NIGHTS OF FIRE
BLACKOUT & BURN SERIES Book 2
Rebecca Fernfield
NIGHTS OF FIRE
BLACKOUT & BURN SERIES
BOOK 2
By
Rebecca Fernfield
Ebook first published in 2018 by REDBEGGA LIMITED
Copyright REDBEGGA LIMITED
The moral right of Rebecca Fernfield to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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Created with Vellum
For Safiyyah, Evie, Harrison, Mia & Jacob.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Author Notes
Also by Rebecca Fernfield
Chapter 1
Uri stops at the edge of the pavement as the dark of night disappears and ribbons of iridescent greens, yellows and blues dance against a backdrop of the darkest violet sprayed with shimmering stars. He marvels at its beauty then shakes his head. Again? You’re doing this to us again? Unlike yesterday, there is no darkness to be plunged into, no electrical circuits to be cut short, but there is Viktoria! She would be beside herself by now. He had to get back home—after the disastrous day he’s had, home is the only place he wants to be.
With a determined stride he crosses the road and heads in the direction of their apartment. To his right a plume of smoke rises from yet another tower block. He frowns. He can understand the fires that started yesterday – to a point – there were cars that crashed and set alight, and perhaps some fires had started in people’s homes, and without the fire service they couldn’t be put out, but for another tower block to be ablaze? He ponders the probability for a moment then his thoughts return to Viktoria and Anna, and a sinking feeling fills his belly. Viktoria would be furious by now and pushing him again to find a different job even though she knew, in her heart, that was impossible. He sighs and pulls his jacket about him and clenches his jaw. The holster is empty. How could he have let that happen? Was he losing his touch? The first job he’s bodged! He shoves his hands into his pockets and clenches his fists around his knife as anger boils within him. He’d failed. He was a failure! How would he explain this to Bolstovsky and keep face?
Deep in thought and recriminations, he crosses yet another road. Ahead voices catch his attention. A woman shouts then runs. A man follows and grabs her by the arm. Alert, Uri watches. If there’s one thing he can’t tolerate, it’s violence towards women. Sure, he killed them, but it was his job, and he wasn’t violent—not that kind of violent anyway. He quickens his pace as the couple continue to argue, a bag tugged between them. Stronger than the woman, the man pulls the bag from her grip, raises his hands as though in frustration then turns and walks away.
“Hamed!” the woman calls as Uri passes. “Don’t go!”
The man turns. “I have to Nareen. It’s my duty.”
“Duty? No! You’re wrong. They’re wrong!” Desperation rides her voice.
The man ignores her and Uri walks behind him as the woman shouts a final “Come back now, Hamed, or never come back!”
Hamed flinches but doesn’t look back. Instead, he pulls at the straps of his rucksack and strides with a more determined step. The clink of glass adds a chime to the steady pad of his footsteps as Uri walks the same path. A door slams shut and Hamed flinches then seems to sag, his head bowed.
The greens and blues of the sky disappear and the sky explodes into a brilliant red. Stunning! Uri stops to watch the vermillion sky, the city is bathed in a red hue, the colour reflected off myriad windows, casting its glow over the grey concrete and stone blocks of the buildings, the seem to catch fire. As he scans the horizon, he recognises the outline of his own apartment block. Viktoria and Anna! If they wake to see this they will be terrified without him. Picking up his pace, he breaks into a run.
Out of breath, and with legs aching from the ten flights of stairs he’s taken two at a time, he’s at his front door. Each time he wanted to stop he thought of Anna afraid in her red-lit bedroom or sitting in the dark. Each time he’d powered his thighs harder. The door opens to silence and he slips unnoticed into the darkened rooms.
Shoes off in the hallway, coat hung on a peg, he pads through to the living room. The air is warm, the room lit by moonlight casting deep shadows. The fiery red hue has burned away and now the heavens glitter with stars. Uri takes a carton of juice from the fridge and begins to fill a glass then stops. The shops were either empty or locked so their supplies would be limited until normality returned. He can’t let Anna go without, or Viktoria for that matter. He fills the glass to a quarter full and replaces the carton in the fridge. The juice is tepid, without its usual chill, but it quenches his thirst and he needs the carbohydrates. His belly growls. He definitely needs to refuel.
He swings the door wide, grabs the torch from the counter, shines its light on the array of neatly-stacked food, and pulls at a plastic carton—the remains of the last meal Viktoria had cooked, one of her from-scratch Italian dishes – vintage cuisine she calls it when they eat it the following day. He walks to the window and takes a large spoonful. With the rich taste of sun-dried tomatoes and garlic hitting his taste buds he looks to the sky. The stars, so incredible in this dark sky, are something he will never grow tired of. There should be a blackout every night.
