Chapter 7 - The Flame in the DarkZ
The sharp metallic click of Dean’s pistol charging a round echoed through the hollow expanse of the abandoned mill like a crack of thunder.
Time seemed to slow down into agonizing, distinct frames.
I saw Dean’s finger tightening on the trigger fifty feet above us. I saw Zane’s grip on my throat tighten as he prepared to drag me backward into the shadow. And I saw Jeremy—my thirteen-year-old son—standing in the blinding glare of the spotlight, his eyes reflecting the pale red glow of the flare gun held in his hands.
"Jeremy! DUCK!" I screamed with the last bit of air in my lungs.
Instead of dropping to the floor, Jeremy shifted his foot forward, adjusted his posture, and pulled the trigger.
WHOOSH-BANG!
A blinding sphere of brilliant, white-hot magnesium erupted from the barrel of the flare gun. The red trail of smoke rocketed through the air, missing Dean by inches, slamming directly into the dry, oil-soaked wooden rafters directly above the catwalk.
The explosion of light was deafening. Instantaneously, decades of accumulated dry wood dust and industrial grease caught fire. A wall of orange flame roared to life across the ceiling, sending a shower of burning sparks down onto Dean and the catwalk.
"AHHH!" Dean screamed, shielding his face as burning embers fell onto his coat and hair. He fired his pistol wildly into the dark—BANG! BANG!—the bullets striking the concrete floor near Jeremy, sending sharp chips of stone flying into the air.
Taking advantage of the sudden chaos, I drove my elbow backward with everything I had, landing a brutal blow straight into Zane’s fractured, swollen jaw.
Zane let out a muffled groan of agony, his grip slackening. I tore myself free from his hold, turned around, and kicked him hard in the groin. He collapsed to his knees in the mud, gasping for breath, the hunting knife slipping from his fingers.
"Jeremy! The stairs!" I yelled, grabbing my son’s jacket, dragging him toward the rusted iron spiral staircase that led to the upper catwalks.
The fire above was spreading with terrifying speed. The ancient cedar beams of the mill roared like a blast furnace, filling the upper atmosphere of the building with thick, black, toxic smoke.
"Janice!" Jeremy cried out as we sprinted up the trembling metal stairs.
On the catwalk above, Dean was coughing violently, beating out the flames on his sleeve. He looked over and saw us ascending the stairs. Panic flashed across his face. He pointed his gun at the ropes binding Janice to the chair, intent on using her as a human shield, but the smoke was growing too thick.
"Stay back!" Dean screamed, his voice strained as he stumbled toward the far ladder leading to the roof. "Stay back or I’ll blow her head off!"
He fired one more blind shot toward the staircase. The bullet tore through the sleeve of my denim jacket, grazing the skin of my upper arm. I stumbled, the searing pain firing through my nerves, but I kept pushing forward.
Jeremy reached the catwalk first. He didn't hesitate. He pulled out a small pocketknife—the one he had used for years to whittle small wooden birds in his bedroom—and began violently sawing through the yellow nylon ropes tying his sister to the chair.
"Janice! Janice, can you stand?" Jeremy pleaded, his hands covered in soot and blood.
Janice looked up at him through the haze of smoke. Her eyes were unfocused, her body weak from years of forced sedation, but as her hands came free, she reached up and grabbed Jeremy’s face with both hands.
"You... stopped... talking," she sobbed, her voice a fragile, raspy breath.
"I'm talking now," Jeremy said, pulling her up into his arms, supporting her weight. "I'm never stopping again."
"Claire!" Nora’s voice suddenly bellowed from the ground floor below.
I leaned over the burning railing and looked down. Nora had driven the Volvo directly through the wooden loading bay doors of the mill, smashing through the rotten timber, bringing the car to a halt right beneath the catwalk’s lower landing.
"Jump to the lower platform!" Nora screamed through the open driver's window, holding a heavy tire iron. "The whole roof is coming down!"
A massive wooden beam overhead gave way with a deafening groan of splintering wood, crashing down onto the catwalk just ten feet behind us, sending a wave of heat so intense it singed my eyebrows.
"Go! Go!" I yelled, shoving Jeremy and Janice toward the lower platform stairs.
We scrambled down the burning structure, the heat peeling the paint off the iron railings.
Just as we reached the bottom landing, a bloody hand reached out from the smoke and grabbed Janice’s ankle.
It was Zane.
He had crawled up the lower stairs, his face a terrifying mask of blood, soot, and madness.
"You're not taking her..." Zane growled, his teeth stained red as he yanked Janice down onto the iron steps. "She’s mine... she’s my daughter..."
"Let her go, Zane!" I screamed, lunging forward, hammering my fists into his back and shoulders.
Zane ignored me, pulling Janice closer to him, his eyes completely insane. "I protected you, Janice! I kept you alive! Tell your mother! Tell her I kept you alive!"
Janice looked at the man who was her father. She didn't scream. She didn't cry.
She reached down, grabbed a burning piece of wooden debris that had fallen onto the stair landing, and thrust the red-hot glowing tip directly into Zane’s open eye.
Zane released an inhuman, blood-curdling shriek of agony, letting go of her ankle, clutching his face as he fell backward off the stair landing, plummeting twenty feet down into the roaring inferno of the mill's basement pit.
His screams were instantly swallowed by the roar of the collapsing roof.
"Mom! MOVE!" Jeremy pulled my arm.
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We leaped off the final landing, landing heavily on the roof of Nora’s Volvo, before sliding down onto the hood and scrambling inside the open doors.
Nora slammed the car into reverse just as the entire central roof of the Rainier Timber Mill caved in, burying the building in a massive mushroom cloud of sparks, fire, and twisted metal.
