Coping by J Bennett

Author:J Bennett [Bennett, J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: J Bennett
Published: 2014-01-07T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

I’ve never been in a fire before. I’m worried about the flames, but as soon as I’m inside the house, I realize that the true enemy is the smoke. It is black and acid, burning my eyes so bad that I have to press them into slits.

I get down on my hands and knees like Tarren told me, and this is a little better. My hands probe the floor in front of me. Carpet fibers give way to a solid object. I feel fabric, buttons and the give of flesh beneath. My hands go up further, playing along a ridge of collar bones and then a chin and wet lips. I snatch my hand back and hold it close to my face so I can watch a scarlet thread of blood slide down my palm.

One of the angels.

My vision goes all blurry, and I fight not to let out the breath I’m holding. At this point, it comes to my attention that I am way too cowardly to be even attempting something like this.

I want to cry.

I want to crawl backwards until I find the doorframe. Tarren and Gabe won’t know that I chickened out. I’ll tell them that the ceiling was coming down.

Except that I feel the dim flicker of energy through the flames. The boy is just one room over, and he’s still alive. What if it were Ryan? What if I actually could have saved him instead of watching helplessly as Grand drained the life out of him?

I’m moving without being aware of it. One arm at a time. Gritting my teeth every time I run into a stationary piece of furniture. My lungs are starting to stitch with pain, but I push on. The smoke is turning my eyes into gushers, so I squeeze them shut and push back everything else—the sounds, the fears, my hollering lungs—until it’s just that faint beacon of energy, drawing me closer and closer.

I turn a corner, and the feel of the floor changes beneath my knees from wood to linoleum. His energy is close, but I get tangled in chairs. The boy is under a table. I thrash, throwing the chairs behind me. Brilliant as I am, one falls over on top of me, smacking me in the back of the head.

I cry out, expelling the precious air from my lungs. I try to gasp in new air, but I get acid smoke instead. Every cough only pulls more hot poison into my lungs. Dizziness. I reach forward and feel the soft contours of a body. I grasp a handful of fabric and pull it toward me.

The strength of the boy’s aura is dimming rapidly, and his body is limp against mine as I stand up on shaky feet. I get him on my shoulder, take a staggering step back the way I came…and immediately trip over a chair. We both go down hard, and I can feel my consciousness beginning to drift away.

Smoke. Smoke. Smoke.

My lungs ache for air, and all I can give them is soot.

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