by Ryan Casey
He looked down the street and took a deep breath of the smoky air.
“Come on, lad,” he said. “Through here.”
He opened the door. Ran through the lounge. Couldn’t be sentimental. Couldn’t get bogged down in past attachments now.
Just had to get upstairs and get out of this place.
But as he went to climb the stairs, he noticed something.
It was on his living room table. Right in the middle of it.
The paper wrapping.
The gift Aoife had got him. The birthday gift.
The one he hadn’t opened yet.
He rushed over to it, knowing he had no time to waste.
Grabbed it. Stuffed it in his pocket.
And then he ran up the stairs and to the window.
He could see to the gift later.
When he got out of this place, he could see to it.
He climbed the stairs.
Reached the back window in the bathroom.
Looked outside.
A sloped roof beneath him, which he could slide down.
Then just a jump out over the fence.
He could do this.
He could make it.
He could—
Another bang, close by.
So close that it knocked him back a bit.
He looked out.
Saw it was to the right.
Right by the fence he wanted to escape via.
Shit.
He had to do this, and he had to do this now. There was no more time to waste.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He climbed through the window. Urged Rex to come with him, as resistant and reluctant as he seemed.
Sat on the sloped roof, watching as the flames spread across this stretch of the fence.
“Not much time left,” Max said. “Got to get out of here. Now.”
And then he slipped down the roof.
Fell to the concrete back yard with a smack.
But there was a problem.
Rex wasn’t here with him.
He looked back and saw Rex still there, perched on the sloped roof.
“Come on,” he said. “Now ain’t the time to mess around, lad.”
But Rex didn’t seem to be budging.
“Rex!” Max shouted. “Get the hell here, right now.”
Rex cowered back.
Max looked around.
The fence was burning.
The flames were picking up, getting closer.
“Don’t do this to me,” Max said. “Don’t…”
And then it all happened so fast.
Rex jumped.
Jumped so far he slammed into Max, knocked him back to the ground.
Max fell back.
Felt something tumble out of his pocket.
That’s when he saw it.
The piece of paper covering Aoife’s gift.
Inside, a little metal model of an old motorbike, just like the one Max had ridden when the pair of them first met. The one he’d shot off on, then returned on to save her.
And beside it, a little pouch of Quaker Oats.
A note on the side of it.
“I know you’re precious about your porridge.”
He smiled.
And then he noticed something else, right on the bottom of the note.
Three words.
“I love you.”
He saw those words, and time felt like it stopped. All of the chaos and destruction around felt like it faded into the background.
Because of those words.
Words he wanted to repeat to Aoife.
Words he wanted to say back to her.
Words he couldn’t fight anymore.
He grabbed the motorbike. Grabbed the porridge pouch. Grabbed the note.
And then he pushed Rex from on top of him, and he faced the fence.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s now or never, boy. Now or never.”
He looked at the fence.
Looked at the flames burning all along it.
Looked at them getting closer, almost swallowing up the opening.
“It’s now or never,” he said.
He held his breath.
Looked at Rex.
And then he closed his eyes, and he ran.
He felt the burning heat.
Felt the stifling pain, getting hotter and hotter.
Felt the smoke filling his lungs.
And then...
Chapter Twelve
Aoife waited outside the gates of the estate and wondered where the fuck Max was and prayed to whatever god was up there that he was okay.
She’d heard another explosion right after she’d fled down the alleyway. She’d gone back. Tried to find her way through. She wanted to get to Max. Wanted to make sure he was okay. He was a fucking idiot for going back in there.
And she knew it was with good reason. She loved Rex more than anybody. And she dreaded to think of anything happening to him.
But then she knew at the same time that she had to survive. And Max had to survive. And it looked like there just wasn’t enough time to save anybody.
She’d tortured herself for too many years for letting people down, for leaving them behind. For not doing more.
She was beyond that, now.
And still, the guilt hurt her.
She stood on the outside of the estate. The whole place was in ruin. Flames everywhere. Fire creeping up the walls of the community. Even the surrounding trees were on fire.
And the scariest thing?
There was no sign of the people who had done this.
No sign of why this had happened.
And the explosions. They got to Aoife. Because they seemed… controlled. They seemed organised.
They seemed planned.
Someone inside the community had to have been involved in this.
She stood there and stared and waited for Max to emerge—waited for anybody to emerge—but there wasn’t a sign of life.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there. She wished she could actually do more.
But what the fuck could she do?
Her home was gone. Burning before her eyes.
