to my left! Not many, just a few licking out a door and across the ceiling. They’re the feelers; the animal is behind them, gathering itself to pounce.
Where’s Nana’s bedroom? I was so tired last night, I wasn’t paying attention. All I remember is, it’s a one-story house, with the living room at the front and the bedrooms at the back. Please, let her bedroom be to the right, away from the flames. “Nana? Where are you?”
The floor’s warm, making me aware I’m barefoot, wearing only a lace camisole and the skimpiest of bikini panties. I have a lot of skin exposed, and the hot air’s stinging every centimeter of it. I turn to my right, stumble down the dark hall, squinting against the smoke. “Nana!”
Behind me I hear a crash and a vigorous, “Shit! Damn. Tash?”
Oh, God, she’s behind me, where the fire’s burning.
I turn to face thicker smoke and that darting border of flames. Terrified, I walk toward the fire. “Where are you? What was that crash?”
“I fell!” She coughs. “Damn it, I’m trying to get up but—” Her voice breaks off and I hear a moan, then more coughing.
“I’m coming.” The smoke scratches at my throat and I have to cough too.
Those flames are mesmerizing. Beautiful, in a strange way, as they curl and dance across the ceiling. I move toward them, staring up into their red-gold depths, unable to look away even though my eyes burn from the smoke.
My feet meet an obstacle and I trip and fall. On top of my grandmother.
“Watch where you’re going!” she snaps between coughs.
She’s sprawled across the doorway, face down, and I’m crossways on top of her. She must’ve tripped, then I stumbled onto her.
I pull myself off, glancing past her into the room. And freeze.
Yes, it’s her bedroom. I remember it now. The old-fashioned four poster, the picture window with lacy curtains.
Except, the window and curtains aren’t there anymore. Instead, there’s a wall of flame. Not pretty curls of reddish-gold but a fierce conflagration eating the wall, moving across the ceiling and out the door. Over our heads.
I scramble to my knees. Thank God I’m here to save her. “We’ve got to get out of here! You have to get up!”
“You think I haven’t tried? I must’ve broken my leg.”
We’re both coughing, I can barely see her—it’s dark, smoky, my eyes are burning and watering.
“Oh, Jesus! Okay, then…” I try to think. I’m not tiny, but nor is she. Can I lift her?
Do I have a choice? Lift, drag, whatever it takes, I’ve got to get her out of here before the beast leaps on us.
“Can you roll onto your back? I’ll try to lift you and it’ll be easier that way.”
Through rasping coughs, she says, “You can’t lift me.”
“This is not the time to be negative.”
She gives a choked laugh. “Go for it, girl. Prove me wrong.” The laugh dies abruptly as she shifts position, struggles to roll onto her side and gives a couple of wrenching groans that make me shudder in sympathy.
I try to assist as she makes it onto her back, and all the time I’m wondering how I can lift her. Scoop her up in my arms, the way a parent carries a child? Or over my shoulder, in a fireman’s lift?
And speaking of which, where are the damned firefighters?
Is the whole neighborhood sleeping so soundly no one’s noticed this house is on fucking fire?
Anger gives me a needed surge of adrenaline. I squat beside Nana and get one arm around her shoulders and one under her legs, take a deep breath and lift with all my strength.
I get her up a few inches, gasp for air, choke on smoke, and it’s all I can do to put her down without dropping her. My body’s pouring sweat and my silk lingerie is plastered to my skin.
When I can speak again, I say, “I’ll drag you. Hands under your armpits. It’ll hurt, I’m sorry, but there’s no other way.”
“Do it,” she says grimly. Is her voice getting weaker, or is it just that the fire’s louder?
I squat again, hook my hands behind her shoulders and under her arms, take another deep breath—shit! I can’t breathe without coughing.
Giving up on the idea of deep breaths, I take shallow ones and begin to pull her. Yes, I can do this. In tugs and fits and starts, coughing as I gasp for air, but I can pull her.
The only thing is, I’m not moving her fast enough.
We’re inching backwards down the hall away from the fire, which means I’m facing it. The flames are doing a crazy dance, sometimes resting, sometimes leaping.
Through almost constant coughs and moans of pain, Nana says, “Sorry, Tash. My fault. Had a candle burning, fell asleep. The wind came up, must’ve blown it over.”
I don’t have any spare breath or I’d say it doesn’t matter how it happened, we just have to get out. I keep tugging her. Inch by inch. We’ve reached the living room, it can’t be more than twenty feet to the door. But as the fire strengthens, I grow weaker.
“Leave me,” she says. “Save yourself. I love you, Tash.”
“I am not leaving you!” I manage to rasp out, and give her a mighty jerk.
She groans and I try not to imagine what it must feel like to have a broken leg bumped along the floor like this.
Her coughing stops.
“Nana?” I pause one precious moment, heart pounding even faster, and lean close to her face. “Nana?” You will NOT die on me! I can’t say the words aloud, and she wouldn’t hear me if I did.
She’s breathing, I can feel puffs of air from her nostrils, but she’s passed out. It’s probably for the best. She can escape this nightmare.
But I can’t. My burning eyes are leaking hot tears, my skin feels like it’s frying and I’d give anything for one breath of fresh air. The noise has grown to be huge, immense. A monster’s eating up the house.
We’re in its path.
And no one’s coming to save us.
My nostrils and throat are scorched, the floor’s so hot it burns my knees. And I realize, we may not make it.
I’m panting, sobbing, struggling with every ounce of strength to shift Nana’s body. I won’t give up, I can’t leave her.
Can’t see a damn thing now, the smoke’s so thick, my eyes so swollen. There are crashing sounds too. Walls and ceiling falling, I guess.
Is this how I’m going to die?
Bryson
