Blazing Fear

by Leisl Leighton

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, hoping, desperately, that keeping him talking would give her a chance to survive.

  ‘I’m going to burn it all down.’

  Chapter 29

  ‘You can’t.’

  He didn’t register her shriek, didn’t stop doing what he was doing. He picked up a plastic container like those you put petrol in at a petrol station, and began to splash it over the table and the wooden floor. ‘I’m just going to spread a little more of this around to do the job properly before I light it up.’

  ‘Someone will see you.’

  ‘Why would they? I drove down here in your car, which I’ll leave out the front. Your friends will think you came down here to do some work before opening tomorrow and that there was some kind of kitchen accident and you were caught inside.’

  ‘They won’t think that. The police will come looking for you.’

  He smiled at her. ‘I told you this isn’t my first time at the rodeo. I learned my lesson the first time I was caught.’

  ‘You have a record? You’ll never get Carter.’

  ‘I was a juvenile offender at the time. My record’s expunged and they’ve not caught me since even though I’ve been setting fires for others for years. It’s what I do. They’re not going to catch me. They’ll think it’s one of the others I’ve set up.’ He tapped his finger against his chin. ‘Hmm, do I leave the incriminating evidence—’ he lifted the container, waggling it a bit so the liquid inside sloshed around, ‘—in your gay hubby’s car, or maybe in that blow hard, Bob Thompson’s ute? Decisions, decisions.’

  ‘They’ll figure it out. There’s been too many fires. You have to be on the police’s radar for the fire that killed your stepmother.’

  ‘Nah, I made sure I had a good alibi for that job. The mob guy I owe money to backed me on that one because I promised to pay him in full after I got all of dear old Serena’s millions. He’s a little pissed the job didn’t go the way it was supposed to, but he’s willing to wait. For a while.’

  ‘But what if he changes his mind?’

  He looked at her as if she was crazy. ‘He’d never rat me out. He wants his money as much as I do.’ He picked up a second canister that was by the kitchen door. ‘Enough talk. It’s time for me to light it up and say adios.’

  ‘Someone will see you,’ she repeated. ‘Someone will know.’

  He barked out a laugh. ‘They’re all out looking for you in the wrong place. Nobody is looking here. I made your red-headed nurse tell that great lumbering farmer you’ve been fucking that she hadn’t seen you here before I took care of her. I made sure I waited long enough so that they’re all busy looking for you in the last place you were seen. Nobody will come looking until it’s too late to save you.’

  ‘You can’t do this.’

  ‘Sure I can. And when I’m done, I’ll nip into the bush behind this place. I’ve left a car for myself on that back road down the gully. Nobody will know I was here. Nobody will connect me with the pathetic guy who was trying to start up a candle store. I’ve got my friends in Melbourne to swear I was there. Nobody’s going to be able to touch me. Then, I’ll get custody of that little shit Sam squirted out and have the money I need to get out of debt. And maybe, just maybe, if I’m feeling real generous, I might just let your dear papa see the little shit every now and then. I might even be able to squeeze some money out of the famous Diarmuid Brennan too.’ He smiled, and it was the coldest thing Prita had ever seen, freezing the words in her throat.

  How could she not have seen that he was insane? Noticed there was something wrong with his interest in her, with the way he hung around but didn’t really talk with anyone but her? Because he was right. There were already too many people pulling her attention from him and he just seemed so ordinary. Someone nobody noticed or remembered because of how he hung back. He’d seemed shy, but it wasn’t that at all. He was calculating and scheming and she hadn’t seen any of it.

  He threw the nearly empty container out the kitchen door into the living room, and, with a wave, let the door swing shut behind him. A moment later she heard him whistling and the sound of splashing as he moved around the lounge room.

  He was going to do it. He was going to do it.

  And nobody would know.

  The fumes from the petrol caught in the back of her throat, making her cough and her eyes water. She had to find some way of getting out of this. Had to save Carter from that madman.