The vast majority of her people were dead. Just like that, in an instant, dead.
She stood and stared at that alleyway and waited for Max to resurface.
Waited for him to appear.
She thought about the presents she’d got him. In a way, she was glad he hadn’t found them now. Glad he hadn’t found the note. She felt stupid about it. The “I love you”? Cringe.
He’d probably seen it anyway and felt too embarrassed about it to bring it up. Well, now at least he wouldn’t see it. One twisted positive to come out of this.
She looked over at that blocked alleyway, waiting for a sign of life, losing hope, when she noticed something.
A few dogs. Running out of the community, out towards the woods.
That little Westie.
The one Max saved and brought back here, trotting off into the unknown.
That dog was in the kennels.
Just like Rex.
If these dogs had got out, then—
Another blast. Right over by the kennels.
Shit.
She didn’t care anymore.
She had to go back there.
Max was in danger.
She ran. Ran over to the walls. But they were just too hot. She couldn’t see any way in. Couldn’t see any way through the flames. She was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.
And so too was Max.
She worked her way along the wall. Just trying to find a way in. Trying to find a way through. Desperately, desperately searching.
But there was no way in.
There was no sign.
She backed away from the wall. Stared up at it. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Didn’t know where she was going to go.
Only that she couldn’t leave here.
Not without kno
wing.
She backed off. Felt sick. Really fucking sick. The heat. The smoke. And everything that was happening. All catching up with her. All sending her mind spiralling. Racing.
“Please, Max,” she said. “Please—”
“Aoife!”
Aoife turned around.
And when she turned, she saw him, and all the weight in her body lifted from her shoulders.
Max was there. Running towards her.
Rex by his side.
And he had something in his hand, too.
A smile on his face and something in his hand.
The motorbike.
The porridge oats.
And the note.
He looked at her with a smile on his face. He was covered in blood and black soot.
But he was here.
He was here, and he was alive.
“Max,” she said. “Max…”
She went to run towards him, and she pictured the embrace already.
She pictured his big, warm arms around him.
She felt herself crying. Crying with happiness.
And she didn’t even care how weak or how pathetic it made her look anymore.
Because he was alive.
Max was alive, and that was all she cared about.
She went to run towards him when she saw something.
Max’s face, turning.
His eyes widening.
His smile dropping.
“Aoife—”
And then, out of nowhere, a gunshot.
A gunshot blasting through the air.
Max falling to the ground.
“Max!” Aoife shouted.
She went to run forward, but someone was on her.
Someone was holding her back.
She tried to break free. Tried to kick her way out.
“Max! Max!”
But Max was on the ground.
Lying there.
Clutching his chest.
Bleeding, badly.
He tried to drag himself towards her, but the blood was flowing out of him.
Rex was by his side. Barking.
And then running.
Running away.
And then as Aoife tried to kick herself free, tried to break her way out… she saw someone appear.
It was a woman.
She was very skinny. Lots of scars, all the way up her arms.
She was wearing a black face covering.
Only her eyes on show.
Bright green eyes.
She walked over to Max. Rifle in hand.
Stood over him as he tried to break free.
As he tried to drag himself forward.
“No!” Aoife screamed. “No!”
The woman stood over Max. Rifle pointed down at him.
And then she lowered the rifle.
Reached to her waist for a canister, poured the contents all over Max.
Then reached into her pocket and pulled out a lighter.
“No!” Aoife screamed. “Max! No!”
“Listen to his screams,” the woman said. “Listen to his screams and remember. Remember.”
She flicked the lighter.
Dropped it onto Max.
Silence.
A moment’s pause.
A moment where time stood still.
And then his body burst into flames.
She heard his scream. Just for one second, she heard him scream, and saw him shaking, struggling.
She saw him look up at her.
His face disintegrating under the flames.
She saw him move his lips.
“I love you too. I love…”
And then she saw him go still as he disappeared under the mound of the flames.
“No!” she screamed. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know what was happening anymore.
She just wanted to get to Max.
“No!” she cried. Screamed. Falling to her knees, someone behind holding her close.
The woman walked over to her.
Looked down at her.
“We’ll meet again,” she said. Staring down at her with those green eyes. “When this has tortured you enough. I’m not ready for you to die yet. Not after everything you’ve done. Not yet.”
But all Aoife could do was watch the flames rising from Max’s prone body.
All she could do was watch the porridge oats and the note go up in flames.
