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“What’s going on?” Jack asked.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he yelled as the kitchen and side entrance exploded.
* * *
Ophelia and the others had only gotten steps away from the building when it detonated. Like a huge indrawn breath, the concussion of the blast caught all of them, shoving against her back like a giant monster had pushed her. A heartbeat later, the structure erupted. The sound was loud, thundering in her ears as she landed face first onto the pavement, car alarms blaring up and down the street, the cacophony ramping up until the whole block was affected.
She couldn’t move for a second as debris, wood, glass, and concrete rained down on them.
She pushed herself to her back and gasped. “Dean, no!” Flames shot up into the air in broad stabs of orange-red, the base of the explosion already blue hot. Several short explosions followed, driving anyone too close back with a punch to the face.
For a moment, they were all stunned, then Ophelia reached for her phone and dialed 9-1-1.
* * *
Dean propelled himself forward and grabbed Jack, pulling him into Kurrie’s room as the living room disintegrated. Dean snapped his arms around her waist and hurried them toward her window, shielding them against the blast. The explosions ripped, loud and echoing, and Kurrie screamed, flattened to the wall with him and Jack. Dean grunted as wood, drywall, and furniture swirled around them with force, the heart of the blast searing through his clothes.
Kurrie gripped his hand, breathing hard, and he heard her whimper of fear. He held her tighter as the room was buffeted. Dean took the chance and rose, looking out the window, his gaze flickering over the immediate area, looking for a miracle. There was a chance, a slim one.
He picked up her computer chair and smashed out the window and the two teenagers looked up at him with both awe and terror.
“You can’t be serious,” Jack said.
“We have no choice.” He pulled him up. “There’s a soft awning below us. We’ll aim for that. It should break most of our fall. We can’t stay here.”
Jack’s face contorted and he looked down at Kurrie, indecision in his eyes.
He gripped the kid’s arm. “Jack, I’ll take care of your sister. Go!”
Jack went over the sill, and Dean watched as the kid hit the overhang. It held, but Jack was bounced off and disappeared beneath the awning.
Kurrie moaned, and Dean held her, the rumble of concrete and wood unabated. He had no idea how much time they had left.
“Kurrie,” he asked close to her ear. “Talk to me, honey, are you hurt?”
“No, no. Oh, God.” She clung to him, her fingers digging as she choked on dust.
“Take it easy. Breathe with me.” He rubbed her arms and back, trying to calm her as she quaked against him. After a moment, he eased back, grateful there was still a floor beneath them and air above them to breathe. But for how long?
He swiped his sleeve across his face, then helped her to stand.
With the back of her hand, she smudged muddy tears, then looked out the window, her face blanching. “No, I can’t,” she said, sagging.
“We have to. I promise it’ll be okay. We’ll go together.”
He looked down then back at her, and the tears sliding down her dirty cheeks cut into his soul.
She swallowed hard, then nodded. He wrapped his arms around her, murmured soft words of encouragement, and with a heave, launched them out the window just as the final blast ripped through the space they had just been standing.
* * *
In the distance, sirens shrieked, but Ophelia stood motionless until Logan grabbed her around her waist and pulled her across the street. The building lurched, five thousand square feet of concrete, wood, and glass. Fiery debris rocketed and knocked out remaining windows. The supports gone, the building listed as Logan dragged her further away. Another explosion as loud as the first. The scraping compression of concrete and metal.
Dust was everywhere as people rushed in panic, doors opening, neighbors spilling into the street with shocked eyes and hands over their mouths, clutched to their chest. Mothers shouting for their children, hugging them tight when they showed up. So many people were on their phones, some even recording the carnage.
Just ahead, Gage stood with Donner, his face grim. Jessica sat on the curb her white t-shirt torn and dirty. The left side bloody. Her blonde hair no longer secured in a tight ponytail hanging over her eyes.
Ophelia stared at the demolished building, then sank to her knees. “Oh, God, Dean,” she said softly, turning to Logan. He touched her shoulder. “Your siblings.” Her throat ached. “I’m so sorry.”