Flashes of orange dot the other side of the city.
Frowning, he leans to the window. Fire climbs the skyline as tower blocks burn. Hell is on earth for anyone trapped there. God help them, he certainly couldn’t.
Viktoria lies still in her sleep and her skin is delicious next to his as he slips in naked beside her. She murmurs as he strokes his hand over her belly and round her back, pulling her to him, squashing her naked flesh to his. Overwhelmed by emotion he holds her soft body to his.
“What is it?” she asks through the dark.
He grunts and draws in the aroma of her neck.
“You missed us, huh?” she asks.
“Uhuh,” he replies and pulls her tighter.
She strokes her hand through his hair, use
d to his need for her after a job.
“Shh!” she says stroking his cheek. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
He kisses her neck and then her mouth and loses himself to their love.
Without a basement Rashid has no choice but to work higher in the building. Perhaps this would be better anyway? He mounts the stairs and begins his work. Shrugging the backpack off, he takes out the plastic water bottles. Whoever thought of putting petrol in the bottles - Faisal he thinks - was a genius! The bottles held the fuel well, he could fit loads in his bag, and they were fun to squirt at the walls. He takes four bottles out. He needs to be just a little higher in the building. Tucking the bottles under his arms he climbs another flight.
Slam!
His heart races, and he stops to listen. Footsteps sound on the staircase above but seem to be walking up to the next floor. Another door slams and the footsteps disappear. Who was up at this time of night in the dark? Never mind, they wouldn’t have legs to walk on soon. He laughs. The only good kafir was a dead kafir. Bin Sayeed was right. They’d bring this stinking, pig-eating country to its knees and then make it their own—it’s people slaves to them, its women their whores. Hah! He squirts the fuel over the wall. It stinks and he coughs then writes his name in petrol. It leaks on his hands and he wipes it over his jeans. He’d have to wash them before his mother found them. No! He was a man now. He would tell her to wash them and to shut up if she complained.
He throws the empty bottle down then makes his way to the next level. He squirts the walls and this time spins on his toes, spraying the petrol in a twirling arc. Like he said, Faisal was a genius. The bottle empty, he throws it down the stairwell then steps down to the next level. He checks his pocket for the tenth time. Yes, it was still there; his rectangular lighter. Once he’d finished, he’d stand and watch. An ache passes over him. He needs a cigarette—best not to have one just yet! He laughs at his own joke then pulls up the top of another bottle.
Five minutes later and his job is done. All four bottles are empty and three levels of the stairwell are doused and ready to light. He has six bottles remaining for the next tower block. There were eight targeted for this area tonight. What a blaze that would be! What a lot of pig-eating kafirs would burn.
He reaches for the lighter and flicks his thumb over the teeth of the wheel. It turns and sparks but doesn’t light. Insha’allah this time. He tries again. It doesn’t spark. The thought that perhaps God doesn’t will it crosses his mind, but that is too much for him to cope with and he dismisses it. No! What Bin Sayeed said is right. All non-believers must come under their rule and this was a war, God’s war. Yes, but what if everything you have been taught is wrong? What if it’s all a lie? Shut up!
He frowns as he takes a step, coughs then slips as his foot slides over the fuel that has dripped from the bottle. His head hits the concrete step and pain shoots across the back of his head. The lighter, held tight in his hand, sparks against the rough concrete. A flame leaps out and his hand catches alight. He stares at the never-ending return of the stairs as it climbs higher and higher to the ceiling of the tower block unaware that fire dances along his skin as the pain in his neck becomes excruciating. He strains forward and screams. The pain is immense. Has he broken his neck?
The smell of singeing wafts into his nostrils and the pain in his hand is suddenly unbearable. He lifts it. Fire is burning his flesh and running up his arm. He tries to roll. Stop, drop and roll. That’s what he’d been taught. He pushes himself to the side and flaps at his arm. He screams in agony as the break in his neck shifts. He can’t move! Within seconds the flames are eating the liquid he’d sprayed across the walls and down the steps. Within another, they are eating the paint on the walls and devouring him. The flames spread along the denim of Rashid’s jacket and down his legs before enveloping his head and burning through the cloth to his skin. He screams and his body shunts down the steps as he writhes in agony. His last scream comes as flames enter his mouth and he sucks them down into his lungs.