All she could do was watch as Rex barked, ears back, and the rest of her community in flames behind her.
All she could do was watch.
And then she felt a heavy punch to her face, and darkness.
Chapter Thirteen
One moment, darkness.
The next moment, light.
Aoife was lying down somewhere. She couldn’t tell where. Her head ached like a bitch. Her breathing felt difficult, laboured, like she had a nasty cold hanging over her. She’d had pneumonia as a kid, and this felt something like that. Wheezing. No matter how deep she tried to breathe, she could just never get enough air. Her chest felt tight, and her body felt shaky.
And yet, there was something hanging over her.
Like there was something she was ignoring.
Something she was failing to remember.
Something she didn’t want to remember. Because it felt like remembering would be painful.
She opened her eyes just a little. It wasn’t light like she’d been expecting. It was dark. The clouds were thick. Looked like a real fog was hanging over wherever she was.
She was outside. On the cold, freezing ground. Shaking.
Above, she could feel something falling. Cold, icy rain.
What was she doing out here on the ground?
Why wasn’t she inside?
Had she passed out?
And her head. Her fucking head ached like mad.
Had she been attacked?
She looked around, saw the burned-out remains of the estate, and it suddenly hit her, all at once.
The attack.
The explosions.
And then…
She shook her head.
Closed her eyes.
The pain in her stomach so sharp that it felt like she was being stabbed.
She tried her best to push the memory away. Prayed she’d dreamt it. Prayed that it was some kind of nightmare.
But she couldn’t hold the memories back.
And she couldn’t deny just how real they’d felt.
How real they were.
Max.
Max, emerging from the burning estate, Rex by his side.
Then someone appearing out of nowhere.
Holding her back.
Someone shooting Max to the ground.
Max crawling towards her. Spluttering as that woman in the balaclava got closer.
As she poured petrol over him.
Aoife powerless to do anything to help.
Completely powerless.
She saw the way that woman lit the lighter.
The way she’d dropped it onto Max.
That moment’s pause, where she thought he might fight free. Where she thought there might still be a chance.
And then the screams.
The screams and the struggling.
And then the silence.
All so quick.
But all so torturous.
She remembered the way the woman walked over to her, then. The way she looked at her with those bright green eyes.
Remembered exactly what she said.
“We’ll meet again. When this has tortured you enough. I’m not ready for you to die yet. Not after everything you’ve done. Not yet.”
And then the heavy punch to her head, and now…
She kept her eyes closed now. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. She was shaking. Freezing cold but boiling hot at the same time. Heart racing. Unsure if she could move a muscle. She just felt frozen. Frozen solid.
Because Max…
No.
; He wasn’t gone.
He couldn’t be gone.
Not like this.
She didn’t want to open her eyes. Didn’t want to look and see; didn’t want to find out the truth that she was clearly trying so hard to suppress.
For as long as she could dismiss it as a nightmare, she’d do that.
For as long as she could convince herself she was wrong about what had happened… that’s what she had to do.
She’d hallucinated when she was heavily drinking in the past. Seen some really life-like things.
That was a possibility again, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
But that feeling in her gut.
And that voice in her head.
No.
No, it isn’t a possibility.
You saw what you saw, and he’s gone.
She remembered dreaming, then. Dark dreams of dragging herself across the grass. Towards the smoke. Rex barking at her to stop as she moved closer and closer to this mound. To this body. Blood on her hands.
And it was the blood on her hands in the dream that stood out most.
How she’d looked at that blood, and deep down, she’d had a feeling it meant something.
That there was a significance to it.
The way she’d dropped the lighter on Max.
Set him on fire…
No.
She couldn’t think about it.
She couldn’t go there.
She couldn’t allow herself.
But as she lay there, she knew there was one option. Only one option here.
She certainly couldn’t stay here all day. She couldn’t just lie here.
She had to get up.
She had to know.
She gritted her teeth together and took a deep breath.
Then, she opened her eyes again.
Above, she could see it was actually still daytime. Cloudy. Rainy. Smoke floating above her, still catching on her breath, making her cough.
The flames still flickered away at the estate. She could smell burning. But there were no sounds of screaming anymore. No sounds of panic.
The calm after the storm.
Only not exactly. Because it felt ghostly. Haunted.
She turned over. Looked around. She was on her own. Completely on her own.
Only…
No.
There were bodies.
Bodies lying around her.
Bodies of people she recognised.
They looked like people who’d tried to escape.
All of them had bullet holes in their skulls.
Only she lived.