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The attacker stomped on Jem’s foot, and Jem fell back, howling. Theo tried to take advantage of the man’s momentary imbalance, and he managed to drive him back a few steps. But without Jem to distract him, their attacker brought the sickle up, still trapped in the stockpot lid, and swung it in an arc at Theo’s head.
Theo twisted, trying to get away from that black metal. The stockpot lid saved him.
Caught in the lid, the blade of the sickle couldn’t reach him. But the lid struck Theo instead, and the force of the blow rocked his head sideways. Theo’s grip on the man’s arm weakened, and he fought to keep hold.
Jem, meanwhile, had somehow stayed upright, and his face was wrought with fury. Their attacker’s attention was still focused on Theo, having dismissed Jem—too early, as it turned out. Theo watched now as Jem took advantage of the opening. He staggered forward, one hand knifing out, something small and black visible between his fingers. Whatever it was, it sank into the man’s side, and Jem repeated the movement, stabbing in a frenzy over and over again.
The man screamed. The noise was half startlement, half pain. Theo was still holding the man’s arm, still trying to wrest the knife free. Now, the man moved with the pressure Theo was applying. The sudden lack of resistance meant Theo stumbled, and his bad knee failed him again. As he lost his balance, their attacker spun into the movement, so that he passed Theo. He kicked backward as he moved, the sole of his boot connected with Theo’s back, and Theo grunted as breath exploded out of him. Then he crashed into Jem, and they both went down.
Jem fought to separate them, trying to get free, and Theo flopped onto his back. He still couldn’t catch his breath. He tried to help Jem, to disentangle himself from the other man, to get to his feet. But the signals from his brain to his body had been short-circuited somewhere, and all he could do was lie there, arching his back, struggling to get air.
Above them, the man appeared again, sickle and knife finally free for their bloody work.
Then he staggered and let out a muffled shriek.
Theo got onto his side, and he stared in disbelief as Tean brought Theo’s cane back for another blow. The vet’s hair was wild, his eyes huge, and fear painted his face in broad strokes, but he swung the cane again, and the thud of wood against flesh seemed to reverberate inside Theo’s head.
As the attacker rounded on Tean, the vet fell back, giving ground and holding up the cane in a fending off gesture. But the man didn’t go for Tean. He let out a furious noise, and then he turned and kicked something resting next to the kitchen island. In the melee, Theo hadn’t noticed it, and now he saw that it looked like an old metal gas can. Liquid sloshed as the can tumbled toward the front of the house. Some of it arced out and sprayed the walls. When it hit the floor, more of the liquid flowed out across the floor. It wasn’t water—Theo could tell from the way the light hit it—and then he smelled gasoline.
In another smooth, almost contemptuous movement, the man slapped the candle still burning on the island. It flew across the room and landed in the spreading puddle of gasoline, and flames burst into life.
The wave of brightness and heat made Theo flinch back, and by the time he recovered, the man was gone.
Jem was already getting to his feet, shouting something over the noise of the flames as he stumbled toward Tean. Tean was saying something back. Fueled by the gasoline, the fire caught easily, spreading along plaster and wood, lapping at the carpet. The heat made Theo’s skin itch, already hot enough that he felt like he had a sunburn.
And then his brain connected the rest of the dots.
The hallway.
The stairs.
Auggie and Lana.
He took a step toward the inferno, and the heat made him feel like his skin was peeling back. He held up a hand. His brain searched for alternatives, anything but the fire. A fire extinguisher. He knew they kept a fire extinguisher—
Something dark moved on the other side of the flames, and then a shape hurtled through the blaze. It was like something dark and primal—something beyond the rational fears of the front brain. And then it staggered and hit the ground, flames licking at it as it rolled.
Tean moved first, dropping onto his knees and grabbing a pillow to beat out the flames, and Theo lumbered into motion then, his body too slow. Jem helped too.
A blanket. A burning blanket, Theo thought.
And then Auggie was staring up at him, Lana still clutched in his arms, her face buried in his chest as she cried uncontrollably.
Theo felt something break inside him, a dam that had been holding back a flood, and he started to weep as he wrapped them in his arms.
18
Later, in Emery and John-Henry’s basement—which had been turned over to Theo and Auggie and Lana, without so much as a word of complaint from Colt—Auggie lay quietly and waited for Theo to stop shaking.
It had been hours. The police had come. The fire department. The ambulance. Statements made while the fire engines pumped water and men and women fought the flames. Theo and Jem and Auggie and Lana in the ambulance.
Now, in the darkness of the basement, with Lana asleep on the couch while Theo and Auggie took the floor, Theo gripped the blanket and trembled, and Auggie tried to figure out what to do.
A man had come into their home, and Theo hadn’t been able to stop him. Auggie knew what that meant for him. Even with Jem, who had fought like a dervish, Theo hadn’t been able to do anything but slow him down. Auggie closed his eyes. What he had seen of the fight had been brief, but he remembered the matte black of the sickle rising like a crescent moon.
Theo was still shaking.
Auggie rolled onto his side. His hand found Theo’s arm, and he ran his fingers up and down slowly.
