CHAPTER ONE
ZOE
I
can’t breathe.
I
cough, desperately wheezing for air as I try to figure out what’s
going on. One minute, I’m crawling into my bed to nap, and the
next...?
It’s
dark. Smoke billows, acrid, and I can hear the crackle of flames.
The
apartment is on fire.
“Help!”
I scream, dragging another lungful of air. I have to make sure
Tasha’s ok. “Tasha?” I yell. “Where are you?”
I
drop to the floor and crawl to the bedroom door. I pull it open --
and get hit by a wave of heat, like stepping into a sauna for the
first time. But a sauna isn’t filled with smoke, and I can see
flames in the living room, blocking the exit.
“Tasha?”
I yell again in panic for my roommate before I remember: she’s
gone home to visit for the weekend.
I try
to focus on breathing, staying low to the ground like they taught us
back in all those safety classes in school, but even on the floor the
air is hot and smoky, burning my chest and throat with every inhale.
My heart is pounding with terror, I feel totally paralyzed, but I
know I have to keep it together if I’m going to get out.
My
phone.
I
crawl back to the bed and grab it, but the screen is black. Dead
battery. Fuck! My window has been jammed all year, and the landlord
refused to fix it, so I have no way to get air.
Air.
Suddenly, it’s all I want in the world.
Grabbing
a sweatshirt, I hold it over my mouth to block the smoke and head to
the doorway again. Outside, the flames are roaring, licking up the
curtains and along the cheap carpet. Beyond them, the front door is
shut and locked. My one chance at freedom.
I
brace myself and crawl closer, down the hall. The heat from the fire
scorches the bare skin on my hands and arms. I yank down my sleeves,
but it’s not enough.
I’ve
never felt heat like this before. It’s terrifying, the roar of
the flames and the smoke sucking all the oxygen from the room, but I
force myself to keep crawling.
I
have to get out. I don’t want to die.
CRASH.
The
ceiling lamp suddenly smashes to the ground. I jerk back and curl
against the wall, stifling a scream. But I have no choice – I
have to keep going – there’s only one way out.
Bracing
myself, I tug the blanket off the back of the couch and pull it
around me. Then I crouch, tense my body, and lunge for the door,
leaping just past the flames. I crash into it but I don’t care,
all I feel is relief right now as I reach for the handle, shoving
with all my weight—
The
door doesn’t open. Something’s blocking it from the
outside.
I
can’t get out.
Tears
sting my cheeks, and my eyes burn with the smoke and my own fresh
panic. I can’t breathe.
I
crawl back to the bedroom, the furthest I can get from the flames.
I’m sweating under the blanket and dizzy from lack of oxygen,
but I curl up on the floor beside my nightstand and press my cheek to
the carpet, taking a few breaths and trying to clear my head.
As I
look around the room, desperate for a way out, my eyes fall on the
heavy lamp that sits on my nightstand, just above my head. I get to
my feet, ignoring a wave of nausea, grab the lamp and swing it at the
window with everything I’ve got.
A
crack appears.
I’m
faint now with the smoke and the heat and the lack of air, but I keep
swinging, over and over until finally the window smashes and cool,
crisp air comes rushing in. Thank God.
But
my relief is short-lived. The fire is raging outside in the
apartment, the flames getting closer with every second. I look
outside, but we’re on the sixth floor, and there’s no way
down, no escape ladders and nothing I can jump onto besides the
concrete sidewalk far below. I see no cops, no fire engines, not even
someone who could call for help. Fuck.
I
have air up here, but for how long? And how am I going to get out?
I’m
completely panicked. I sink to the floor by the window, hugging my
knees to my chest. I don’t know what to do. A million thoughts
race through my mind, but for
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