Fry

by Lorna Dounaeva

  I listen in dismay as she rattles off her instructions, but struggle to take it all in as my anxiety for Holly mounts. Where is she? What have they done with her?

  Has she met the same fate as Fluffy?

  It’s only once Jody hangs up that I’m able to take in the full force of her words. What am I going to do? If I don’t comply with her wishes, there is a real chance that something terrible will happen. Holly’s life rests in my hands.

  Why me? What did I do to deserve this?

  Another person in my situation would march straight out to the police car outside the store. But that door is closed to me, shut some time ago. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. My conscience won’t give me a moment’s peace. Probably never will.

  As I drag myself towards the warehouse, I can’t help but marvel that I can still place one foot in front of the other, that my knees don’t buckle from the effort. I push open the door with purpose and begin to riffle around, assembling the things I need. Nobody questions my presence there, they just see me with my fancy suit and supervisor’s badge and go on with their work, loading and unloading their pallets and crates.

  I play my part slowly, waiting for the right moment. Finally, a whistle blows, signalling that it’s time for the lads to take their tea break. I watch them file out the door, then take a quick look around, anxious that no one has been left behind. Only then do I set my phone down on the shelf and nod to the camera. I am just about to begin when the door swings open and Deacon barges in.

  I have never been so angry to see anyone in my entire life.

  “What the are you doing here?”

  “I got your message,” he gasps, slightly out of breath. “What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t send you any message!”

  “Yes, you did! You said it was urgent!”

  “I didn’t send you any message!” I repeat, furiously. “Now get out of here, quick, quick!”

  He stares at me in horror, suddenly seems to realise why I’m so desperate to get rid of him.

  “Isabel? What’s that in your hand? What…what the hell are you doing?”

  But I can’t explain it.

  The day I met Alicia, an inexorable chain of events was set in motion. Events, which led me, unwillingly, unwittingly to this point. To my left, drips a giant can of petrol, and in my right hand, the lighter is already aflame.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I suppose the blood must continue to pump around my body, because if it doesn’t, if my heart has actually stopped, then I should have dropped with a thud to the floor. But in this instant, it seems to me that the earth and everything on it, just stops, like someone has pressed the pause button on a giant cosmic remote control. Thoughts freeze mid sentence in my brain. I am stuck in some strange kind of limbo. I daren’t think or even breathe.

  Then just as abruptly, someone hits ‘play’ and we’re off again. Deacon dives upon me, grabbing my wrist with one hand and the lighter with the other.

  “No, you don’t understand!”

  I fight as hard as I can, but he is too strong for me. In a matter of seconds, he has wrestled the lighter from me and flung it out of harm’s way. Even so, he does not let me go. He starts patting me down, turning out my pockets, checking to see if I have any other means of ignition.

  “Get off!” I yell, in indignation, but he does not relent.

  I blink my eyes at the camera and try to communicate that none of this is my fault. What will happen to Holly now that Deacon has interfered? Now that I have been forced to disobey Jody’s sinister instructions? Will I get a second chance, or is it already too late? I try to free myself from his grasp, but Deacon holds me fast. He seems to sense that it is not yet safe to let me go.

  Then, all at once, there is a shrieking in my ears. Screeching, blaring - sirens go off all around us.

  “That’s the fire alarm!”

  But how? Our heads jerk in the direction of the petrol can, but it remains untouched, dripping silently onto the floor. And that’s when I hear the most sickening sound I’ve ever heard, as on either side of us, the doors slam shut. In a flash, Deacon releases his pincer-like grip and we race towards the nearest exit, but it’s too late, the door holds fast. We try the other one, but that one holds too. They both appear to be locked and bolted. And then smoke starts to fill the room.

  Deacon stares at me in absolute shock. His face has turned completely white, his lips almost purple with horror. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so scared before. It frightens me almost as much as the terrifying situation.

  “What’s going on? What have you done?”

  “It wasn’t me, godammit!”

  But this is no time for blame or retribution. We both look around, desperate for another door, a window, some other means of getting out. But there are no windows in the warehouse. There’s only the goods entrance at the back and the door leading through to the store at the front. And neither will budge.

  “Help, we’re trapped in the warehouse!”

  I smack my fists against the door that leads through to the store.

  “Let us out!”

  But my words are drowned out by the screaming of the fire alarms.

  I try banging on the other door, the one that leads outside, but that one is even stronger, recently reinforced.

  I can’t believe this is happening. Is this really how it all ends?

  Deacon charges at the inner door, hitting it hard with his powerful shoulders. It must hurt like crazy, but he doesn’t cry out, just keeps at it, over and over. And when that doesn’t work, he grabs some kind of tool from a nearby workbench and starts hacking away at it, as hard as he can go.

  “It’s no use,” he finally pants. “The door’s too strong!”

  And that’s when the lights flicker and go out. A scream rises in my throat, but I swallow it down, determined to keep it together.

  We have to do something! We have to get out of here!

  I think hard, trying desperately to remember the layout of the room. There must be something here we can use, something that will help us. But I must think fast. All the time, the room is filling up with smoke, making it harder and harder to breathe.

