Page 132 of Worse Than Murder
‘What about Woodys?’ Carl cries.
I look back. I’d forgotten about the dogs, momentarily.
‘I’m not leaving my dogs.’
‘No. I’m not asking you to.’
I look at Philip. I see the worry in his eyes. I’m guessing he can see the same in mine.
‘I’m coming with you,’ he says.
‘No!’ Sally cries.
Adele takes charge. ‘Sally, Carl, you two come with me. We’ll go into the bedroom, close the door and put wet towels down at the bottom. That will give Matilda and Philip plenty of time to get outside and get a ladder.’ She ushers them into the bedroom.
‘How are we going to get the Woodys out?’ Carl says, his voice lost to tears.
I don’t hear Adele’s reply.
Me and Philip are left on the landing that is rapidly filling with smoke. Philip pulls his sleeve over his hand and places it firmly around his mouth and nose.
He goes first, slowly edging down the stairs. I follow closely behind. As we descend, we can feel the heat becoming more intense. The noise of the flames cracking, destroying everything in their path is deafening. From below, glass breaks and small explosions break out.
‘That’ll be the alcohol exploding,’ I shout. I can barely hear my own voice above the sound of destruction.
The door from the restaurant is blown off, landing at the bottom of the stairs. A cloud of acrid smoke and orange flame engulfs the hallway. We fall back against the stairs. We’re only halfway down.
I feel something behind me. I hardly have chance to turn and look when I notice one of the dogs push past me in a panic and run down the stairs.
‘Woody!’ I call out.
The Labrador jumps over the burning door and heads for the kitchen.
‘We should follow him,’ I shout into Philip’s ear. ‘It’s now or never.’
We run down the rest of the stairs, jump over the flames, and into the smoke-filled kitchen. I slam the door closed behind me. Woody is by the exit door, barking loudly to be let out.
‘Where’s the key?’ I ask Philip.
‘Upstairs on my bedside table.’
I cough. ‘We need to break it down.’
‘It’s a security door. We should have turned right, gone through the utility.’
An explosion behind us rips off the door to the hallway. A brilliant burst of flames runs along the ceiling. Woody barks. We both scream in horror. I can almost smell my hair singeing.
‘We’re getting out of this fucking building, Phil.’
I grab a heavy food mixer from the stainless-steel island and hurl it at the window. It bounces right off and hits the floor.
‘Fuck!’ I scream.
Philip opens the cupboard beneath the sink. He pulls out a small fire extinguisher, handy for a small kitchen fire, but useless against a massive blaze. He jumps up onto the draining board and hammers the glass with the steel extinguisher. The glass splinters but doesn’t break. He pauses to cough, slowly becoming overcome by the smoke. He tries again, smacking the extinguisher hard. Eventually, the glass breaks. He clears the rest of the window with the extinguisher, grabs a towel and places it over the rim before stepping to one side and telling me to jump out first.
I grab Woody, hurl him up onto the sink and shove him out of the window, following rapidly behind him. Then, Philip jumps down, extinguisher still in his hands, and we run towards the garage.
* * *
