Chapter 19: Smoke

We slept at the cabin that night because Gage said it was the safest place in the county.

Four brothers sat in trucks on the lake road.

Two prospects walked the gravel.

The sheriff had Brock's description on every radio.

Eli slept in the crib by the stove with his bear, and I lay awake until after one, listening to the lake.

At some point I slept.

I woke to a smell.

It was thin, and sharp, and sweet, and it did not belong in a house.

Gasoline.

I sat up in the dark.

Through the gap under the back door came a dull orange flicker, and a dry crackling.

"Gage," I said.

He was out of the mattress before I finished the word.

The back wall of the cabin was on fire.

It came up the boards in a sheet, quick and low, and the kitchen window went yellow.

Smoke rolled over the ceiling.

"Eli," I said, and I was across the floor.

He was awake in the crib with his mouth open, and I snatched him against my chest.

His blanket was hot.

"Front door!" Gage shouted.

He threw it open, and the night poured in and fed the fire behind us.

The porch was burning too.

Someone had poured a line of gasoline along it, across the front steps, and it roared up as the door swung.

"Window!" I said.

Gage grabbed the cardboard off the broken pane with his bare hands and ripped it away.

Glass crunched.

He pulled the mattress against the sill and lifted me up with Eli on my arm.

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