  “Isabel! Where are you?”

  “Over here.”

  I feel my way across the room, past the endless rows of crates and boxes. My eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, but I think I can see what I’m looking for.

  Yes, found it!

  I touch the cold, hard metal.

  “Stand away from the door!”

  I climb into the cab of the forklift truck. Incredibly, the keys are still in the ignition. I don’t know what I would do if they weren’t. This is our last chance, our last hope. I’ve seen the drivers operate these things often enough. Even watched Stu have a crafty go on his lunch break. How hard can it be?

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to ram the door with the forklift!”

  “Do you know how to drive that thing?”

  I ignore his question and fumble for the controls.

  “Get out of the way!”

  “Please be careful!”

  But he knows that I will not. We don’t have time to be anything but frenzied and panicked. And this is not like driving a car. I have no idea which of the knobs and levers control the movement of the vehicle and which move the forks up and down or control the speed. I am, quite literally driving in the dark here. All I can do is hope for the best. The smoke is getting thicker and thicker all the time. If we don’t get out soon, that will be it. Game over.

  The forklift is already loaded with crates of some kind. I don’t know what’s in them, but as I start to propel the vehicle forward, I just hope it’s something strong and heavy. I shunt forwards and back, trying to figure out what I’m doing.

  The forklift wobbles as I attempt to pick up speed. I can’t look as I plough headlong into the door.

  “Godammit!”

  I hit it with a crunch and stil
l, it isn’t enough to break it.

  “You’ve made a dent!”

  “Good. I’m going to back up and try again.”

  “Let me have a go! You’ll hurt yourself!”

  “Just stay back!”

  I don’t have time for his macho posturing. I got us into this, I need to get us out. It’s just a question of which will hold out longest – the door, the forklift or me. I repeat the exercise, fly forwards and back, the vehicle wobbling precariously, unused to this kind of abuse. Finally, finally, there is a loud crash, and a large plume of smoke gushes in through the door.

  “You’ve made a hole,” he calls out excitedly. “But it’s not quite big enough for us to get through. Give it one more try.”

  “Nearly there!” I shout down to him, but my words come out as a series of coughs. In fact, it takes three tries, and with each one, more smoke is released into the room.

  On my last attempt, I feel the forklift listing badly. As I ram into the door, I lose my grip and the next thing I know, I’m flying out of the cab and hitting the wall with a thump.

  “Ow!”

  I feel Deacon pull me to my feet.

  “You’ve done it, Isabel! Let’s get out of here!”

  He pulls me through the gap, out of our warehouse prison and into the main store. And the source of all the smoke.

  “Stay low to the ground,” he coughs. “It’ll be easier to breathe.”

  I’m a little dizzy and confused from the crash and I wouldn’t blame him if he left me here for dead. If it were me, I’d think twice about trusting someone I’d just caught trying to start a fire in a warehouse. But he clenches my wrist so tight, it feels like we are handcuffed together.

  “You know this place better than I do. Which way?”

  “There should be a fire exit to the left,” I manage, but the smoke is disorientating. What the hell happened here? How did the place fill with smoke so quickly? And where is everyone? Did they all get out?

  My legs are still a little shaky from my exploits with the forklift, but Deacon drags me along and refuses to let me stop or fall behind.

  “It should be just along here…”

  “Get back!”

  “Ahh!”

  An involuntary scream erupts from my lungs as a giant ball of fire roars towards us. I scream and scream, and just can’t seem to stop. Flames gallop across the paper thin walls, before leaping up to the ceiling and spreading out in an angry sea of orange, right above our heads.

  “Quick, where to?”

  “This way!”

  Neither of us glance back at the fire, but I feel its prickly heat on my back as we race to get out of its deadly path.

  Can’t. Breathe.

  We half-run, half-fall onto the automatic doors at the front of the store.

  “It’s locked!” Deacon gasps. “Why is it locked? Where is everyone?”

  We pound and kick at the glass, but the doors don’t show any signs of breaking.

  “Let us out!” I scream. “For god’s sake, let us out!”

  But I can’t see a soul. Nobody’s out there. Nobody’s going to help us.

  “There’s another way out,” I pant. “Up on the roof. Come on, quickly!”

  We charge up the static escalators. The smoke seems thicker here, but there’s an exit just by the stairs.

  “Yes, here! Here it is!”

  I push at the door. I’m almost surprised when it gives way at my touch.

  “It’s opening!”

  Deep down, I didn’t really think it would. I didn’t think there was any way we were getting out. I thought Alicia had seen to that. Pushing all our weight against it, we fall out onto the roof and take greedy great gulps of the night air. The door slams behind us.

  We’re out!

  “I didn’t think we were going to make it!” I gasp.

  “Me neither!”

  “How are we going to get down from here?”

  I hadn’t realised how high up we are. Everything looks tiny down below. There is a crowd of people milling around, down in the car park, but where’s the help? Where’s the fire brigade?

  “Help!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “Up here! We’re trapped.”

  “They can’t hear you.”

  “Up here!” I yell even louder. “Help!”

