With a cry of rage, Eleanor tore the picture right down the middle. In a frenzy, she tore it again and again and again, until hours of work were reduced to a few handfuls of confetti. She picked up another picture, grabbing handfuls of paper and tearing, until her desk was littered with scraps of crumpled paper, and it was drifting over the floor like snow.
When there were no more sketches left, Eleanor collapsed into her seat, folding her arms on the desk and burying her face there.
She had been sitting like that for about half an hour when she first noticed the smell.
Eleanor sat up warily, sniffing.
Smoke.
She saw it then, the first tendrils of smoke curling under her door. Ice cold fear closed its fingers around her heart.
Eleanor stumbled to her feet, rushing to the door. She had the presence of mind to test the doorknob before gripping it.
Warm, but not hot. She opened the door to a hallway choked with smoke.
She could just about make out Charles’ office at the end of the hallway, smoke billowing out from underneath, flames glinting behind the door.
Eleanor’s mouth was suddenly dry.
“Fire,” she mumbled, and then again, louder, “Fire!Fire! Fire!”
Her weak voice wouldn’t carry, of course. There was a bell on the landing, a heavy iron one designed for such a moment as this, but Eleanor would have to move away from the stairs andescape to ring it. Cursing, she bent down to tear a strip of fabric from the bottom of her gown, soaking it in a half-drunk glass of water. Wrapping the makeshift mask around her face, she darted along the hallwaytowardsCharles’ office, feeling along the wall for the bell.
She found it. Rough rope scratched her fingers, and Eleanor gripped the rope and hauled with all her might.
The rusty old bell tolled out sonorously, carrying stronger and farther than any shouts could have done. The noise echoed through the building, and Eleanor vaguely heard shouts of alarm. Somewhere below, an answering bell rang out, alerting the factory floor to the danger.
Coughing and choking, Eleanor turned away and began to crawl towards the staircase. Behind her, she could hear Charles’ door groaning and cracking, unable to stand up to the heat and fury of the fire. Fire that wanted to escape and go rushing down the hallway and down the staircase.
I won’t make it,Eleanor thought, her head reeling.
She reached her open office door, feeling it rather than seeing it. The smoke was too thick to see anything at all. She hauled herself in side, slamming the door.
Just in time.
Charles’ door caved with a groan and a tremendouswhooshof flames. She crawled away, seeing the glint of fire seeping under her closed door. Would it hold? Not for long.
Eleanor stayed low, pressing the rag to her face. She was disoriented, with no idea where she was and which way she was facing. She banged her head on the underside of her own desk, sending a spasm of pain through her head, competing with her burning lungs.
The window is this way.
Of course, Eleanor knew she would not be able to climb out of the window. A drop from this height would likely kill her, shattering her fragile bones on the paved courtyard below. Climbing down seemed impossible, she was as weak as a kitten. Her limbs had turned to jelly.
Moving away from the sturdy surety of the desk, Eleanor crawled towards the window, moving from memory rather thananything else. The smoke was thicker and thicker every minute, and the heat was intense.
She bumped into the wall, feeling along it for the window sash.
There!There.
She fumbled with the sash, rising to her knees. She pushed open the window, and cool, fresh air rushed in.
Not for long, of course. The smoke rushedout, choking the air right outside the window. There was more and more of it, billowing.
Peering out through streaming, stinging eyes, Eleanor could see a commotion going on down in the courtyard. The factory workers had got out, she noticed with relief. They were gathered underneath her window, pointing and talking frantically to each other. A few were hurrying towards the burning structure with buckets of water, but of course it was too little, too late.
“Help,” Eleanor rasped feebly. Nobody heard her, of course. She tried to wave her arm, but her strength gave out and she tumbled to the floor.
Lying on her back, she could see the thick layer of smoke above her, curling and roiling like the worst storm in the world. Was it her imagination, or could she breathe easier now?