  Desperately, she began to rock on the chair, pulling against the rope, her hands flopping uselessly by her sides. In the movies, they often broke free in situations like this by flipping and breaking the chair and getting free. She tried to get purchase, leaning forward to stand up so that she could maybe run backward and slam the chair into the wall or something. Her feet slipped in the petrol that had crept across the floor. The chair skidded backward a few feet and then tipped and she was falling, falling.

  ‘Oomph.’ Her head rapped against the floorboards, hard. She saw stars and there was a sharp throb in her shoulder where she’d landed. So much for doing it like in the movies. As if she could break apart these sturdy wooden chairs by doing some fancy flip thing she’d never had any training for. Who did she think she was? Black Widow?

  Now what the hell was she going to do?

  Pain lanced through her shoulder and down her arm.

  She could feel her arm. Could move her arm. The fall had done something. Moved something. Maybe she could shimmy down a little. She tried and got a little traction, but then could move no further, the way her body was lying, slipped slightly off the chair when she’d fallen, put her at a really awkward angle. But she had to keep going.

  A whoomph sounded in the lounge room. Crackling followed.

  He’d lit the fire. Oh god, he’d lit the fire. If he’d done a complete track of petrol from the kitchen to the front door, it would be rushing towards her right now. She was lying right next to a puddle of petrol. The flames would engulf her and that would be it.

  She tried to push her feet against the floor, away from the pool of petrol edging towards her. Tears and sweat stung her eyes along with the petrol fumes. Her lungs felt like they were going to burst, but she couldn’t give up, couldn’t give up.

  The door that led into the back of the house opened. Had he come back? Was he going to spill petrol on her? Make sure she burned? She pushed harder, knowing it was useless, that she couldn’t get away, but she couldn’t give up.

  Couldn’t give up.

  ‘Doc.’

  ‘Cherry?’ She moved her head as far as she could and saw the best sight in the world. Cherry stood there, face pale, blood soaked into her buttercup yellow shirt, a knife protruding from her shoulder, kept in place by a messy looking donut bandage. ‘You’re alive.’

  Cherry stumbled over to her, eyes pain hazed. ‘Get you out of here.’ She grabbed a knife from the bench and, almost falling down beside Prita, began to try, one-handed, to cut at the ropes, little whimpering gasps escaping as she moved. She must be in so much pain, and yet, she was here, having bandaged herself up, trying to save Prita rather than running to save herself.

  Smoke wisped under the door that led to the lounge room, the crackle of flames louder. Thankfully, it seemed Max or Keith or whatever his name was hadn’t laid a line of petrol into the kitchen, so the flames hadn’t come rushing in. But they would. She could see the flicker of them under the door. They were about to come in and when they did, this place would go up in a few seconds. She couldn’t let Cherry stay here and be killed too. ‘Cherry, Cherry, stop. You have to go. Leave me. Save yourself.’

  ‘Not bloody likely.’

  ‘Cherry.’ The name was almost a sob. She couldn’t be responsible for her friend’s death. ‘Go, tell them what happened. Tell them it was Carter’s father. He can’t get Carter. They have to catch him. It was him. All him. He wanted the money.’

  ‘Stop moving. I don’t want to cut you.’

  The flames licked und
er the door. ‘Cherry. Go.’ It was a screech.

  Cherry shook her head and kept cutting.

  Prita blinked back tears, unable to do anything, the roar of her death rushing towards her at any moment. Oh god. Carter. Flynn. Papa. She wanted to tell them she loved them, that she wanted everything good for them.

  ‘Tell them yourself when you get out of here.’ The knife slipped and cut her arm, but she didn’t flinch and Cherry didn’t apologise. She just kept sawing as the flames licked under the door.

  ***

  ‘We found Mac. He’s alive,’ Detective Constable Bryce Harrington, an old mate from schooldays, came running up to the ute as Flynn hopped out.

  ‘Prita?’

  The detective shook his head. ‘She’s not here.’

  ‘Did Mac say anything?’

  ‘He’s received a severe head injury. Constable Bruce is calling the air ambulance. He needs treatment. Do you want to see him?’

