Стивен Бут - Blind to the Bones

‘We did see people moving around earlier on,’ said Udall. ‘One of them was carrying something. No — two of them were. Long, heavy objects. But we couldn’t quite see—’

‘Were they armed? We know they have air rifles, at least.’

‘I’m not sure. Not air rifles anyway. Maybe just chainsaws.’

Fry tried Cooper’s number again, but there was no answer.

‘Tracy, ask the contractors if I can borrow a hard hat and one of those yellow jackets.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve got to go in. I’ll use the access they’ve made through the fence here, and see if I can work my way through the yard before the flames get to those pallets.’

‘Diane, you can’t.’

Fry pushed her phone back into her pocket. ‘Ben Cooper’s in there somewhere,’ she said.

Udall nodded. ‘I’ll come with you, then.’

The moment he heard what Marion Oxley was shouting, Ben Cooper ran back down the stairs and through the house to the kitchen. Marion was gazing in horror at the smoke, which was starting to drift across the yard, obscuring the top of the highest piles of pallets and seeping through the mesh of the chain-link fence.

‘I don’t know where Jake is,’ she said.

‘When did you see him last?’ said Cooper.

‘About half an hour ago, when you came in with Lucas. He should be here, but he went off somewhere.’

‘He’ll come home when he sees the fire, won’t he?’

Marion stared at him. ‘You don’t understand. Jake likes starting fires. When he gets upset, that’s what he does. Normally, one of the other boys keeps an eye on him, but nobody is with him.’ She pointed out of the window. ‘That’s where he’ll be.’

Cooper found Lucas Oxley already in the brick passage, trying to calm the barking dog.

‘It’s all right, you’re safe,’ he said.

‘We’ve got to find Jake. The wind is blowing in this direction, so we might only have one chance before the fire spreads.’

As soon as he was outside, Cooper could feel the heat from the blaze. Every breath he took drew in the acrid stink of the black smoke. There seemed to be a lot more smoke than ought to be possible for the amount of visible flame. But he remembered how damp it had been inside 8 Trafalgar Terrace, and the rain that had fallen since. If all the houses in the row were the same, the flames might not get hold so quickly.

The yard was a maze, and Cooper despaired of finding a quick way through the stacks of tyres and scaffolding. Somewhere near here was the spot he had met some of the Border Rats in the dark the other night. In a few minutes, it would be as dark as it had been that night, because the smoke was sinking into the yard, as if borne down by its own weight.

Then Lucas tapped him on the shoulder and jerked a hand. ‘This way. There’s a gate at the back of the garage.’

‘I’ll follow you.’

They skirted the corner of some pallets and reached the doors of the garage. They stood open, revealing the bonnet of the pick-up. Alongside stood the flat-bed lorry.

‘Somebody should move these out of the way,’ said Cooper. ‘They’re potential bombs.’

‘Scott could do it, but I don’t know where the bugger is.’

Lucas began coughing as the smoke reached his lungs. He reached into the back of the flat-bed and found a cloth rag, which he tore in half. He pushed one half at Cooper and wrapped the other over his mouth and nose.

‘Jake’ll be in either number 1 or 2,’ said Lucas, almost having to shout now through the rag and above the noise of cracking roof tiles and burning timbers. ‘They’re both easy to get into. It’s where the lads go sometimes. I think that’s where he’ll have gone. It’s where — Well, you try number 1, and I’ll try 2.’

Cooper paused a moment, trying to listen for the sirens of approaching fire appliances, but they were still too far away.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘But let’s do it now .’

And together, Ben Cooper and Lucas Oxley ran towards the houses of Trafalgar Terrace, vanishing into the smoke like the doomed wood pigeons that had no more sense than to return to their burning roosts.

Diane Fry could hear the dog, but she couldn’t see it. Her view was blocked by the contents of the yard and the smoke that was beginning to drift in little swirls between the stacks, touching the pallets and roof tiles as if testing them for their potential to burn.

‘I think it’s usually chained up,’ said Tracy Udall close to her ear. ‘And from what Ben said, if you can hear it barking, you’re safe.’

But it wasn’t the dog that had made Fry pause. It was the sight of the flames licking from the windows of the houses, just visible through the haze. It was the sound of the slates cracking and the growing roar of the flames consuming the houses room by room, damp floorboards followed by abandoned furniture, window frames catching light from doors. It was the smell of the burning wallpaper, the scorched and blistering paint, the black bricks baking so hot that they were oozing moisture that bubbled and steamed.

She could have stood nailed to the spot for ever, matching the tongues of flame to the picture in her mind, watching for the burning figures leaping and dancing in the light of the blaze. But it was Tracy Udall who broke the spell, running forward to catch hold of a figure she had spotted through the smoke. It was Marion Oxley, standing at the side of the fence, still calling desperately towards the blazing houses. She was calling for Lucas. But also for Jake.

Udall spoke to her, then urged her away through the passage to the front of Waterloo Terrace, where support should be arriving now. At long last, Fry could hear the sirens coming over the hill. She looked at the flames leaping from windows to roof, and prayed that assistance wouldn’t be too late.

Ben Cooper crouched opposite Lucas Oxley in the cellar of 1 Trafalgar Terrace. The body of Jake Oxley lay on its back on the stone floor between them. The cellar smelled of death — that ripe, sweet, intimate smell.

Cooper filled his lungs with air, bent forward over Jake and breathed into his mouth, watched the boy’s chest rise with the breath, then sat back on his heels. He looked at Lucas, but could barely see more than his eyes, white above the rag that covered his face.

‘What the hell has been happening in here?’ he said. ‘It stinks.’

And it wasn’t just the smell of death. There was a strong smell of petrol here, too, and singed cloth and paper. It seemed as though Jake had come down the steps to set another fire, but there hadn’t been enough oxygen in the tiny cellar.

Lucas didn’t reply to the question. ‘Is he going to be all right?’ he said.

‘We need to get him into the air. Help me carry him up the steps.’

Cooper was glad he couldn’t see the cellar clearly. He was sure there would be old bloodstains and worse on the walls and floor. They might have been there weeks or months, but the distinctive smell of them hadn’t faded in the enclosed, airless space. It was a perfect environment for a forensic team to salvage evidence from, but it wasn’t going to last long enough for them to reach it.

He took Jake’s shoulders, and Lucas took his feet. They had left the door open at the top of the steps for air, but they could hear the flames coming steadily closer. When Cooper reached the top of the cellar steps, he could see that the floorboards of the hallway and the treads of the stairway were smouldering. But the route to the broken front door was still reasonably clear.

When they got out of the house, they made progress, staggering away from Trafalgar Terrace towards the rutted track and damp trees near the Oxleys’ homes.

‘OK, stop,’ said Cooper breathlessly.