Chapter 66
CHARLIE
“We can’t just let her walk out of here,” says Anita, as Freya disappears through the door into the kitchen.
Charlie’s too numb to go after her. “She won’t get far,” he says. “Not once we call the police.”
“Well, do it!” she urges. “We don’t know what she’ll do next.…”
A sudden crash stops Anita in her tracks, her hands instinctively going up to her head as a heavy object flies through the air, landing with a thud a couple of feet away from the barstools they’re still sitting on.
It takes a split second to work out what it is, but by then it’s already too late. The explosion knocks the stools out from underneath them, throwing the pair of them backward with such force that Charlie is lifted up over the counter and slammed into the back wall of the bar.
Bottles pop, exploding as if they’re being hit by a firing squad. Glass shatters all around him; hundreds of jagged shards rain down on him as he lies dazed on the floor. A warm wetness runs down his head and into his eyes, blurring his vision.
The roar of fire ripples into his consciousness, but it’s the caustic smell of petrol and gas that fills his nostrils and sends him into a frenzied panic. He hasn’t quite worked out where he is—all he knows is that he has to get out.
He groans as he pulls himself up, his palms being sliced into ribbons every time he puts his hands down.
His legs threaten to buckle as soon as he’s on his feet, but he pushes on, putting one foot in front of the other, even though he doesn’t know where it will lead, nothing about his surroundings being recognizable.
Flames jump up, pushing him back, whooshing and crackling as they leap up the walls and lick the windows.
Thick black smoke snakes off the upholstery, the fire jumping from one chair to another in a matter of seconds.
He cowers down, getting lower and lower to avoid the heat, trying to find a way through the debris.
He buries his face in the neck of his jumper, but still the acrid smoke curls its way up his nose and down the back of his throat. Crawling blindly along the floor, he zigzags through the path of least resistance, his senses slowly catching up with him.
He remembers being in the restaurant and seeing Freya walking away from him. He wants to call her back, but he knows it’s too late. It’s over. She’s gone.
But he’s not alone. Someone else was there with him. He forces himself to fit the pieces of the jigsaw back together.
He can hear her voice before he can picture her. We can’t just let her walk out of here. Charlie freezes, dumbstruck by the memories as it all comes flooding back. Pete. The passport. The pregnancy test. Anita.
“Anita!” he yells, falling over himself, his throat and eyes stinging as he battles to see and breathe. “Anita!”
The unnerving silence is even louder than the roar of the fire. He imagines her trapped under something, unconscious and drawing her last breath.
“Anita!” he calls out again, in sheer desperation that she’ll respond and guide him toward her.
The ceiling groans under the weight of the folding walls. The rumble of the building being felt underfoot. He has to find her and get out of here.
On hands and knees, he makes his way toward the kitchen, knowing it’s the only way out, praying to God that he’ll see Anita through the smoke.
Something’s blocking the doorway, his only escape route, and with an outstretched hand he reaches out, terrified of what he’s going to find. There’s a muffled moan as he makes contact. It’s barely audible, but it’s enough to tell him that Anita’s still alive—and he might just be able to save her.
With burning lungs and streaming eyes, he puts himself under her, lifting her up and over his shoulder. The heat at standing height is suffocating and he holds his breath as he makes the six or seven strides to the back door.
He grimaces as he finds the handle, the searing metal branding his palm. Gritting his teeth, he pulls at it, waiting for the rush of air that he’s so desperate for, but it doesn’t give. He tugs it again, willing it to open, but it holds fast.
The heat scorches his skin as he grapples, blindly searching for the keys he always leaves in the lock. A heart-stopping fear creeps into his veins when he realizes they’re not there.
He can feel the pressure building. He can hear the burning timbers creaking. He has to get them out of here. There’s a flash of light and a deafening force.
And then a deathly silence.