  Deacon shouts too. We both yell and wave our arms, like we’re trying to land a helicopter. But nobody seems to hear us. Nobody looks up. Instead, the crowd starts to move away. Someone is shepherding them down to the evacuation point at the lower end of the car park. They don’t even know we’re here.

  Deacon’s face has lost the deathly white look, and he seems to be back to his usual self; strong, reliable Deacon.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a matter of time till the emergency services come and get us. Hey, you’re shivering!”

  “I can’t help it.”

  I feel his arms fold around me and I don’t resist. My legs are like jelly, and I sink down into a sitting position. He sits down with me and keeps his arms wrapped around me, like he’s afraid I’ll blow away.

  “We nearly died in there!”

  “I know.”

  He doesn’t ask for explanations, not yet at least, just holds me tight. And despite the fire, despite everything, I feel strangely safe, wrapped in his arms. My eyelids start to flutter, but I don’t fight it, just let the sleepy haze wash over me.

  “Isabel? Isabel! Wake up!”

  I feel myself being shaken, but for a moment, I can’t remember where I am.

  “Isabel, you have to wake up! The roof’s filling with smoke!”

  My eyes snap open. Suddenly, I’m alert.

  “Fire!”

  Toxic fumes stink up the air, billowing out across the night sky. I try to take a breath, but instead my lungs fill with smoke. We are swaddled in a big, grey cloud. And it’s hot, unbelievably hot. I don’t think I can bear it much longer. I shuffle further forwards, towards the edge of the roof.

  “Be careful! You’ll fall!”

  “I don’t think we’ve got much choice,” I say, looking down at all the little ant people below.

  “We have to jump!”

  Chapter Twenty

  I hold onto the edge and let my legs dangle precariously over the car park below.

  “Don’t jump! It’s too high.”

  “But what choice do we have? It’s getting so hot.”

  The panic is returning. The same terrible panic I felt when we were trapped inside. I can’t just sit here. I have to do something. Anything.

  “Please - the fire brigade will be here any moment. There’s no way they could miss all this smoke.”

  But what if they don’t get to us in time?

  I feel the bile rise in my throat as I edge closer to the brink. I’m not going to die up here. I have to be prepared to do this.

  And that’s when the bright whirling lights flash through the night, accompanied by the very best sound I’ve ever heard:

  Nee-Naw, Nee-Naw, Nee-Naw.

  “Oh god, oh god! They’re here!”

  We wave our arms in the air, shout with renewed vigour.

  “Up here! We’re up here!”

  “They can’t see us!”

  Tears steam down my face, not just from the smoke, but also from sheer frustration.

  “Why can’t they see us?”

  Deacon cups his hands over his mouth and shouts for all he’s worth:

  “Help! We’re up on the roof! Heeeeeelp!”

  There is a loud cracking sound and Deacon grabs my hand again, as the whole roof shakes.

  “What’s that? What’s happening?”

  Then, completely without warning, a ladder reels into sight, and a big brawny fireman reaches out his hand to me.

  “It’s OK, love. You’re going to be fine. You’re both going to be fine.”

  “Oh thank god!”

  I cling to him for dear life as he plucks me from the rooftop and helps me onto the ladder. But a
s I start to make my descent, there is another loud crack from above.

  “Deacon?”

  “You just get yourself down,” the fireman says. “I’ll help your friend.”

  I do as I’m told and climb safely down to the bottom, but all the time, I’m very aware that there are no footsteps above me. I don’t look up until I reach the bottom rung. I can’t see anything but a cloud of billowing smoke. No Deacon, no fireman.

  I barely notice as someone comes up to me and slips a foil blanket around my shoulders.

  “Can you move? Good. Please come this way. This area is unsafe.”

  I step back as loose tiles and other building materials rain down from the roof.

  What’s happening? Where’s Deacon?

  “Quick! The roof is collapsing!” One of the firemen shouts. “They’ll never get out alive!”

  “No!”

  I have to do something!

  I spring to my feet, hauling myself back up onto the first rung of the ladder, but strong arms pull me back.

  “No, it’s too dangerous!”

  I turn to find myself looking into the disapproving eyes of a fireman.

  “Come on, out of the way. We need to make the area safe.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Just stay out of the way. We’re doing everything we can.”

  Instead of helping Deacon, I’m just getting in the way.

  I hunch over, seized by another coughing fit. But I am conscious of every second that ticks by.

  Where are you?

  Suddenly, a cheer goes up around the car park. I look up to see a pair of feet emerging from the cloud. It’s the fireman! I hold back my tears as he starts climbing down. For a moment I don’t see Deacon, but then he comes into view. His face is black with soot, his hair singed, but he smiles and waves as if he’s just been elected mayor. The crowd cheers again, but Deacon looks only at me.

  “It’s OK now,” he whispers, when he reaches me. “We’re safe now.”

  If only it were that simple…

  “I need to speak to the police!” I cough, as we are herded away from the burning building. “Please, it’s urgent!”

  “No, don’t try to talk. We have to get you to the hospital.”

  I open my mouth to speak again, but a paramedic pulls an oxygen mask over my head and it’s as much I can do to breathe.