Page 125 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

44

JANNA

Icouldn’t breathe. Smoke choked the air, clawing down my throat with every inhale. My lungs were raw, my throat burned like I’d swallowed fire, and my eyes stung so bad I could barely keep them open. The diner was now a tomb filled with smoke.

Everything was hot. So hot I’d forgotten what cool felt like. My clothes clung to me with sweat, my skin prickled like it was blistering, and every movement took effort, like I was dragging my body through molasses.

I knew part of it was in my head. The lack of oxygen was screwing with my head. I was sweating because I couldn’t breathe. Turned out the cooler wasn’t airtight. The smoke had slowly been filtering in the last five minutes. I didn’t even want to think what that meant for the diner.

Pickle was still out. He came to one more time before he went out again. I had debated running but with Pickle out, there was no way. It took every ounce of strength I had just to get him into the diner.

I didn’t know if it was luck or stubbornness that had kept me on my feet, dragging his limp body to temporary safety.

“Pickle, I need to get some wet rags,” I said.

I knew he couldn’t hear me, but just in case. Wet towels weren’t going to save us, but they would buy us a little more time. Part of me wondered if I was just prolonging the inevitable.

I dismissed the thought. I couldn’t go dark. I had to stay strong. Stay positive.

I was not a quitter. I would fight until my very last breath. And I had a feeling that was going to be in the very literal sense.

I got to my feet and felt my body sway. That was bad news. I pushed open the door and dropped back to my knees. It was as bad as I thought. The diner was filled with smoke. The fire must be getting closer. I was certain of it. I could hear the eerie creak of wood as fire closed in.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

I couldn’t see much of anything. I crawled until I came face to face with a shelf. I reached up and touched soft cloth. I grabbed several towels. The sink was close. I had to stand to reach the faucet. My eyes burned and the coughing was painful. It felt like someone had a vise on my chest and was slowly squeezing.

I soaked the towels, wrung them out, and wrapped one around my face, tying it in the back. There was immediate relief for my burning nostrils but it was still difficult to breathe.

I dropped back to my hands and knees and crawled back to the cooler. I dragged the wet towels behind me, leaving a trail of water. The cooler door felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as I pulled it open. The temperature difference hit me like a welcome slap. It was still warm inside, but compared to the furnace the diner had become, it was heaven.

Pickle lay exactly where I’d left him. That was a disappointment. I wanted him awake. I needed him to wake up. Maybe he had some magic solution. I felt alone. And lost. I pressed one of the wet towels against his forehead and wrapped another around his mouth and nose.

“Come on, Pickle,” I whispered, adjusting the makeshift mask around my face. “Don’t you dare leave me alone in here.”

I settled back against the wall, trying to conserve what little oxygen we had left. The cooler was getting warmer by the minute. Outside, I could hear the diner groaning and creaking.

I closed my eyes and tried to think. There had to be something. Some way out of this nightmare. But my thoughts felt sluggish, disconnected. The smoke inhalation was taking its toll.

I wasn’t going to do it. I couldn’t.

I dragged in a couple more breaths.

“We’re getting out of here,” I said. “Pickle. Wake up. Pickle.”

Nothing.

“Alistair Steele!” His given name was so different than his call sign. It would have been funny if the situation wasn’t so serious.

Pickle stirred.

“C’mon, Pickle,” I coughed, voice barely audible. “Wake up. Say something dumb so I know you’re still with me.”

Nothing.

No movement.

I was going to have to drag him.