Time seemed to shatter and fragment. Above the steady ringing in his ears, he could vaguely hear the sound of someone crying and screaming… begging… a woman’s voice… and a man’s…
Twilight descended and pain broke over him like a wave.
The sound of whimpering dimly penetrated his stupor; when he recognized his name, he was finally able to somehow open one eye. The world appeared hazy, nothing but a fog-filled dream, but when he thought he saw Maria tied to a chair, it was enough to allow him to finally comprehend what had happened and where he was.
No, not Maria. Serena.
But he still couldn’t move. Still unable to fully focus, he could distantly make out Dr. Manning as he moved along the far wall. He was holding something red and square in his hands. Colin heard Serena’s continued cries and his nostrils were suddenly flooded with the odor of gasoline. It took a moment to put everything together. Dully, he watched Manning toss the gas can aside. Colin saw a flicker of light, a match, and watched it arc toward the ground. He heard the whoop of ignition, like lighter fluid on charcoal. He saw flames begin leaping at the walls, the old planks as dry as tinder. Heat began to rise. Smoke thickened.
He tried to move his hands, tried to move his legs, but felt only numb paralysis. His mouth tasted metallic and coppery, and he saw a blur of movement as Manning ran past him, toward the door that Colin had kicked in.
The flames were reaching toward the ceiling, Serena’s cries telegraphing pure terror. He heard her cough once, and then again. Colin willed himself to move and wondered why his body wasn’t working. Finally, his left arm began to inch forward. Then his right. He slid both arms under him and tried to rise, but his broken hand bones shifted. Colin screamed and his chest hit the floor, pain twisting his anger into rage, fueling his need for violence and revenge.
He got to all fours and slowly managed to stand. He felt dizzy, his balance still off. He took a step and stumbled, his eyes stinging in the acrid smoke, tearing up. Serena’s cries had turned to uncontrollable coughing; Colin felt as though he couldn’t breathe at all. The flames had spread to the other walls, surrounding them. The heat was intense, the smoke becoming black, searing his lungs. Colin stumbled the couple of steps it took to reach Serena and eyed the ragged macramé jungle of rope binding her to the chair. He knew that with one hand, there was no way to untie the rope in time, and he scanned his surroundings, hoping to see a knife. An ax. Anything sharp…
Colin heard a loud crack, followed by a roar as the roof of the icehouse suddenly sagged, sending sparks in all directions. A rafter beam crashed within a few feet of them, then another fell even closer. Along three walls, flames seemed to multiply, the heat so intense that Colin felt as if his clothing had ignited. Beginning to panic, he grabbed the chair with Serena still in it and heaved, feeling a burst of pain in his broken hand. His mind flashed white, and it fueled the rage inside him. He could handle pain; he knew how to harness it, and tried to draw on it, but his hand would no longer grip.
Unable to carry Serena, he had no other option. There were five, maybe six strides to the door, and grabbing the back of her chair with his good hand, he spun it around and began dragging it toward the doorway. He needed to get there before the flames did. He tugged and dragged, every jerk sending pain through his hand and his head.
He burst through the open doorway. Smoke and heat followed them out, and he knew he needed to get Serena a safe distance away from the smoke. He couldn’t drag her through the field or the mud, and spotting gravel to the right, he went that direction, toward the other building. Behind them, the icehouse was nearly engulfed in flames; the sound rose in volume, magnifying the continued ringing in his ears. He kept moving, resting only when the heat from the fire began to diminish.
Serena hadn’t stopped coughing, and in the darkness, her skin looked almost blue. He knew she needed an ambulance. She needed oxygen, and he still had to get her out of the chair. He saw nothing he could use to cut the rope, and he wondered if there might be something in the other building. Just as he started toward it, he saw a figure step out from the corner and move into firing position. The barrel of a gun reflected the fire…
The shotgun Margolis had mentioned, the one Manning had said might not even work…
Colin knocked Serena and the chair over and dove to block her in the same instant he heard the explosion. The shotgun had been fired from forty yards, pushing the maximum range, and Manning’s aim had been high. The second shot was slightly more accurate. Colin felt the pellets tear through his shoulder and upper back, blood spilling. He went dizzy again, fighting to remain conscious as he blearily watched Manning start running for his car.
There was no way Colin could catch him. Manning’s figure receded and there was nothing Colin could do. He wondered why it was taking so long for the police to arrive and hoped they’d catch him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a roar as fire suddenly mushroomed through the roof of the icehouse, alive and screaming, the sound almost deafening. Part of the wall exploded, sending burning pieces of wood and sparks in their direction. He could barely hear Serena crying through her coughs, and he realized they were still in danger, too close to the fire. There was no way Colin could drag her farther, but he could get help, and he forced himself to rise. He needed to get to a place where someone would see him. He staggered forward a few dozen steps, losing blood, his left arm and hand now useless, his nerve endings radiating agony.
By then, Manning had reached his car and Colin saw the headlights flash on. The Camry tore away from the curb, heading directly toward him.