Page 32 of Burn Like An Angel

“As long as it takes. We won’t stop until we’re treated like actual human beings. We’re going to be set free, Rip!”

Her wide, excited eyes and the grin stretching her lips only intensifies the lead weight settling in my gut. She’s as deluded as the rest of them, running around thinking this is some kind of pre-release party.

“Why do you think there aren’t any reinforcements outside the gates?”

Rae sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly appearing nervous. “Because… they’ve given up, right? We won?”

Gripping her shoulders, I shake her roughly. “Wake up, Rae! They will never give up! This is just the calm before the storm.”

“But we have hostages!”

“You think management cares about a few worthless guards?” I scoff. “They’ll cut their losses just to get their operation back up and running. Guardsandpatients alike.”

Tears have filled her eyes, sparkling swells hanging on the tips of her eyelashes. She looks from side to side, cataloguing the roar of the nation’s media trying to regain our attention as everyone disperses.

“I thought you wanted to take them down too.”

“I want to walk out of here alive,” I correct. “Do the smart thing, and keep your head down, Rae. Or you’re at risk of losing it when this all ends.”

Releasing her, she takes a big step back, rubbing her arms. We stare at each other as the shouts and hollers amplify, a group of hooligan patients running past with boxes of paperwork they’re emptying out on the lawn.

Two others heave bundles of broken furniture between them, the polished mahogany now splintered into perfectly sized kindling. Adding them to a rapidly building pile, the addition of paperwork reveals their plan.

“Patient 2185,” one reads from the thick file. “They didn’t even give us names.”

“Burn it! Burn it!”

In the distance, cameras are still rolling. I can imagine the madness sweeping over various newsrooms as they rush to report on the latest developments. Not even Incendia can suppress this story.

I recognise one of the instigators, yelling her head off with such gleeful rebellion, you’d think she was a kid on Christmas morning. Taylor hasn’t even stopped to clean herself up, a curtain of dried blood still cascading from her sliced forehead.

Fingers pinched around a lit cigarette, she watches the pile of furniture and discarded paperwork grow. The hysterical crowd is emptying out the reception, adding anything flammable to the stash.

“Here!” someone shouts. “We raided the groundskeeper’s storage.”

I hear Rae curse next to me as a canister of fuel is paraded above their heads like the fucking holy grail. The kind of fuel you’d use to fill a lawnmower, I think.

With the canister emptied all over the broken wood, Taylor flicks her cigarette into the pile of kindling. The patient files scattered throughout quickly crisp and blacken, growing into a fireball.

“Yes!”

“More! More!”

The chorus of celebration fills the smoky air. Heat and acrid fumes pour from the bonfire, growing larger and more vicious by the second as it greedily consumes the destroyed furniture and files.

Smoke rises.

Patients cheer.

Harrowdean is burning.

CHAPTER 5

XANDER

SINCERELY, FUCK YOU – PARDYALONE

Flashlight swingingfrom side to side, the beam illuminates my path through the pitch-black night. The emergency lighting that offered a little reprieve has now failed, plunging Harrowdean into total darkness.

---