by Neil White
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.
He felt them give way, but still the hole wasn’t big enough, and so he kicked again, knowing that time was running out. Then he felt the clean fresh air on his ankle and heard the rattle of a roof tile as it slid down the roof towards the gutter.
The smoke rushed for the new exit. He moved to one side, his head down, spluttering through the cloth, becoming dizzy. Then he punched out some more tiles, the sound of them clattering towards the guttering like loud cracks. Once the space was big enough to get his shoulders through, he ripped off the cloth and took a lungful of night air, let his vision clear, the opaque light of the smoke-filled loft space replaced by the twinkle of the stars, beautiful and bright. Then he felt hands tugging at his leg.
He dropped back down into the loft and shuffled along the roof beams, making the way clear for Donia. Arni was still banging on the loft hatch, jumping up and trying to dislodge it. He grabbed Donia by her jumper and pulled her towards the hole. The chain around her wrist dragged along the beam.
‘Be careful getting down,’ Charlie whispered. ‘Don’t stop. Get to the corner and find a drainpipe. Jump if you have to, but just get off the roof.’
She nodded and paused for a moment, but then there was another bang at the ceiling hatch, and this time it flew to one side, bringing light and then smoke back into the roof space. And Arni.
‘Go,’ he said, and shoved Donia towards the hole in the roof. As she wriggled through, he grabbed the other woman. ‘This is for my conscience only. Don’t let me
down.’
‘I’m Gemma,’ she said.
‘I don’t care,’ he said, and once Donia’s feet were through and she was skidding down the roof, Gemma followed. She was agile, and soon he heard them talking on the corner, shouting for the best way down.
Charlie looked around, and he saw Arni climbing into the space, his head appearing slowly, hauling himself up, except that he had the muscles to climb up unaided.
Charlie got his shoulders through the roof again and used his hands against the tiles to clamber up, waiting for one of the rows to give way and make him falter. Arni was screeching with effort behind him. With a grunt of effort, Charlie found himself on the roof, the tiles cold against his back, taking deep breaths as the stars swirled and swam above him.
The sound of Arni’s footsteps on the roof beams in the loft space made him move. Arni was moving quicker than Charlie had, because Arni had the light from the moon to give him a target, half the work done for him already. Charlie looked towards the corner of the roof and saw Donia easing herself over the edge, her hands on the gutter, the young woman holding on to Donia’s jumper, still on the roof. They were not going to get down before Arni made it up there.
Charlie gestured towards them to keep going and then he scrambled to the ridge, sliding slowly to the other side.
He peered over the top, finding a groove between two ridge tiles. Donia was out of sight now, just Gemma following. He could hear noises coming from the roof space. Coughs and grunts of pain.
Charlie put his head to the tiles and tried to suck in some more air. His lungs felt dirty. He could taste the smoke and could feel the fire on the redness of his skin. He turned over for a moment and let the fresh air cool his brow. The stars still seemed to be moving, but they were glowing at him too, small pulses of light. He could hear the crackle of the fire. There were no more screams though. He glanced down and saw the orange glow as the flames burst through the windows. Someone must see it soon. The view ahead was all darkness, no other buildings visible, so the cottage would stand out like a beacon.
There was a crash from inside, and he wondered about the walls. He couldn’t stay up there all night. The house would collapse in on itself soon.
He turned back around and looked down the roof. Gemma was still clambering over the edge. Then Arni’s head appeared, and her fear turned to terror. She wanted to rush but Donia was below her, edging down the wall on the drainpipe.
Arni started to scramble out of the hole in the roof, snarling, knocking more tiles off so that they slid down towards the gutter, rattles in the night. Some flew right off, and the smash on the floor below seemed to take a long time.
Charlie got to his knees and then stayed poised, cat-like, his fingers splayed on the ridge tiles, just waiting for Arni to appear fully onto the roof.
Gemma disappeared over the edge as Arni scrambled onto the roof, up on his haunches, not fazed by the height.
Charlie shouted, to give himself courage, to create a distraction. Arni turned towards him. Charlie leaped over the ridge tiles and ran down the other side, not thinking about himself, focused only on one thing; hitting Arni.
Charlie jumped over the hole in the roof, his feet high and forward. Arni had no time to react as he was hit square in the chest by Charlie’s feet, his breath rushing out as Charlie’s momentum carried him forward. Arni’s feet slid on the roof tiles, and then he was falling backwards, his arms flailing. He hit the tiles hard when he fell. Some of them cracked and joined him in his fall, momentum making him slide towards the edge.
Charlie couldn’t stop his own slide. The stars rushed past him now, his head filled with the crack and rattle of the tiles, his feet pushing against Arni. The field ahead accelerated towards him, and Charlie’s arms were out, palms pressed against the roof, but it didn’t seem to slow him. Arni looked shocked, and as he went, Charlie saw something else in his eyes; fear. He didn’t know when the roof was going to end.
