A Barlow Lens by Elizabeth Noble

pounced on him, both hands around his neck, pressing his full weight down on Philip’s throat. Philip beat Archie’s back and kicked his legs, but the angle was wrong and his efforts were futile.
    Tom didn’t think about what he was doing. Fire coursed along the ceiling. They had to get out. Archie was killing Philip. Tom grabbed the pick axe, lifted it over his head, and slammed it into Archie’s skull.
    Archie’s entire body jerked as blood immediately covered the top of his head. He gurgled, but it didn’t make sense. Philip pushed him away, and Archie staggered a step or two, then dropped to his knees before going face-first onto the floor. It seemed like forever before the hideous flailing of his arms and legs stopped.
    Philip climbed to his feet and rushed forward. Tom stared down at Archie; his entire body trembled and quaked. Smoke filled his lungs and burnt his throat. “I… k-killed….”
    â€œShh… shh… it’ll be okay. Self-defense.” Philip’s voice was thick and raspy, and he coughed between words.
    Tom was wrapped in Philip’s strong, sure arms. He stepped as close to Philip as he could, squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed his head to Philip’s shoulder. The scent of soap and fresh laundry combined with one that was uniquely Philip. It sent a rush of comfort through Tom.
    Still holding him tight, Philip turned them and said, “We need to get out.”
    The floor under Tom’s feet cracked and groaned. He heard wood split and snap, then something sounding like thunder rolled through the floor. The ceiling above started to disintegrate. Bits of flaming wood dropped around them and embers flew like fireflies. Tom had a momentary sensation of weightlessness followed by euphoria and the thought he was always safe in Philip’s arms.

Chapter 9
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    Cleveland, Ohio—Present Day
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    W YATT WATCHED as Val crawled on hands and knees away from the storage unit and to the middle of the road. He could see Val’s entire torso move up and down and knew his coughing wasn’t an exaggeration. A minute later Val collapsed onto the ground and rolled to his back, arms flopping at his sides.
    Kevin did exactly as Wyatt had hoped. He appeared from a vehicle parked alongside the far row of storage units and crept toward Val. A nudge against Val’s arm with one foot got no response, and Wyatt said a silent prayer that Val was faking.
    Smoke billowed around him, and when Kevin neared the door, Wyatt had to hold his breath and bite his lip to keep quiet. Kevin inched close enough to the unbalanced door to hear Wyatt if he coughed, but not close enough to look through the space created. Kevin reached inside his jacket, turned, and stepped toward Val again.
    â€œShit,” Wyatt hissed. He waited for Kevin to take a few more steps before shimmying through the door. Rolling to his feet, he yanked his jacket off as he ran.
    Kevin’s handgun was trained on Val’s forehead. He turned around when Wyatt’s shoes crunched over the gravel drive. Wyatt swung his jacket and flung it at Kevin, hitting him across the face.
    Wyatt launched himself at Kevin, tackling him to the ground. The gun discharged as Val rolled away with a yelp. As he and Kevin struggled, Wyatt saw Val grab his jacket and retrieve the phone pieces with shaking hands. Grabbing Kevin’s wrist, Wyatt slammed it against the ground until he let go of the gun.
    Through the ringing in Wyatt’s ears, he heard Val shouting into the phone, “I don’t know the address! How many damned storage places are there on this road?”
    Kevin tossed Wyatt with a heave of his body, leapt to his feet, and immediately charged Wyatt, who was still on his knees. The punch Kevin threw knocked Wyatt backward, stunning him. Kevin dropped on top of Wyatt, hands reaching for Wyatt’s throat. He managed to block Kevin’s grab and retaliated with his own punch to