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A section of the exterior awning has collapsed, along with part of the roof overhang. Debris blocks most of the doorway, leaving only a narrow opening choked with smoke and flames. Heat blasts through the gap hard enough to force me backward.

“No.” I cough violently. “No, no, no.”

Jules braces himself against the wall, breathing hard. “Maggie.”

I turn back toward him.

“We're not making it through that.”

Another loud crack reverberates overhead. Dust rains down from the ceiling.

My heart lurches. “Supply room,” I say immediately. “Come on.”

Jules blinks at me through soot-streaked lashes. “The room full of dog food and industrial-strength disinfectant?”

“The walls are concrete block,” I say, wrapping his arm around my shoulders again. “It's the safest place we've got right now.”

He doesn't argue.

We limp back down the corridor toward the supply room. By now, the smoke is so thick I can barely see more than a foot in front of me. My lungs feel flayed raw. Black spots dance across my vision, and Jules is putting almost all of his weight on me.

At last, we reach the small room at the end of the hall. I pull Jules inside before pushing the door nearly closed behind us.

The room is cramped and cluttered. Bags of dog food, cleaning supplies, and stacked crates crowd every available inch. The shelving unit that trapped Jules still lies toppled across one side of the room, its contents scattered everywhere, but the concrete block walls remain intact.

It isn't safe. It's simply the best chance we've got.

I lower Jules carefully onto the floor beside several bags of kibble before sinking beside him. Another coughing fit tears through me, leaving my chest aching.

As I struggle to catch my breath, my hand drifts instinctively toward my stomach.

The baby.

Fear grips me. Smoke inhalation. Heat. Stress. My mind races through every terrible possibility before I force myself to stop. I can't think about that right now. I can't.

“Hey.” His soot-blackened hand finds mine. “Don't do that.”

I look at him. “Do what?”

“Get that look on your face.” He squeezes my fingers weakly. “We're getting’ out of here, honey.”

Lord, I want to believe him.

“We're goin’ to be okay,” I whisper, though I'm no longer sure whether I'm trying to convince him or myself.

Jules leans his head back against a stack of dog food and closes his eyes. “Maggie?”

“Yeah?”

“If we survive this, you're bannin’ me from inventory duty forever.”

I manage a weak laugh before another coughing fit steals it away. “Deal.”

We fall silent after that, our ragged breathing mixing with distant sirens and the relentless roar of the fire consuming the shelter I've spent years building.

I squeeze Jules's hand tighter and stare at the nearly closed door, praying somebody finds us before the fire does.

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