The smoke thickens fast. Heat crawls across the ceiling. Something pops above me, showering sparks into the aisle.
I run to the next stall.
Then the next.
Some horses flee the second the doors open. Others fight me, wild-eyed and trembling. One refuses to move, backing into the corner with the whites of his eyes showing.
“Come on, sweetheart,” I rasp, pushing against him. “You have to move.”
He jerks his head back, and I nearly fall.
“Please,” I sob. “Please, I can’t carry you.”
The fire snaps louder, and he screams.
Since he’s not roped, I grab his mane and pull with everything I have. I don’t want to hurt him, but I want him to move.
For a second, nothing happens.
Then he lunges forward.
I stumble backward, coughing so hard my chest tears with it. My eyes burn. My throat feels scraped raw. I can’t tell if I’m crying from smoke or fear anymore.
Probably both.
The last two horses are the worst.
I open their doors and hope they simply run out. But they don’t.
They’re both shaking, refusing to move. Flames crackle along the rafters now. The heat has teeth, and it’s seconds away from biting.
I know I’m running out of time.
I know it with every breath I can’t take.
“Move!” I scream, voice breaking. “Please move!”
A beam groans overhead, and I know I have to make a choice. I’ll give it one more try, but then I have to leave. I can’t let this kill me and leave my daughter all alone.
I scream as loud as whatever breath I have left in my lungs lets me.
The sound snaps through the smoke.
Both horses bolt.
I dive sideways as they thunder past me, hooves striking sparks from the floor. One catches my shoulder, and I hit the ground hard.
For one second, everything goes black around the edges.
No.
I push up on my hands, choking, crawling more than standing. The barn roars now. Fire eats through the hayloft. Smoke drops lower, heavy and poisonous.
I stagger toward the door.
I can see the open doorway. I can see the yard beyond it. The horses are loose in the pasture, running wild beneath the orange glow.
Alive.