  ‘I have to find Prita.’

  ‘You go door to door, Flynn,’ John said. ‘I’ll stay with Mac until the ambulance gets here.’

  ‘Call Mum.’

  John nodded as he disappeared around the back, leaving Flynn with the detective. ‘You go up the end. I’ll start down here,’ Flynn said, ignoring the fact that this was a police investigation and Bryce should be calling the shots. His old mate didn’t argue though, just took off down the long street to start at the shops and houses at the other end. Flynn ran from door to door to ask if anyone had seen anything. Reid and Diarmuid arrived and went to the middle of the street. People were calling around.

  Nobody had seen anything. There was nothing.

  Then Sally and Ned Lion pulled into the front of their fish and chip shop. ‘What’s going on?’ Ned asked him as he hopped out of his car.

  ‘Prita’s missing. We think she’s been kidnapped.’

  ‘What? But we saw her car turn into the back road at CoalCliff, the one that led directly to the cottage.’

  Flynn grabbed Sally Lion by the shoulders. ‘When?’

  ‘About an hour ago. We were coming back from Traralgon and tooted, but I don’t think she saw us.’

  ‘An hour?’ But it was a ten-minute drive between that road and here.

  ‘We took Steph to Walhalla for a treat at the lolly shop.’

  He didn’t stop to hear the rest of the story, just started a running limp towards his ute, yelling at them to go tell the detective, and seconds later, was fishtailing out of there, driving like a madman to CoalCliff

  He rounded bends, barely slowing down, ignoring the scream of his knee as he used the clutch. He had to get back to CoalCliff. Had to.

  An hour. The bastard had her there for over an hour. What could he do in that time?

  His tyres spun out on the gravel as he turned into the road that led to the cottage, but he didn’t slow down. He could smell smoke. Then he saw it, through a gap in the trees as he crested the rise that led down to the cottage—smoke drifting up into the blue of the sky.

  The cottage was on fire.

  He almost stopped, but his need to find Prita drove him on.

  He’d not told her he loved her. She’d said the words. But he hadn’t. He’d admitted his love without saying the words. Why hadn’t he said the words?

  The road looped around the side of the cottage and he pulled up short, skidding across the dirt road so as not to hit her car which was parked out the front. Smoke poured out the front door of the cottage, the orange of flames flickering through the windows, licking up the ceiling.

  No. No.

  There was movement at the corner of his eye and he turned, hope alive in his chest, thinking it was her, that she was outside and safe and it was only the cottage they were going to lose. But it wasn’t Prita. It was a man running into the bush on the other side of the cottage, two red containers in his hands. He didn’t turn back, so Flynn didn’t think he’d been seen by the man as he ran down the track that led to the gully and the road there, but Flynn recognised him.

  Max Smith. The man who always seemed to be hanging around Prita. Who was supposedly starting up a candle business—although, when he’d knocked on the door of that shop and peered through the windows earlier, the place had been empty, like nobody had ever been there.

  Why would he be after Prita? What reason would he have for setting the fires? Prita had done nothing but been kind to him, treated him a few times as a patient. It didn’t make sense.

  Not that it mattered. The cottage was really going up now and Prita was inside. He had to do something.

  He hopped out of the ute and made it a few limping steps forward, but the heat and smoke came at him, freezing him in place. He tried to step forward, but everything swayed and he was going to go down, go down and she was going to burn.

  The window closest to him exploded. Glass ricocheted into the bush near him, making him stumble back.

  He moved. He could move. He took a step forward, and another, towards the smoke and the heat and the flames. He’d managed to do it yesterday when fighting that bushfire because he was in a rage. And he had rage now. Rage that some bastard would come here and take what he loved away from him.

  Not bloody likely.

  He called Reid as he moved, one step then another, closer to the cottage, speeding up every step he took.

  ‘Flynn. Did you find her?’

  ‘There’s a fire in the cottage. Call the CFA. Get everyone here or we’re going to lose everything.’

  ‘What about Prita?’

  ‘I think she’s inside. I’m going in to get her.’

