind that door. Rose had to get inside.

She looked around for something, anything. On the floor down the hall was a large metal trashcan. She bolted to it, picked it up, and struggled back down the hall with it, trailing garbage. She reached the office and slammed the trashcan at the window.

Bam! The trashcan shattered the window but didn’t break it all the way. Bam! Rose slammed it again, heaving it as hard as she could, straining with exertion. She couldn’t breathe for the smoke. Her eyes teared uncontrollably.

Bam! Bam! She hit it twice more, widening the hole, breathing hard. She couldn’t lift the trashcan another minute. She let it fall, and it dropped loudly to the floor.

She broke off pieces of the jagged plastic with her hand, then reached through and twisted the lock on the knob. It turned. She yanked her hand out of the jagged hole, opened the door, and ran inside.

“Eileen!” she screamed. Smoke made it almost impossible to breathe in the small room. She prayed she’d gotten to Eileen in time and that the security guys hadn’t taken her away. She went to the door, and it was unlocked.

She twisted the knob and burst through the door.

“Eileen!” Rose cried out in relief. The office was smoky but Eileen was alive, struggling against rope that bound her to a metal chair. Her eyes were wide above duct tape covering her mouth. A bruise on her forehead showed fresh blood. She made guttural noises, trying to talk.

“Don’t worry, I got you.” Rose rushed to Eileen’s side. Duct tape bound her ankles, and her arms were wrenched behind her back.

“Hang on, this’ll hurt.” Rose yanked the duct tape from her mouth. It came off with a zzzp, leaving a wide red welt.

“Oh, God.” Eileen took a huge gulp of smoky air and started coughing.

“Wait, we need oxygen.” Rose looked around. There was a windowless metal door between metal bookshelves on the back wall, and she hustled to it. “They brought you in through this door, right?”

“Yeah.” Eileen coughed, her face turning red.

“Hold on.” Rose turned the knob and pushed the door open. The bay was empty. The white security sedan was gone. Sirens sounded louder, closer. Fresh air whoosh ed in the office, making a whirlwind of the smoke that set Eileen coughing harder, and Rose went back to her side, kneeling. “You okay?” she asked, touching her back.

“Get your hands off me!” Eileen coughed. “Don’t think we’re friends now. You should have saved Amanda, instead of me.”

Rose didn’t have time to discuss it. She grabbed a scissors from the desk and wedged the blade between the rope around Eileen’s hands. They had turned bright red, her circulation cut off.