Miguel saw Josie, Tanya, and Michael stagger in his direction and tried the back door. Locked. He kicked the door at full pelt, cracking the wood, and tearing the frame away from the wall. He kicked again. The flames grew higher as the door burst open. It was becoming impossible to see, and just as they passed to the back of the house, the air grew cooler and cleaner. An old kitchen led to the back door. Almost bare except for some old pots crammed haphazardly onto a wooden shelf. Miguel wrestled with the bars on the exterior door. This door was also locked, and twice as sturdy as the other. He shook the door in desperation, “Come on,” he shouted as if trying to reason with the inanimate object.
Josie started pulling wooden drawers out, spilling the contents all over the floor, looking for something to unlock it. “Yes. Miguel. Miguel.” She waved a key in the air triumphantly, and he took it from her.
There was a noise. A scream maybe, drowned by the roaring flames. He should probably assume it was Antonio burning alive, but something told him that wasn’t the case. Something inside him told him he had to go back. Something called him, and for some reason, he listened. He slipped back into the veil of smoke before anyone could notice and his feet just walked, almost independently of himself, like they knew where he needed to be. Whatever was waiting for him was upstairs.
He burst through the wall of flames as quickly as possible and made his way up the stairs, coughing profusely, wondering if smoke inhalation would finish him off. Now he reached the landing, he could hear Josie cry out his name. “Don’t follow me!” He shouted into the crackling roar, hoping she had heard him and didn’t do anything stupid. Nothing looked real in the gray filter of smoke that started flooding the stairway. It could have been the lack of oxygen, but he felt high, like nothing could hurt him now. He was invincible. The noise was clearer from upstairs, a banging coming from the end of the hall. A door with a key still in the keyhole. Smoke from downstairs clung around the door like a fog. He wasn’t sure how he went from feeling like a warrior, to being on his knees in front of the door. He’d somehow missed a step. His mind was cutting bits out. On fast-forward, he opened the lock from his position of the floor and waited for whatever was on the other-side.
Clutching her knees in a tight ball, was a girl. She looked tiny in the large empty room. Her vulnerability made him feel things he didn’t like, a memory maybe, but he wasn’t willing to search his mind for an answer. She backed away, scooting across the floor. “It’s okay. I’m a friend.” He wasn’t really sure how to talk to young children. It was like trying to communicate with an alien being that didn’t speak his language. She looked so scared of him, and he had no idea how to let her know he was not a threat. Her wide eyes seemed transfixed to one spot —his chest. He looked down, following her eye line and realized how he must have looked. The blood. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he repeated, holding out a hand. He didn’t know if he had the strength to lift her, and whether she would want to be carried. The heat was building. He could feel it rising up from the floor, through the soles of his shoes, as if the rubber could melt any second. “Please.” He tried to reason with her but she stayed put. Without speaking, he grabbed her hand, leading her towards the door and guiding her down the hall. The fire had crept up the stairs, and flames curled around the top of the landing from down below, like waves crashing over a sea-wall. He moved quickly, keeping close to the wall until they made it to the room at the other end.
Once inside he slammed the door shut behind them with his foot. The door handle was far too hot to touch now. He let go of the girl’s hand so he could cough. It came from deep within him, almost making him vomit.
He stumbled towards the window and pulled up the shutter, sticking his head out and sucking in the cool air.
“Michael!” Josie shouted from below him. They stood by the trees, far enough away to be clear of the smoke that streamed from the door below. A look of relief washed over her and she waved her arms at him, even though she had already got his attention. He turned back and scanned the room while the little girl crouched below the window, hugging her knees again. The room was sparse: a few shelves, some abandoned old books, and a bed in the middle.
“I’m going to need your help,” he said, looking at the girl, but realizing she didn’t speak English. He could have at least learned the word help in Spanish. There wasn’t time to stand around berating himself, and he pulled on one corner of the mattress. He tried to pick it up, but the pain crippled him and he got onto his hands and knees, breathing through the pain, waiting for it to subside. Body language was universal. The girl held one end of the mattress and looked at him. Luckily it was a thin mattress or he couldn’t imagine she would have the body strength to carry it, and he certainly wouldn’t have.
Between them they just about managed to slide the mattress out of the window, and he snatched in a breath after letting the mattress fall and waited for the pain