  ‘Flynn, Flynn—’ but he didn’t hear anymore. He’d dropped the phone on the ground and was at her car, the heat from the flames already engulfing the front of the cottage, hitting him like a wave. He couldn’t go in that way. Needed something to protect him. Prita carried a picnic blanket in her car. He knew. He’d given it to her. He ran to the boot and thankfully it was open. He pulled out a thick blanket and wrapped it around himself. Another window blew out and he ducked the flying glass as he ran around to the side of the cottage. His knee protested every step, but adrenaline helped him to push on. He’d pay for it later, he knew, but he didn’t care. He just hoped the door into the kitchen or the back door could be an entry point. Hoped with everything in him that she wasn’t in that front room, because if she was, it was too late.

  Smoke was pouring out of the eaves of the house and the windows that had blown out. As he ran down the side of the cottage, another window blew out, raining glass around him. He held the blanket tight over his head, wishing he had something wet to tie around his mouth to keep out the smoke, but he didn’t have time to go back and find something. This would have to do. He ran up onto the side verandah where the kitchen door was. There was smoke in the kitchen but he couldn’t see any flames there yet. He reached for the door when it was flung open and two figures stumbled out and into him. He caught them both, one of them crying out, a screech of pain.

  ‘Flynn. Your knee.’

  ‘Prita.’ He looked down and into those beautiful eyes he thought he was never going to see again. ‘Prita.’ He went to pull her closer but she shifted back, arms around the other woman. There was blood on her arms, on her shoulder. ‘You’re hurt.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said, moving to take more of the other person’s weight. ‘Worry about Cherry. He put a knife in her. We have to get her help.’

  His gaze finally took in Cherry. There was a knife sticking out of her shoulder. It had been roughly bandaged, but there was blood everywhere and she was looking like she was about to pass out. Smoke was starting to pour out of the door behind them and he could hear the roar of flames coming closer. ‘We have to get away from here.’

  He thrust the blanket at Prita. ‘Cover yourself.’ Then picked up Cherry, the extra weight making him stumble, but the smoke and heat behind him pushed him to move. They had to get away before the whole place went up. He limped down the steps and out into the paddock
at the side of the house, into the clear, trying to put a break between them and the fire raging behind him. Prita was yelling something at him about his knee and letting her take some weight, but he couldn’t stop. More windows exploded and glass pinged around him. He glanced at Prita to see if she was okay. She was running beside him, holding the blanket as if to protect him and Cherry. She was supposed to protect herself. He had no breath to argue though.

  Then they were through the gate and into the paddock clear of any glass spray and turned and watched the fire envelope the cottage, flames licking up and up, hoping like hell the sparks wouldn’t light in the bush around the house and take everything with it.

  ‘Put her down. I need to put pressure on the wound.’

  He laid Cherry down on the blanket she’d put on the ground, almost collapsing beside her, but somehow managed to stay on his feet. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘I need bandages.’ He stripped off the shirt he’d thrown over his t-shirt and began to tear it into strips. ‘We need to call the air ambulance.’

  ‘They’ve sent it for Mac.’

  ‘They found him? Is he okay?’

  ‘His head is pretty bad.’

  ‘Shit, shit.’ She glanced around her. ‘We need to get Cherry to hospital.’ She looked longingly at her car and the ute, so close to the flames now, it was too dangerous to try to get to them. He could run up to the barn and get the other ute, but he didn’t want to leave Prita. That Max Smith bastard was out there somewhere. He’d run into the bush, but maybe he was still hanging around looking at his handiwork. What if he’d seen her come out of the house? He might be sneaking back right at this moment, might see her here and come to finish the job he’d failed to do.

  Flynn swung around amazed not to feel pain in his knee anymore, his mind clear. He was ready to take on anything to protect Prita. There was no way that bastard was getting anywhere near her again. There was no sign of anyone near. If he was wise, he probably would have a car waiting for him and would be long gone by now. He had no idea Flynn had seen him and Prita and Cherry were safe. He didn’t need to worry about that at least.