Chapter 2 #2
She smiled at the memory as a single tear snaked down the side of her face. She swiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Then, she did what she’d done for the past ten years—she put one foot in front of the next. Forward, she knew, was the only way to escape from the past.
Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, she took out her phone and turned on the flashlight.
A beam cut through the dust motes and created an illuminated circle on the floor.
She walked to the back of the barn and opened another door.
Inside, an old work bench was pushed up against a wall.
Its surface was covered with dust and cobwebs and a few grooming tools.
An old brush with rotten bristles. A broken hoof pick. A tail comb with missing teeth.
She swung the light to the back corner. Lined up like soldiers were two dozen helium tanks.
Leaning on the wall was a handcart. Lucy set her phone on the table, propping it up on the brush.
The glow reached to the rows of tanks. She moved the dolly from the wall and walked while pulling one of the tanks to the dolly’s lip.
She shoved the tank onto the platform, pushing it until it was flush with the handle.
She tilted the next tank in line onto its bottom rim and rocked it back and forth, moving it toward the dolly.
She lifted it onto the platform, tucking it next to the first.
She put another tank on the cart and then, one more. Sweat collect at the nape of her neck before trickling down her back. Lucy’s arms strained with the effort.
“How heavy can a cylinder of metal and a bunch of gas get?” she asked, using the hem of her shirt to wipe her brow.
The woman from the carnival had asked for four or five tanks. Right now, the cart was full. She supposed that this would have to do. All she needed was a ratchet strap or something else to tie down the helium.
Lucy went back to the table and picked up her phone. She shone the light into the hazy darkness. A cloud floated past. That was the minute she noticed an acrid scent. Lucy lifted her nose, sniffing the air.
Smoke?
Using her phone, she swung the flashlight’s beam in a wide arc. Tendrils of smoke floated under the door before rising into the air. She knew at once that something close was on fire. Was it the barn?
Her heart slammed into her chest, her hand trembled, and the light shook. No, she couldn’t panic. She inhaled deeply. The smoke burned her throat and her chest. She coughed, her eyes watering. But at least she knew what to do. Lucy had to get outside.
After shoving her phone into her back pocket, she crossed the floor.
The handle on the door was just an iron ring, bolted into the grain.
Grabbing hold of the metal, she pulled. The door didn’t budge.
She pressed her shoulder into the wooden planks and pushed.
That didn’t work, either. The boards were old and worn, and there were gaps where they didn’t quite meet.
She pressed her eye to the door and looked into the other room.
Flames danced along the ground, searching for more fuel.
In the light from the fire, she could see a canvas tarp bundled in the corner.
Once the fire reached the sheeting, there’d be no way she could put it out.
She grabbed hold of the handle, jerking the door hard.
It flexed but didn’t open. The damn thing was stuck.
She pulled on it again. And again. Lucy braced her feet on the boards and leaned back, using her body weight to pull it open.
The door didn’t shift. She pushed with her feet and pulled with her arms. The handle snapped, breaking in two. She fell back, landing hard.
The smoke was thicker. A cloud hung near the rafters, and Lucy’s eyes burned.
She stood and the ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She waited a moment for the dizziness to pass. Then, she backed up, pressing her spine into the table. Mustering all her strength, she ran at the door. She hit it with as much force as she could. The wood shuddered but the door didn’t open.
What the hell?
To her, it seemed like the door was locked. But that was impossible. She still held the rusted handle. Tossing it aside, she pulled her phone from her pocket. She had only a few numbers in her contact list and found the one she needed. She placed the call.
It rang three times before being answered by voicemail. “You’ve reached Rusty Harris of the Five Steers Ranch. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”
Lucy ground her teeth together. Her grandfather didn’t pay much attention to his phone at the best of times. But with all the commotion from the fair, she doubted that he even remembered he had a cell phone in his pocket.
“Grandpa,” she said, her tone frantic. “It’s me. I’m stuck in the barn with the helium tanks. There’s a fire.” She paused. Would it be enough? “Send help.”
She ended the call and wondered what to do next.
She could call Emergency Services. But they were all the way in Red Grove.
It would take almost twenty minutes to get to the ranch.
She looked at her contact list. There was Les at the feed store.
Karen, a friend from high school. A couple of restaurants she liked.
Her parents. Her uncles. Derek’s number was still listed in her contacts.
Sure, she could call someone out of the area. But what would they do, other than call Red Grove’s EMS?
She called her grandfather again.
Three rings.
“You’ve reached Rusty…”
Lucy hung up. She tried again.
Three rings.
She ended the call before the message started.
The metallic taste of panic coated her tongue.
She couldn’t give in to the dread. If she did, she’d be lost. She had to think.
To find a way out. Her eye was drawn to the table.
The brush. The broken comb. The hoof pick.
It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. The pointed end was broken, leaving only dull metal.
Lying on her stomach, she hacked at one of the boards of the outside wall.
Lucy closed her eyes to keep from catching a flying splinter.
The wood cracked. She stopped and looked at her work.
There were gouge marks and deep cuts. She set the pick aside.
Slipping her fingers between the dirt floor and the board, she pulled and pushed. The plank broke with a snap.
The gap wasn’t large, just a hands width from the ground. She wrapped her fingers around the wooden board, pulling and pushing, trying to work the plank loose. It didn’t budge. The barn, built decades before, had hardened with time.
Lucy turned her face to the opening and sucked in clean fresh air.
“Help!” she yelled. At the back of the barn and away from the fair, she didn’t think anyone would hear her, and still, she yelled again. “Help. Help. Help!”
She coughed as smoke was sucked through the opening. Someone would smell the smoke, right? Her grandfather would notice that he had a message on his phone. The woman from Bryant Bros. would realize that Lucy hadn’t come back with the helium tanks and get worried.
Even as each scenario flashed through her mind, Lucy knew that she was truly trapped. Heat from the fire warmed her back. She glanced over her shoulder. There, in the back corner, flames licked the ceiling and crept from the outer room. A few sparks floated around the helium tanks.
Her blood turned cold. If the helium caught on fire, there’d be nothing left of her to save.
She scrambled to her feet. Grabbing the dolly, she moved the handcart filled with tanks to the opposite corner.
She tossed them off, one by one, and went back to the stack.
Lucy’s lungs burned as she moved four more tanks onto the handcart.
She walked them to the far corner, dumping them with the rest. Her throat burned and her eyes watered.
Heat from the flames pushed down from above and an eerie orange light filled the room.
She came back for another four tanks. Her arms were heavy. Her chest hurt. Her pulse pounded. She forced her legs to move as she crossed the floor. She reached for one tank. Tipping it off the cart, she threw it with the rest. The weight pulled her down. Lucy landed in a heap on the floor.
Smoke was in her eyes. Her nose. Her mouth. Her throat. She coughed; it did no good. She saw the gap in the wall. She needed fresh air. On hands and knees, she crawled toward the opening. But the smoke thickened, turning everything black. Then, the darkness came for Lucy as well.