Chapter 13
The first blast was so loud I hit my knee on the coffee table. The red light on the wall unit flashed.
I stared at it.
"No."
The alarm continued.
My first instinct was disbelief.
Of course.
Of course the building would have a fire alarm now.
I went to the door.
Didn't open it.
Pressed my ear against the wood.
The alarm screamed in the hallway too.
Doors opened.
Voices.
Marcy shouted something.
I smelled nothing.
False alarm. Someone pulled the fire alarm. Electrical issue. Anything ordinary.
Stay inside.
That was what every rational thought told me.
Then I heard people running.
A man yelled from farther down the hall.
"There's smoke!"
I went to the window.
No flames visible outside.
No smoke.
Alarm continued.
I looked toward the kitchen.
Backpack. Shoes. Phone. Keys. Hammer.
I had prepared for this exact moment without knowing what it would be.
Still I didn't move.
The apartment is safe.
Then I smelled it.
Faint.
Burning plastic.
I took two steps toward the door and stopped. The hallway contained people who attacked other people, but my apartment door offered very little protection from fire.
The smell grew stronger.
That settled it.
I called my father.
He answered immediately.
"Fire alarm."
"Real fire?"
"I smell smoke."
"Then leave."
No hesitation.
"Going now."
"Call when you're in the car."
"Yep."
"Gabe."
"What?"
Nothing for half a second.
"Move."
I hung up.
Backpack on.
Phone in front pocket.
Keys right pocket.
Hammer in right hand.
I slid the table away from the entrance.
The chair scraped loudly across the floor.
Chain.
Deadbolt.
My hand paused on the knob.
Everything I'd learned over the last four hours told me not to open the door. The alarm screamed louder.
I opened it.
Smoke had begun collecting near the ceiling.
Not thick yet.
Gray haze.
Marcy stood in the hallway with Tanner and Dombrowski.
All three carried bags.
Mrs. Patel was farther down, wearing a winter coat over pajamas.
"West stairs," I said.
Marcy nodded quickly.
"Is it clear?"
"I don't know."
"Great."
Dombrowski looked toward the east stairwell.
"Not that way."
"Why?"
"I heard them."
That was enough.
We moved west.
Six of us: Marcy, Tanner, Dombrowski, Mrs. Patel, a younger guy from 301 whose name I didn't know, and me.
The hallway looked different beneath the pulsing red alarm lights.
Someone had left an apartment door open.
Inside, a television played to an empty living room. A mug sat on a table. Those details bothered me. People had been living normal lives in these rooms a few hours earlier. So had I.
We reached the west stairwell.
I put my hand on the metal door.
"Wait."
Everyone stopped.
I listened.
Impossible over the alarm.
I opened it two inches.
Smoke.
More below us.
No movement visible.
"We stay in the stairwell," I said. "Don't open the second-floor door."
Nobody argued.
I stepped through.
The others followed.
The door closed behind us.
The alarm became slightly muffled.
We descended.
Down half a flight, turn, then the second-floor landing.
The door to the second-floor hallway stood open.
I stopped.
"Who opened that?" Marcy whispered.
Nobody answered.
Smoke drifted through the doorway.
The hallway beyond was dim.
One ceiling light flickered.
The carpet near the far wall was stained dark.
I saw a shoe.
Only a shoe.
No foot.
My hand tightened around the hammer.
"We don't go out there."
We started toward the next flight.
Something stepped into the doorway.