Neil White - Beyond Evil

He reached for Gemma, so that he could feel the comfort of her hand, but she shrugged him off. She was trying to get past the flames, but the heat was too intense.

‘Gemma!’ he shouted. ‘Go on, run. Save yourself.’

Hearing John’s shout, Arni went to grab her, but she pulled away, trying to get nearer to the doorway. The heat beat her back each time.

He started to push, to force his way through, but then there was movement ahead.

There were shouts, a scream, and then there was a flash, more flames. The group pressed against him. Someone was sobbing. Jennifer, he thought.

He put his head back and watched as the flames licked the ceiling. He was going to die, he knew that now. He reached for Gemma again, but he couldn’t find her.

Chapter Sixty-Five

Charlie turned away as the flames rushed towards him. He felt them scorch across his skin and his nose filled with the smell of burning hair, but the fireball retreated, instead turning into flames that started to eat up the wallpaper, the chairs, the cushions. He couldn’t see Donia, and he thought then that he had misjudged it, but then there was movement of someone running towards him. It was Donia, screaming, her hands over her head, and someone else just behind her, running, pushing Donia forward.

Donia’s jumper was on fire, smoke billowing from her hair, but Charlie dragged her along the hall, towards the stairs, the only part where the fire hadn’t reached, and held her tightly to put out the flames. The smashed living room window pulled the flames towards it although the smoke was billowing upwards. He looked into the room again. The initial rush of fire had died down but was taking hold of everything in the room. A woman ran for the window and then stumbled away, her clothes on fire, screaming. The rest of them were huddled in the corner, hugging each other, one tight circle. Charlie turned away. He couldn’t look. Arni was looking towards him, but he was in shock, staring through the flames.

Charlie ripped off his shirt and tore it into three pieces. He held out a piece for Donia and the other woman.

‘Don’t stop me,’ Charlie warned.

‘Just get me out,’ she said, her voice scared.

He wrapped some of the cloth around his face, Donia and the other woman following. Then he bolted for the stairs.

The smoke was drying out his throat, like a tight grip, so that his coughs came in dry hacks, even behind the rag. His eyes were stinging and the view ahead seemed blurred, but survival was driving him. Donia stumbled behind him. He had no time to assess the situation. It was act now or perish.

‘Windows?’ Donia shouted, pointing.

Charlie looked into one of the rooms. There were metal grilles on those too.

‘Too long,’ he said. ‘No time.’

‘The roof!’ Donia said, and pointed.

Charlie looked up. There was a wooden square in the ceiling above the landing. The entrance to the loft space. They could block out the smoke, give them time to break through.

He leapt onto the banister rail, balancing carefully, and then launched himself upwards at the square, at what he hoped was just a simple loft hatch. It moved when he hit it, but he hadn’t fully dislodged it. He landed on the floor with a thump. He needed to get higher.

There were noises coming from below. Sobs, cries, the desperate whimpers of fear.

‘Hurry,’ the other woman pleaded.

Charlie went to his knees and put his head between Donia’s legs, his back straining as he stood upright, her hands gripping his hair to get balanced. Once he was stood up, Donia was able to push at the board in the loft hatch, throwing it to one side. She turned away as the smoke rushed upwards.

‘Get up there,’ he shouted, coughing. ‘I’ll follow.’

Donia’s legs kicked and thrashed and banged on the edges of the hole, and then she was up there, scrambling into the roof space.

‘Charlie, come up now,’ she shouted.

He turned to the woman. ‘You first.’

Her eyes watered and she nodded.

‘Just go,’ he said, and bent his back again so that she could get on his shoulders.

It was harder this time, his back straining as he pushed, coughing from the smoke, but eventually he straightened himself, his legs aching, jostled as she used his shoulders to get to her knees, her bony shins scraping on his shoulder blades. But then she was up there, Donia pulling her up.

There was a roar from below as something crashed to the floor in the old man’s room, spewing out more smoke and flames into the hallway. The whimpers turned into screams.

‘Charlie, Charlie!’ Donia yelled, her arm hanging through the loft hatch, the chain hanging down, voice muffled by the shirt over her face.

Charlie was trying not to take any breaths, knowing that the next big one would just fill his lungs with smoke.

He tried to steady himself, but each second of delay just made it worse. Donia spluttered above him. He had to move quicker.

Charlie stepped onto the banister rail again, surrounded by black smoke, and pushed backwards towards the open loft hatch. He flailed against an empty space for a second, and then he felt it. Thick wood, splintered. His palm slapped against it and he swung forward as if on monkey bars. Thin hands grabbed at his wrist and so he reached with his other hand and tried to find the edge, to stop the swing before his arm gave up on him. He felt the reassurance of the wooden frame and paused for a moment.

Those years avoiding the gym worked against him, but determination drove him on. Hands grabbed at him, and not just Donia’s. There were two hands on each of his forearms, and he could hear their strains. Then his elbows were on the edge and he could start to pull himself up. His teeth were gritted with effort, sweat streamed into his eyes, but he made it. He flopped across the ceiling beams. They were sturdy oak. They would hold themselves up well.

‘Keep going,’ Donia said, pulling at him.

There were shouts from below, and as Charlie took one last look through the smoke billowing into the roof space, he saw Arni rushing for the stairs, hair ablaze, embers flying in his wake, snarling with rage.

Charlie needed the light from the flames to see where he was going, but smoke and Arni were greater enemies than darkness. He put the wooden hatch back into its slot, throwing the space into blackness, and started to shuffle along the roof beams. He needed to get under the sloping roof, so that he could try and break through. Charlie closed his eyes for a moment as he heard the sound of smashing glass from downstairs, and then screams of desperation and pain. He had to shut it out.

Charlie scrambled to his feet and straddled the space between the beams, coughing as he got higher, the smoke curling around his face. He could feel it in his hair, his eyes, in the way his lungs gasped for clean air. Donia and the woman were just behind him, shuffling, coughing, sometimes replaced by soft gasps of fear. His head touched the roof felt, and he was relieved that it was thin and ragged. His eyes stung, his head swirling, but he was working on touch. He closed his eyes and ran his hands down the roof felt, looking for a rip or a tear. It was rough on his fingertips, but as he probed and scoured, he found a gap, wet on the edges, only the roof tiles keeping out the rain.

He kicked it, then tore at it, tried to make the hole bigger. His hands were wet, with blood on his knuckles and his fingertips, but still he tried to make the gap bigger. There were crashing noises coming from below, and then a bang on the ceiling hatch. Arni was trying to make his way upwards.

Charlie pulled harder at the roof felt, and then he felt it: the cold slate of the roof tiles. He was through.

He reached into the roof felt and yanked it down, pulling it away from the supporting beams. It was old and damp, and once he had created a space big enough to crawl through, he kicked out at the roof tiles.