Arni’s mouth opened to scream as the noise of the tiles under him stopped, and there was a second of silence as he seemed to hang there, realisation in his eyes that he was falling to the ground. As he disappeared out of sight, the only sound was that of Charlie’s fight to stop his own slide, until there was the sound of the melon smash, the crack of Arni’s skull on the ground.
Charlie slapped at the tiles, but he was still going, had hit Arni with too much force. He could see where the black sheen of the roof stopped, more of the silvery-green of the grass coming at him, the standing stones coming into view. There was silence as Charlie’s feet stopped kicking out at the tiles and flailed in the air, just the sheer drop beneath him.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Charlie’s hands found the guttering as he slid down the roof, his feet swinging in the air.
‘Dad!’
It was Donia, from below. The word seemed alien, but he didn’t have time to take it in. He glanced down. All he could see were his legs bathed in a flickering orange light as his body swung in front of one of the upstairs windows. The fire must have taken hold upstairs.
He grimaced as the aches in his arms got worse. It was too far to drop but he couldn’t fight the urge to let go, because he wasn’t strong enough to hold on. He looked across to the drainpipe. Donia wasn’t there anymore. She must be on the ground, looking up at him. Gemma was scrambling down. He had to make it across to the drainpipe.
His arms felt like they were being pulled out of his shoulders. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer, but he tried to shuffle along the gutter.
Then there was the crack of glass, and a shatter, and unbearable heat ripped across his legs. The window had broken, flames roaring out in a rush. His fingers let go of the gutter, from instinct, to get away from the heat. He was falling swiftly, to the sound of a scream from Donia.
His feet hit the ground, hard, and then his body kept on travelling, so that his knees twisted and his shoulder slammed against the grass. Shards of pain shot up his leg and then the night fell still.
Charlie was breathing heavily, agony making him splutter and grit his teeth. He looked around for Donia, and saw Arni, his eyes closed, his body splayed unnaturally. He heard the pound of footsteps running towards him, vibrations in the grass getting louder, and he tried to turn over, but his leg complained, making him shout out. He looked at it. At least his foot was pointing in the right direction. He flopped back onto the grass.
Donia went to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing his neck. There were tears running down her cheeks. ‘Oh God, you’re all right. Thank you, thank you.’
He let out a small laugh and then winced.
‘Are you okay?’ she said.
‘It’s my leg.’ It was too painful to say much.
‘We need to get away,’ Donia said. ‘That house isn’t going to last much longer.’
Charlie looked over Donia’s shoulder. There were flames coming from every window, smoke billowing out of the hole in the roof, so that the grass was lit up as if it was daylight, the heat too strong.
He gritted his teeth and started to haul himself up, using Donia for support, until he was standing, one leg in the air, trying not to put any weight on it.
It felt like someone was twisting a knife blade into his knee as he started to move, but he had no choice but to keep going.
‘I don’t think it’s broken,’ Charlie said, as he let go of Donia and tried to make his way on his own. He winced and gasped as he hobbled. ‘The police will be here soon. We need to sit down and wait.’
There was a noise behind him, like a low laugh. He turned and saw the familiar twists of dark hair as Henry emerged from the shadows of the woods.
‘Henry!’ Gemma shouted. She had been spluttering and coughing on the grass, keeping away from Charlie.
Henry grinned. ‘I’m glad one of us could make it out. But you know that I’m not going to allow witnesses. I died in that fire, that will be the message.’
Charlie stood straight, ready to get through
the pain.
‘It’s over, Henry.’
Henry shook his head. ‘It is for you,’ he said, and then said, ‘Gemma, grab her,’ pointing to Donia.
Gemma hesitated and looked at Charlie, and then at Donia.
‘Gemma, now,’ Henry said, anger in his voice.
Charlie looked at Gemma. Tears were in her eyes. She was looking at Donia and shaking her head.
‘I can’t do it anymore,’ Gemma said, her voice breaking. ‘You left us in there to die, just so that you could get away. You said we had to be loyal, but that isn’t true. You lied. You locked the door and shut us in. You saved yourself. Why, Henry, why?’
Henry ground his teeth for a few seconds as he looked at Gemma, and then said, ‘Because I could. Now, I told you to get her.’
‘That isn’t good enough,’ Gemma wailed. ‘We believed in you. You lied.’
Henry stared at her, his jaw clenching, visible under the beard, his hands bunching into fists.
‘So that was it?’ Charlie said. ‘You did it all just to show that you could? You sick, crazy bastard.’
Henry shrugged his shoulders, mocking Charlie, walking round him so that Charlie had to turn on his injured leg to keep him in view. ‘A few years ago, crazy meant something,’ Henry said. ‘Now, everyone’s crazy. Take the girl behind you.’ He pointed at Gemma. ‘She liked it too. So is she crazy, because I didn’t make her like that?’
Henry began to walk towards Gemma but she backed off. Charlie turned so that he could keep track, but his knee sent messages of pain shooting upwards again.
‘Don’t you feel any remorse?’ Charlie said. ‘For Alice Kenyon? For Amelia? For the people in that house, or that poor woman on the stone?’ Charlie flicked a hand towards them.
‘Remorse? For what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn’t that give me equal right?’
