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“He’s going down,” Jericho said. He slammed his fist on the first door. “Sarah, open up!” he bellowed.
“Down and out or…?”
“Or.” Another stupid question. Jericho made a mental note to buy a new backup supply of chocolate bars next time he was at Woollies. Hunter hadn’t restocked the fridge, and Greer was always easier to deal with if he was fed.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” Greer seethed.
“Empty words, Lancelot,” Jericho said. He hung up before Greer could get his hand through the phone and choke him. It was always too much fun playing with the guy.
Sarah flung her door open, balancing her two-year-old boy on her hip. She frowned as she said, “Warren? What is it?”
“There’s a fire. You have thirty seconds to get the kids together, and then we have to go.”
Her face lost its colour as a small gasp escaped her lips. “What? But all my stuff…”
Jericho knew what she was feeling. What little she had would have been hard-earned. He understood more than she would ever know. “Not worth your life or your kids,” he said abruptly. He didn’t have time to sit her down and explain it all with a PowerPoint presentation and stylised dot points. “Move, quickly, please.”
It only took him three long strides to reach the other occupied apartment. He knew that the two remaining on that floor were empty: the previous renters had only moved out a few days ago, and the new ones hadn’t moved in. Fortuitous timing.
Trevor Mulhall, a seventy-three-year-old man who had lived a long, hard life but somehow still managed to see the joy in it, opened the door before Jericho could knock. He furrowed his thick grey eyebrows. “What’s all this fuss?” he asked, searching the hallway. “Sarah all right?”
“The locket from your wife,” Jericho said. “Where is it?”
“Beside my bed. Warren, what—” But Jericho was already moving.
There were only two things that he knew were important to the old man. The locket that held the picture of his deceased wife from ten years earlier, and the packet of flip photos he had of his grandchildren. As long as they were in plain sight, they had time. Jericho would make time.
He grabbed up the locket and photo packet, made a note of the book that he had next to them—Stephen King’sPet Sematary—and then hurried back. He swiped the walking stick beside the fridge on his way. Necessities only; Jericho could replace the book.
“We’re going down the stairs,” he told Trevor, steering him away from the elevator.
“Boy, I haven’t been able to climb stairs for nigh on a decade.”
“Can’t use the elevator when there’s a fire, old man,” Jericho retorted.
Trevor huffed, but a smile played on his lips beneath his impressive moustache. “Fire? What fire?”
“C’mon, I’ll help you. But we have to go now.”
Sarah was waiting at the entrance to the emergency staircase, her eyes wild and terrified. Her two-year-old was still on her hips, the four-year-old boy clinging to her. Her six-year-old looked terrified as she sucked on her thumb.
Sarah didn’t correct her this time, like Jericho knew she had countless times. It was a hard habit to break. Hunter hadn’t been much younger than her before he’d stopped doing it. Dark childhoods called for a different level of comfort.
“Keep moving, and don’t stop for anything, understand me?” Jericho said. He picked up the four-year-old, who stared at him with wide eyes but didn’t panic or squirm in his arms.
Trevor managed the first flight with relative ease, using the railing and his walking stick for support, with Jericho keeping pace only a step ahead of him in case he fell. By the second flight, he was flagging.
Jericho could clearly smell the smoke now, and it was courting the doorway to his floor. They needed to keep moving. If it was just him and he got trapped, he could climb out a window and shimmy down. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he doubted it would be the last. Unless he was willing to leave them there to die, that wasn’t an option. If it got bad and their exit was compromised, they would have to hole up in a room and hope that the fireys got to them in time. It wasn’t the flames that Jericho was worried about; inhaling the smoke would kill them all long before the flames burned them to a crisp.
Jericho let the child he was carrying slide to the floor and crouched down. “We’re gonna have a race,” he told him. “First one down wins a lollypop, okay?”
The kid’s eyes lit up as he nodded enthusiastically.
“But there are rules,” Jericho said firmly. “No running. Both feet have to touch every step, or you don’t get the prize. Can you do that for me?”
More vigorous nodding. Jericho looked up at Sarah, who was doing her best to keep it together. “Get them out, but don’t let them fall. Got it?” The last thing he needed was broken bones on top of this clusterfuck.
Sarah looked at Trevor, who was wheezing and leaning heavily against the wall. “I’ll send the firefighters up if they’re here.”
