I hook my arms under his shoulders and heave him up, his dead weight settling heavily against me. I stagger, almost falling, then adjust my hold and force myself to focus.
The back door might as well be a mile away. Every inch of the way back through the inferno leads us to encounter another obstacle.
A burning beam crashes down in front of us, sending up a shower of sparks. I jerk back, pulling Rocco with me, the flames licking so close I can feel them stinging my skin.
The floorboards creak ominously beneath us, but I press forward, dragging Rocco’s body with me.
Every muscle in my arms burns, every inch of my skin screams in pain, but I block it out. My lungs are raw from the smoke, my vision blurring, the fire painting everything in a hellish orange glow.
I grip him tighter, whispering, “Come on, Rocco. Just a little more.”
The air grows thicker and hotter, and each breath is a damn miracle. I stumble, nearly losing my grip as my foot snags on the edge of a fallen table. The burn on that thigh is so blindingly painful that I almost pass out completely.
Rocco’s head lolls against my shoulder, his face smeared with ash, his breathing so shallow I can’t tell if he’s even still alive.
The weight of his body, the sight of his motionless form—my best friend, my brother—almost crushes me.What if I lose another sibling to the flames?
Finally, the door is just a few steps away when a sound tears through the roar of the fire—a violent, splintering crack.
I look up, heart racing, just as I see the ceiling beams above us start to buckle. The entire building is ready to come down, and we’re right beneath it.
I grit my teeth, gripping Rocco tighter as I stagger forward, forcing myself to move faster, each step a battle against my own weakening body.
Just before the back door, the wall beside us explodes in a wave of heat and sparks, the force knocking me off balance. I stumble, nearly going down, but I pull Rocco with me, keeping us both upright by sheer force of will.
We reach the doorway, and with a final burst of strength, I drag him over the threshold, gasping as we stumble out into the backyard.
But it’s only seconds before I hear it—the shuddering, groaning collapse of the brownstone as it finally gives way, falling into itself in a massive burst of fire and debris.
The blast hits me from behind, knocking me to my knees on the smoldering grass, Rocco’s weight still heavy on my shoulder as I clutch him close, shielding him with my own body from the falling embers.
I kneel, bruised, half-burned, and gasping for breath. Rocco is still motionless, unconscious against my shoulder, but he’s here.
He’s out. We made it.
I indulge in a cough. Then another. A ball of charcoal-black saliva hits the ground, and I groan loudly as I rise. Every single muscle in my body protests and every stretch of my skin is agonizing, but I pull Rocco further and further to safety.
From the back of the brownstone, I can’t see the others through the flames. Though the house is crashing down now, the roof is caving in as support beams crumble to ash.
All I can do is stare as my lungs work to get oxygen back into my body.
This is how they died.
This is how my family died.
They wanted to kill my best friend like this, too. This wasn’t just personal. This was the devil's work.
And I saw her at the scene of the crime.
Rocco chooses that moment to make a very pathetic little sound. I’m next to him in an instant, wiping away the dirt from his face as I check again for a heartbeat.
“Come on, Rocco. Stay with me,” I growl at him.
I have two fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse, but my own heartbeat is pounding so loudly in my ears that I can’t tell what’s his and what’s mine.
My hands are shaking, my whole body protesting, but there’s no time to wait, no room for hesitation. I tilt his head back, open his mouth, clear his airway as best I can, and press my ear to his lips.
Nothing.
