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I waited a second and got to my feet.
No response.
“Cassano!”
Nothing.
I took a step forward and immediately ran into something. The only light was from the flames. I strained to see as I felt around. It wasn’t a person blocking my path.
Something pliant.
With dips and valleys.
Mattress.
Shit. If I threw it forward, it could hit him. Backward, I’d block our path out.
“Cassano!”
Still silent.
The fire from the back of the house inched closer, spurred by the part that reached upstairs and collapsed the floor.
I tossed the mattress toward it. The box spring followed.
Underneath, in the center, there was a heaping form with a familiar yellow reflective tape.
“Cassano.”
He didn’t move as I pulled at the slats pinning him. Screwed in? Son of a bitch. He had the axe.
I yanked on one. Those suckers were in tight.
Cough. Cough.
“Cassano? You with me?”
“Hollingsworth?” His voice held none of the swagger it had a few minutes ago. He sounded dazed.
“You would have a bed land on you,” I said, trying to distract him. “If you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go this far.”
Orange and blue streaks of fire licked closer. He lolled his head toward the flames.
“Asshole,” he wheezed out. “When we’re out of here, I’m going to—”
The ceiling behind us gave way. I didn’t have time to pull out the slats to free him.
I cupped my hand under the frame and used all my strength to lift. It barely budged. One of the posters was wedged against the wall.
Heat.
Sweat.
Flames.
The intensity of the fire raged closer.
“Go. If you don’t get out of here, we’ll both die.”