Chapter 2
Uri draws a circle around Viktoria’s belly button as she lays back on the pillows. Even through the grey light in their bedroom he can see that she is smiling.
“Did you enjoy that?” he asks.
“Uri! You always ask that,” she laughs. “Couldn’t you tell?” she teases.
“So … you came?”
“Hah! You know I did.”
He bends to her lips and kisses her gently. “Good.”
“Uri?”
“Yes?” He lays his head on her shoulder and strokes at the soft skin of her breast.
“Tonight … yesterday … did you … did you kill someone?”
He sighs. No! Unfortunately, not. “It’s my job, darling.”
She sighs.
“And you know that I have no choice. The Family come first.”
“Family! Pah! We’re – me and Anna – we’re your family.”
“Viktoria,” he says in a soothing voice. “We’ve been over this so many times.”
“Yes,” she says quietly. “Yes, but I want to leave the city, Uri, I don’t want to bring our daughter up here.”
He agrees. “I can’t just leave. Perhaps … perhaps we could get that house in the country and you could live there with Anna,” he suggests though it hurts to say it. He was willing to make the sacrifice of not seeing them each day if it meant a better life for them.
“No! Uri, we would miss you too much.”
He’s relieved though a little irked. It could work. “Then you’re going to have to put up and shut up,” he laughs.
She slaps at his arm with a gentle tap then goes quiet. “Uri,”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me again.”
“You’re so demanding,” he laughs and leans into her.
Slam!
He jolts and turns to the open bedroom door.
“I wish they would be quieter!” Viktoria says with annoyance. “It’s the middle of the night—it could wake Anna.”
“Shh!” Uri says as he tries to focus on the noises outside. He turns and throws the covers off his bed as he discerns the shouting from the corridors. Cold washes over him as he becomes aware of the anguish in the voices. “Get dressed Viktoria! Get Anna and get her dressed. Quick!”
“What is it, Uri?”
“I don’t know, but something is wrong.”
He pulls on yesterday’s jeans then takes his gun from the box on top of the wardrobe. Shouts and screams reverberate through the building as he opens the front door but the hallway is dark. He slams the door shut and strides to the window that overlooks the street. Smoke billows from the floors below. His hands tremble. Fire! The building was on fire!
“Uri?”
He swivels from the window to his wife. “Do we have a fire blanket?”
“No! Why would we need a fire blank-”
“The block is on fire,” he says trying to keep his voice low. Anna, standing next to her mother, stares at him through the moonlight.
“We need something to protect ourselves if …” He stares back at Anna, her white-blonde hair grey in the light. He couldn’t bear it if-
“We should stay here.”
“No!” They didn’t stand a chance if they stayed in the flat. “No. We have to get out of here.”
“Towels.”
“Towels?”
“Yes, I’ve seen it in a movie—they used wet towels to get through … get through the fire.”
“Sure. OK. Get towels then—wet them—enough for the three of us.”
“Daddy!”
“It’s alright, Anna,” he croons to the half-dressed child. He takes her jumper from Viktoria and crouches, pulling it over the girl’s head.
“We need to seal the bottom of the doors and make sure all the windows are shut!” she calls after him as he runs to Anna’s room.
“No. We have to get out.”
“But the safety advice—the policy is that we stay in our flats u
nless there’s a fire inside.”
“Yes, but that’s assuming help is on it’s way. There is no help, Viki, not tonight.”
“Why?”
“The blackout—everything is down. There are fires burning across the city.”
“Yes, I know, but-”
“They’re burning because there’s no fire service to help put them out.”
“But-”
“No buts, Viktoria. We’re going to have to save ourselves. No one is coming.”
A sound of pain and fear gurgles in Viktoria’s throat and Uri’s chest tightens. He has to get them out! Think! There wasn’t a fire escape on the outside of the building like their previous home so their only option was to go down the stairs. Perhaps the fire was coming from above—one of the flats upstairs—maybe?
“Wet the towels and meet me back in the hallway. We’ll go down the stairs.” She stares at him in fright. “We’ll be OK,” he soothes though his heart beats at a rapid pace.
“There’s no water!”
Uri stops. Of course!
“Do we have any water?”
“A bottle—in the fridge.”
“Use that then.”
“On the towels?”
“Yes, on the towels—sprinkle it on them or something.”
He finishes dressing the girl and with her safely in his arms, head on his shoulder, grabs a damp towel and covers her shoulder.
Nights of Fire: An EMP Survival Thriller (Blackout & Burn Book 2) Page 1
